“Are you kidding? Isn’t it obvious?” When I shake my head, he laughs in delight, cupping them both through the dress again. “Your breasts, Laurel, are exquisite. Have you never noticed how different you are from other females? They’re slim and lithe. No curves or breasts to speak of. I love everything about your body.” He growls the last sentence, and my toes curl. Of course I’ve noticed how different I am. How could I not? But to hear Thorne praise that difference, to find it attractive… The desire to run from this feeling is strong, but I push it down, deciding to sit with the feelings of delight and fear and something else, however uncomfortable. I survey the greenhouse. Misty steam has fogged up the glass panels that make up the dome. Even if someone walked in here, I’m not sure how much of us they’d even be able to see. Soft light glows around us, though I can somehow sense that Thorne is no longer controlling the light. The plants also glow with a luminescent shimmer. “Your magic is incredible, Laurel,” Thorne remarks, but my brows furrow, finally having the clarity of mind to process the magic we see.

“This isn’t me,” I say slowly, and now Thorne’s brows scrunch together.

“Then how—” he starts.

“I think,” I interrupt. “I think it’s some kind of reaction to your power. It feels like you, but I can also tell you aren’t using your magic. It’s unlike any power I’ve ever encountered.” He surveys the room with renewed interest, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before responding.

“This place has always reminded me of Eastern Velmara, where the light channelers come from. What if…” He trails off, lost in thought.

“What if what?”

“What if this place was meant to be some kind of replica? Of Eastern Velmara? I think I knew I was connected to this greenhouse in some way. It’s why I started experimenting on the plants.” The implications of his theory are too massive for me to consider right now, only minutes away from lust-addled fog.

“We need to speak with Admon.” Thorne nods his agreement. I look around the greenhouse one last time, marveling at the otherworldly feel it has to it, before taking Thorne’s arm and aerstepping us to Admon’s chambers.

We knock on Admon’s door, but there’s no answer, which is unsurprising, since it’s the middle of the day and Admon is a busy man as the now permanent Chair of the Council of Advisors. Just as I’m about to aerstep us back to my rooms, Admon appears at the end of the hallway, slowly walking toward us.

“Your Majesty,” he says with a bow when he reaches us. “I did not expect you. Did I forget a meeting we had scheduled?”