The days trickled toward Sunday. The shock of the new royal librarian title had finally begun to settle, though Floria remained resolute in her plan: she would sit at the King's table and formally refuse the position.
The following afternoon, golden sunlight poured through the window, giving the woman's warm skin an alluring glow. Her hair fell in loose curls down her back, nearly touching the marble floor.
Lillian was deep in her book, The Codex of Twin Veils, processing the text when a sound came from the window.
Tuck-tuck.
Her breath caught. She looked up, but there was nothing behind the glass. The knock felt imaginary, as if her mind were playing tricks. She kept watching, though it seemed impossible for anyone to be out there in the roasting heat of the sun.
Distracted, Lillian stood up with the book in both hands. She headed toward the library shelves, now familiar with the manor's layout thanks to Jace's help.
Just as she reached out to return the book to its place, she heard it again—the sound of wood scraping against the floor. Her heart hammered in her ears as she walked toward a dimly lit corner. She held her gown up with one hand to keep it from the dust while the other traced the wooden shelves to guide her.
Suddenly, a voice jolted her. She froze and turned back.
"Miss—Miss Lillian!"
A maid stood there. "Lady Saipon wishes to see you," she informed her.
Lillian managed a quick "yes." She watched the maid leave before turning her gaze back to the dark corner.
She stared with rising intensity. A small shadow moved, and then she saw it: the head of a bird with hollow, empty sockets. There were no eyes. Her own eyes went wide with terror. She turned and dashed out of the room, her breathing harsh and jagged.
By the time she reached the tea parlor, Lillian was fighting to appear composed. Mrs. Saipon sat in a velvet-cushioned chair, the picture of grace as she lifted a delicate porcelain cup to her lips.
"Oh, dear! There you are," Mrs. Saipon said, her eyes brightening. "I began to fear Ethan had buried you under a mountain of books. Come, sit." She began to pour a fresh cup.
"Good afternoon, Aunt Lily," Lillian replied, her voice trembling only slightly. She forced a polite smile, mindful of her manners. "Mr. Sterling has been very kind. He makes the study feel less like a chore."
Mrs. Saipon hummed, noting Jace's absence with her husband in the West. "And how is your progress with the book I gave you?"
"I've only just finished the first part, Of Ash and Aether," Lillian admitted. "The language... it makes things a bit complicated."
Lillian paused, her curiosity momentarily distracting her from the horror in the library. "I always thought witches created their own spells."
Mrs. Saipon smiled, though there was a sharpness to it. "Indeed they do. But certain rituals are scripted in the Aetheric. It is an ancient tongue; not everyone is meant to know it."
Lillian leaned in, the word tasting heavy on her tongue. "Rituals?"
Mrs. Saipon's expression soured, a shadow crossing her face. "To run the world on dark magic," she said, her gaze locking onto Lillian's.
Lillian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the library shadows. She stared back, her mind swirling with confusion and a growing sense of dread.
The afternoon heat hung heavy over the Capital's southern district, where the scent of cured leather and sawn wood drifted from the storefronts. Jace stood beside his father, Oscar, methodically checking the inventory crates destined for the ducal estates.
It had been days since the ball, and a restless silence had settled over Lillian. Jace remained patient, waiting for her to find her voice, even as the household was jolted by the news of his sister's new appointment as the Royal Librarian.
"Saipon! Long time no see."
The greeting arrived in a flat, nasal honk. Jace looked up to see a man with a shock of thick black hair weaving through the crates. It was Hugo, Oscar's brother—a man whose presence usually signaled the end of any quiet productivity. He was a few inches shorter than Oscar, yet he carried himself with a boisterous energy that made him seem to take up more space.
"What a pleasant noon. I see the young Saipon is here as well," Hugo remarked, offering Jace a playful, heavy-handed pat on the shoulder.
"Uncle Hugo. Afternoon," Jace replied, forced into a polite smile.
"Oh, child, spare me the formalities," Hugo sighed, his face scrunching in mock exhaustion. "Your aunt has nagged me to the point that the sun is nearly setting."
As if on cue, a blonde woman appeared, navigating the shop's narrow aisles with a small child balanced on her hip. This was Celia, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"I have only been insisting on visiting my dear sister-in-law," Celia countered, her voice smooth compared to her husband's grating tone. "I've been saying it for ages."
Hugo threw up his hands in a gesture of fake agony. "Alright, Celia, sweetheart—you're right. You're always right." He turned back to the men, nodding toward the ledger Jace held. "Look at Jace, already his father's right hand."
"I'm glad to be taught by him," Jace said simply. It was the truth; Oscar had navigated these lands for decades, and his knowledge was a map Jace was eager to memorize.
On Celia's hip, the small boy—young Nell—watched the exchange with wide, amber eyes. The moment his gaze landed on Oscar, the toddler let out a bright, bubbly giggle.
"Look at that. Nell likes you," Hugo noted.
Oscar remained characteristically stoic, his face a mask of iron that refused to entertain his brother's teasing. However, as he looked at the boy, the hard lines around his eyes softened. He reached out, taking Nell from Celia. The child immediately gripped Oscar's forearms, delighted by the sudden change in altitude.
"Lily misses you as well," Oscar said, his voice low. He glanced at the shopping bags in their hands. "Where is Eleanor?"
"Just back from Mr. Floker's shop," Celia explained. "Nell and I were in desperate need of a new wardrobe. Eleanor decided to stay behind with a friend; they were discussing a visit to Badric Hall."
The conversation drifted toward Eleanor—how she had taken up an instrument and was already drawing the attention of various suitors. After a few more promises to visit the manor in the coming days, the couple collected their son and their packages, disappearing back into the bustle of the Capital.
As evening bled into the sky, the atmosphere in the palace library was far more subdued. Floria sat in the restricted upper chambers, tucked away in a nook where the air smelled of ancient vellum and dust. She was hunched over a heavy register, her quill scratching as she calculated rental fees and ledger entries.
Opposite her sat Ivan. The Elf was leaned back in his chair, a pair of delicate spectacles perched on the high bridge of his nose. A single stray strand of silver hair had escaped his neat grooming, falling across his forehead as he read.
"Have you thought it through?" Ivan asked. His voice was a deep, composed resonance that seemed to ground the quiet room.
"I have," Floria replied, her eyes remaining on the columns of numbers before she finally looked up. "It wouldn't be wise to defy the King's word. I'll present my thoughts to him tomorrow, once I've settled in."
She paused, a mischievous glint entering her eyes as she watched the Elf. "The Vampiress seems to have taken quite a keen interest in your company lately."
Ivan didn't look up from his book.
"That is her twentieth book this month," Floria teased, a chuckle escaping her. "I never realized she was such a scholar of anatomy. She seems quite... devoted to her studies."
"Vampires are curious creatures," Ivan remarked nonchalantly, his expression unreadable behind his specs. "They often feel the need to consume the world's knowledge all at once."
He didn't bother to address the lady's obvious infatuation, his eyes remaining glued to the text, as cool and distant as the rising moon.