Monday morning arrived with its usual frantic energy, the city paths teeming with people rushing toward their daily errands. Inside her carriage, Floria sat in silence, dressed in a gown of soft peach silk. A translucent veil clouded her features, though it couldn't hide the flicker of unease in her eyes as she watched the world pass by the window.
Despite her decision not to refuse the appointment, a strange restlessness stirred within her. Neither her parents nor Ivan had seemed particularly pleased with her choice, and their silent disapproval weighed on her more than she cared to admit.
The carriage groaned to a halt at the palace entrance, where guards stood in rigid formation. As Floria prepared to descend, the coachman reached out to offer his hand, but his gesture was brushed aside by a gloved hand that appeared out of nowhere.
She felt a sudden wave of radiation from the newcomer—a mix of mischief, joy, and sheer amusement.
Arching her brows, Floria looked up to find Prince Rory standing there. He was dressed in full royal attire, looking as though he were in the middle of his own official business.
"Do you perhaps plan to stay in there, Miss Floria?"
Flushing at the playful jab, Floria accepted his hand and stepped down onto the palace stone.
"I wasn't aware the Prince personally greeted every librarian at the gate to guide them inside," she remarked, her tone subtle and carefully polite.
"Hmm, not as a rule," Rory replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "But it felt worth the effort, considering you are only the second person to ever retort to my brother in such a way."
The second one. Floria wondered briefly who else possessed such a reckless disregard for the safety of their own neck.
Rory chuckled, clearly reading her expression. He had, in fact, been sent by his brother to collect the "little bunny" the King had reclaimed, and Rory found he couldn't resist the urge to needle her.
"May I ask who was the first?" she inquired.
The irony wasn't lost on him; he found himself wishing he could see her face the moment she realized the truth. "Curious, I see," he said, his lips pulling to one side in an amused grin.
Floria fell silent, suddenly self-conscious. Was she truly curious, or was she simply out of her depth? Embarrassed, she shifted the subject. "What happened to the previous librarian? Were they not up to the task?"
Rory's face took on a mock-thoughtful look. He tsked softly before delivering the blow. "Tragedy. He is no longer among the living."
Floria's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. "No longer alive?" she repeated, horrified.
"The foolish being," Rory added with a light laugh that didn't match the gravity of his words, "dared to fish for information inside the lion's den."
With the Prince's spirited company, the walk toward the King's study felt shorter than expected. He escorted her deep into the inner heart of the palace before stopping. He gestured ahead, instructing her to walk straight until she reached a right turn that would lead her directly to the study.
The palace was exactly as it should be—immaculate, well-maintained, and adorned with opulent decor. Floria took in the grandeur as she followed his directions, her boots clicking rhythmically against the white marble floors. Several exquisite paintings lined the walls, their subjects watching her as she passed.
The wing felt strangely desolate. Here, the air was heavy and still, the silence so absolute that she could hear the sound of her own breathing. It made sense, she supposed; few would dare to linger near the King's study, a place where the kingdom's most of the secrets were kept under lock.
Floria had heard whispers of the King's formidable nature, but she had never anticipated the sheer weight of his presence or the meticulous order of his domain. To ground herself, she began a methodical survey of the grand library, her fingers tracing the lists provided. It was a rigorous catalog, containing not only the records of visitors but a granular list of every servant and scribe permitted within these hallowed walls.
Hours slipped away in a blur of parchment and dust. As she sought to acquaint herself with the staff, she noticed a peculiar trend: one by one, the workers began to slip away, disappearing into the labyrinthine palace until the grand hall felt hollowed out.
"Sofia, where is the council section?" Floria asked, her arms straining under the weight of several massive, leather-bound volumes.
"The second to last shelf, on the right," Sofia replied politely. She paused, eyeing the precarious stack. "Would you perhaps need a helping hand, Miss?"
Floria shook her head, offering a faint, distracted smile. "I'll be quite alright on my own, thank you."
The soft click of her boots echoed with haunting clarity against the marble. The library had grown unnervingly still. It seemed the others had been whisked away to tasks far removed from the archives, leaving her alone with the silence of the palace. Part of her yearned for her modest library back in town—her parents were likely waiting for the chime of the front door, hoping she would return with a signed withdrawal request. Yet, everyone knew the King's reputation; one did not simply decline a royal "offer."
Steeling her resolve, she ascended the rolling wooden ladder to reach the highest shelves, cradling the bundle of books against her chest with one arm while the other navigated the slots. She slid the final volume into its place, but as she shifted her weight to descend, the air was punctured by the sharp, splintering crack of aged wood.
"Oh—!"
A small scream escaped her lips as the step gave way. Gravity took hold, but before she could meet the hard marble below, a pair of powerful arms intercepted her fall. They skidded firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against a solid, warm chest.
Floria's heart became a wild thing, thudding with a frantic, unsteady rhythm that she felt deep in her throat. She looked up, her gaze colliding with a pair of rich, crimson eyes. For a heartbeat, a flicker of fright and irrational annoyance sparked within the air—though the thoughts remained empty as shell.
Did I not eat enough vegetables this morning? she thought inanely, her mind grasping for any logic to anchor her.
"Does the lady intend to stay like this forever?" Liam asked. His voice was a calm, steady resonance that vibrated through her. He looked down into her rare, amethyst eyes with an unreadable intensity.
Heat flooded Floria's cheeks. Realizing she was still hovering in his embrace, she scrambled to find her footing. Once steady, she smoothed her skirts and dropped into a deep, graceful bow, a desperate attempt to diffuse the sudden tension.
"Thank you, Your Majesty, for saving me," she murmured.
"You need not thank me," Liam replied, his tone coolly dismissive. "It is the palace's fault for not being neatly kept."
Floria's eyes widened slightly at his admission. She hadn't expected the King to blame his own architecture.
"I suppose everything is to your liking, and you shall continue your work," Liam declared. It wasn't a question; his gaze brooked no denial. "Being a Royal Librarian entails handling the professional matters of the courtrooms. I presume you are a quick learner, given the reports of your extended education from the Karmises."
Floria felt a prickle of heat behind her ears at the realization that the King had personally looked into her history. "They initially refused to admit women," she explained, a trace of her old spirit returning. "They claimed we were meant for marriage at that age, not study. But Miss Clayton and several others insisted on taking the entrance exams anyway. We passed before completing our education."
Liam hummed thoughtfully, a dark glint in his eyes. "No wonder the courtrooms are filled with a bunch of empty heads during trials."
The bluntness of his truth caught Floria off guard. The image of the King dismissing his own high-ranking officials shattered her composure, and a soft, genuine laugh escaped her.
In that moment, her features looked incredibly delicate—like a rare flower that required the utmost care to keep from withering. Watching her, Liam's lips unintentionally pulled into a ghost of a curve.
The distance between them suddenly felt dangerously small. The air grew heavy with an inexplicable heat. For a fleeting second, the world around Floria seemed to stall, and a swirl of darkness clouded her vision. A fractured memory—or a vision—flashed before her eyes
she saw a woman held by a man whose face remained a shadow. He was scolding her, his voice thick with a strange, possessive concern.
'This is the last time I save you. What is the hurry to leave me, bunny? Or is it that I have been too lax with your discipline?'
"Lady... Lady Floria? Are you all right?"
Liam's voice broke the spell. He reached out, steadying her as she drifted back to reality. She was pale, her eyes clouded with confusion as she blinked up at him.
"No... I—that is quite alright," she stammered, her voice thin. "It is nearly evening. I request my leave from the palace, Your Majesty."
Liam studied her pale face for a brief moment before nodding slowly. He summoned a maid to escort her to the gates. With a final, hurried bow, Floria turned and left, the King's crimson gaze following her until she disappeared from the hall.