Serena blinked, trying to understand what just happened.
His expression had changed so abruptly. One second they were kissing, the next he pulled away abruptly. Did she initiate the kiss or had he?
Why had he looked repulsed?
She glanced down and realized she was holding his hand. Immediately, she pulled her hand free, as if burned.
She turned without a word and walked toward the lake, unbothered by the gold light blooming beneath each step.
Dexmon wanted to go after her—every muscle in his body screamed to. But he couldn't. If he moved or spoke now, his wolf would surface. So he stayed where he was, fists clenched, jaw tight, forcing himself to breathe.
At the water's edge, Serena sighed. She was already soaked. There was no question how she'd reached the island. Without hesitation, she dove in. The lake flared gold around her, and she didn't spare it a glance.
She emerged on the far shore dripping and unnervingly calm. Her eyes drifted toward Hyran.
"You truly have no idea what you just did," he said, faintly amused.
She stayed silent, not wanting to draw more attention to whatever he was referring to.
By the time Dexmon reached the opposite shore, Serena had already wrung the water from her hair and fallen into step beside Hyran, silently following him.
Hyran glanced sideways. "Sylvarae. Page forty-six. Why is the marginal note written upside down?"
Without hesitation, Serena replied.
"Because the translator was correcting himself and did not want the correction seen."
He rubbed his temple.
"Old Elventh," he continued. "The obsolete plural for oath-bound recollection?"
"Vaerethen."
"…Yes."
"And why was it removed from common usage?"
"Because it implied permanence."
"Since we are apparently past pretense. The third appendix of the Velshan Codex. What color ink was used for the corrective annotations?"
"Faded green. Mixed with ash," Serena replied without looking at him. "But that is not the original. The first book you handed me today cites it. Additionally, the book you handed me written in Vellum references it indirectly."
Her tone dropped low and she turned her head to look at him.
"But, you already knew that."
"That I did," Hyran said.
"And you suspected I would know the answers," Serena said, her gaze returning forward.
"At this point, withholding answers would tell me more than giving them."
"Ah. This is not an examination," she said. "We are in negotiation."
Hyran's expression shifted between amusement, irritation, and intrigue. He had underestimated her. Again.
"You know," he said, "most who run from chaos usually fall into its pits."
Serena didn't look at him.
"You're assuming chaos is a pit," she said. "Chaos is a ladder."
Hyran exhaled, equal parts impressed and vaguely alarmed.
"Fine. Is it safe to assume you remember everything you read down to the page number?"
Serena stopped mid-step, genuinely stunned.
"Oh please," Hyran added dryly. "Do not give me that look. You walked into that."
"She does," Elara chimed in from the back. "Ask her to read at alpha speed."
Serena turned slowly, shooting Elara a look of pure betrayal.
Elara lifted her hands. "Time-saving measure."
Dexmon couldn't help but stare. The annoyed look Serena gave Elara was absurdly endearing.
Then the words caught up to him.
Wait. She does what?
Hyran continued without missing a beat.
"She has translated texts in over seven languages. Nine, if we include the common tongue and Draken-Vorah. Ten if we count her culture's tongue that overlaps with Draken-Vorah. Elara would speak that is well based on her reaction."
Elara's eyes widened.
"Please, a toddler could have figured that out."
He glanced back to Elara, entirely too amused.
"Are you going to tell me the name of the language you both were referring to?"
"I appreciate the flattery," Elara said, "but you are mistaken."
"Don't insult my intelligence," Hyran snapped, rolling his eyes.
Elara tilted her head, amused. As if she'd underestimated him — not the other way around.
"Glaciovox," she said, lips twitching. "Doubtful you'll find anything on it. But if anyone could, there's no question it would be you."
Serena shot her a warning look.
"What?" Elara said, lifting her hands. "The man's good. I won't lie."
Hyran's lips twitched again in amusement.
"Queen Bellatrix voiced concern that Serena might be illiterate," he added politely. "If someone could kindly pass along that she is fluent in ten languages, that would be great."
The tone was cool. Casual. Lethal with sarcasm.
"Please don't," Serena said, snapping fully out of her daze, the edge in her voice sharper than she intended.
Hyran snorted.
"She would hate you more," he said, amused. "Fine. If someone could instead pass along that she knows her basic shapes, colors, and the alphabet, I would appreciate it."
Elara laughed again, highly entertained.
"She's really doubled down on illiteracy," Gavriel added. "Among other colorful things."
Dexmon whacked him without looking.
"What?" Gavriel protested. "She has. Don't shoot the messenger."
King Tiberon's lips twitched, but he kept his gaze forward and offered no comment.
When they reached the top of the spiral stairs and emerged back into the library, Hyran stopped and glanced at Serena.
"Right then. You will be useful. Meet me here daily. Same time."
He turned away before she could respond.
Serena felt dazed again. Elara clocked it instantly and stepped in.
"Please excuse us," she said smoothly, dipping her head. Serena mirrored the gesture on instinct. Elara steered her out of the library, leaving the Alpha, Gamma, Beta, and Prince behind — all four of them staring after them.
As they walked, mage-librarians froze and watched. They whispered loudly, like she wasn't there. A few clapped softly.
"They were right. She is very thin. A runt likely."
"She's fae. No wolf glows."
"Princess Agnes and Queen Bellatrix both said she was illiterate and mute. They'll be thrilled to hear this!"
"She doesn't strike me as a whore. Maybe they were mistaken."
"Whores can read too."
"No, no, you have it wrong. They were prostitutes before coming here. Their mothers were the whores. That's how they know each other."
"Very young to be prostitutes but Queen Bellatrix said they start them early."
Serena kept walking. This wasn't the first time.
At that last comment, she and Elara exchanged a single glance.
A dry, wordless look that clearly said: You've got to be joking.
And no one missed it.
By the time they got back to the room in the infirmary she'd been staying in, she fell on the bed in her damp training suit.
Her head throbbed, and sleep took her before she even realized it, a folded towel abandoned beside her.
She woke once in the middle of the night, half-conscious beneath warm covers, her mind hazy. She was no longer cold. No longer wet. She blinked slowly, her thoughts slow and drifting, and became aware of something—or someone—behind her.
Arms. Strong, warm. Wrapped around her.
The scent was intoxicating. Familiar. Safe. She couldn't place it in her fogged mind, but she didn't try. She only knew that she liked it. Liked the way it grounded her, calmed her.
She sank into it, into the heat and comfort, and drifted back to sleep.
When she woke again, fully this time, the room was bright with morning light.
She was alone.
No arms around her.
Just the faint scent of something wild and steady still lingering on her pillow.
She must have imagined it.