The library smelled of old paper, wax, and secrets that had been breathing in the dark for centuries. I had always liked libraries, even back when the only ones I knew were the traveling peddler's cart that came through the village twice a year with three battered volumes wrapped in oilcloth. Those books had felt like treasures because they were rare. This palace library felt like a weapon. Row after row of leather spines, gold leaf titles, shelves that reached so high you needed ladders on wheels to touch the top ones. Knowledge stacked like armor, waiting for someone brave or foolish enough to wield it.
I came here after leaving Caleb beneath the oak, my skin still carrying the imprint of his hands, the faint scent of sweat and iron from the training grounds. I had not gone back to my chambers. I needed distance from beds and bodies for a while. I needed something sharper than touch: answers.
Ethan was already waiting.
