Elara's POV
I was burning the journal when I heard footsteps in the hallway.
My hands moved on instinct—dousing the flames, shoving the half-burned book under my pillow, grabbing the knife from my boot. I pressed myself against the wall beside the door, heart hammering, waiting for whoever it was to break in.
The footsteps passed by without stopping.
I stood there for five minutes, knife ready, before my racing pulse finally slowed. This was ridiculous. I was a trained spy, and I was acting like a scared child because of an old journal that made no sense.
The man in the white mask is lying.
High Chancellor Theron wore a white mask. With golden sunrays.
Had I written about him? Why? What had eight-year-old me seen that was so dangerous they had to erase it?
I couldn't stay in this room. The walls felt too close, the questions too loud in my head. I needed to move, to think, to do something useful.
The library. Mari said it was open all hours.
I slipped out of my room and through the quiet castle corridors. Finding the library was easy—I just followed the smell of old books and candle wax. The door stood slightly open, warm light spilling into the hallway.
I pushed it open and stopped breathing.
The library was massive. Shelves stretched up three stories, filled with more books than I'd ever seen in my life. Ladders on wheels, cozy reading nooks, tables covered in open texts. It was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
And someone was already there.
A tall figure stood with his back to me, holding a book up to the candlelight. He was completely absorbed, turning pages carefully, his whole body still except for his reading hand.
I should have announced myself. Should have apologized for interrupting. Instead, I just watched him, fascinated by how gentle he was with the ancient book. Like it was something precious.
The floorboard creaked under my foot.
He spun around so fast the candle nearly fell. "Oh! I'm sorry—I didn't hear you come in."
He was younger than I expected. Maybe thirty. Dark hair that fell across his forehead. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes that were startling in their intensity—deep brown, almost black, and currently wide with surprise.
"I'm the one who should apologize," I said, falling back on my cover story manners. "I couldn't sleep, and Mari said the library was open."
"It is." He set down the book, looking embarrassed. "I should be working, not hiding in here reading. You must be Dr. Ashton—the new scholar?"
I nodded, studying him. He wore simple clothes, nothing fancy. A scholar himself, maybe? Or one of the castle's advisors?
"What are you reading?" I asked, curious despite myself.
His whole face changed. Lit up. "A pre-war text on ancient magical theory. It's fascinating—the author argues that light and shadow magic weren't always separate. That they used to work together, complementing each other before the kingdoms split." He paused, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I get excited about old books."
Something warm bloomed in my chest. Dangerous. This was dangerous.
"Don't apologize." I moved closer, wanting to see the book. "That's the best kind of excitement."
He smiled. Actually smiled. It transformed his whole face, made him look younger. Less burdened.
"Most people think I'm boring when I talk about this stuff," he admitted.
"Then most people are idiots."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Horror flooded through me—I'd just insulted people to someone who might be important in the castle. So much for being a harmless scholar.
But he laughed. A real laugh, surprised and genuine. "I like you, Dr. Ashton."
We spent the next hour talking about books. About translation techniques and magical theory and the difference between pre-war and post-war historical texts. He knew more than I did—way more—but he didn't make me feel stupid. He listened when I talked, asked questions, seemed genuinely interested in my thoughts.
I forgot why I was really here. Forgot about the mission, the lies, the knife hidden in my boot. For one hour, I was just Elara, talking to someone who loved books as much as I did.
"I should let you sleep," he said finally, reluctantly. "You've had a long journey."
"Wait—what's your name?" I asked. "I've been rambling at you for an hour, and I don't even know who you are."
Something flickered across his face. Hesitation? Sadness? "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters."
He looked at me for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out if I meant it. Then he picked up his candle and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Dr. Ashton. I hope you'll enjoy working here."
"Goodnight," I called after him, confused and oddly disappointed.
I stayed in the library for another twenty minutes, too awake to sleep, my mind replaying our conversation. The way he'd smiled. The passion in his voice when he talked about books. The loneliness in his eyes.
Finally, I made myself leave. As I stepped into the hallway, I nearly collided with Mari.
"Oh! Dr. Ashton." She smiled knowingly. "Couldn't sleep?"
"I was in the library. I hope that's okay?"
"Of course. Did you find everything you needed?"
"Yes. There was someone else there—a scholar, I think? Dark hair, very knowledgeable about ancient texts? I forgot to ask his name."
Mari's expression shifted. "You spoke with him?"
"For about an hour. Why? Should I not have?"
"No, no—it's fine. It's just..." She paused, studying my face. "That was His Majesty. The Dark Lord himself."
The hallway tilted. "What?"
"King Cassian. You were talking to King Cassian."
The man who killed my family. The monster I was sent to assassinate. The tyrant who supposedly fed on suffering.
The man who'd smiled at me like sunlight breaking through clouds when I said I loved old books.
I stood frozen as Mari walked away, her words echoing in my ears.
My target. That was my target.
And I'd liked him.