I can practically see Wyatt’s excitement at my sister directly addressing him, and for once, I’m not tempted by the immediate urge to shut down any interaction between them and get Leisel away from him. Instead, I’m content to let them be and simply see how things go. Whatever can be said about Wyatt, I see the regard he holds for my sister through the way he watches her. His gaze holds endless affection, a deep curiosity, and I can feel the protectiveness radiating off him. I think he just might make a handy ally in the palace.
“Nope, the heroes are more often anti-heroes, and the villains are the truly interesting ones. Want to check out some of the books?”
Once again, Leisel looks at me before answering, and once again, my heart clenches as I feel like I’ve failed in some way by holding herback or making her unsure of herself. I give her another smile and nod, even gently pushing her in Wyatt’s direction, letting her know I won’t protest.
She pulls me down to give me a kiss on the cheek before closing the distance to Wyatt and giving him a very astute up and down. She glances at Chip, who’s returned to his comfortable perch on her shoulder. Chip stares at Wyatt for a long moment before letting out a series of noises that sound faintly approving.
Leisel nods, then says to Wyatt, “Okay, show me the Grimm.”
When Wyatt offers her his hand, she only stares at it for a beat before taking it and letting him lead her into the maze of bookshelves. Going against every parental instinct I have, I force myself to stay in place as they round a corner and disappear into the shelves. If something goes wrong I’ll be by Leisel’s side in an instant, and since we’re technically still in the same room, I feel it’s fair to let her and Wyatt explore for a bit.
Camden murmurs something to Greta, and she bows before turning and disappearing out of the library, apparently intending to leave the royals alone with their fated ones for the evening. I watch as Camden makes his way over to where I still stand in front of the fireplace.
Feeling more than slightly awkward, I say, “Aren’t Grimm’s Fairytales the original Germanic version of fairytales that the western world later made kid-friendly?”
Camden barks out a laugh. “That’s an excellent way of putting it, and yes, that’s exactly what Grimm’s Fairytales are; the root of most fairytales.” With a nod, he goes on, “We have similar issues in my native realm, from what I hear. The old version of literature meant for children is judged as increasingly barbaric and unfit over the years, so we edit old stories to make them more appropriate. As your sister so eloquently put it, thatusually means boring heroes.”
He gestures between the sofas we’re standing in front of and the bookshelves that start up deeper into the room. “Do you want me to show you around the stacks, or would you like a night cap in front of the fireplace?”
I feel a reluctant smile pull on my lips. “If I ever choose to sit in front of a fireplace before exploring a room filled with books, there’s probably something medically wrong with me.”
Eyes dancing with humor, Camden nods. “Noted, I’ll keep that in mind. Let me get you acquainted with the basic layout of the space, then you can choose what to read and where.”
I ask curiously, “What will you be doing?”
“My favorite thing,” Camden responds without delay. “Watching you.”
Chapter Thirty
Camden spends an hour or so leading me through the different sections of the library, watching my wide-eyed wonder with a fond glimmer in his eyes and contently trailing after me as I switch aisles sporadically. Once I’ve gathered no less than six books—Camden had to remind me that the library is available at any time to prevent me from taking more—we settle on the couch in front of the fireplace.
There, he starts to tell me about the history of the castle. It was commissioned shortly after mythics invaded, upon the shifters establishing themselves as the most dominant group of beings on the entire globe. Camden’s grandfather wanted the entire structure to be a tribute to their culture and beliefs, instructing architects to follow suit.
There are nine individual spires; eight are meant to represent the phases of the lunar cycle, and the ninth and tallest central spire is a tribute to the moon goddess Selene. All of the material used for the castle’s foundation was imported from their home realm, as was most of the stone used for the rest of the structures because apparently the stone forged in their realm is far sturdier and longer lasting than the materials humans used in their buildings. Of all the natural resources on Earth that drew mythics here, evidently shifters still had to bring some things over from their old homelands.
The longer we talk, the more engaged I feel as I listen and learn. Camden’s speaking style is calm, steady, and even a little humorous, throwing jokes in here and there as he explains things to me. After the castle and Kinrith, we get into larger-scale geography, which also starts to tread into infrastructure, economy, and even politics.
He tells me shifters make up the majority of the population of this world and therefore have the largest and most established nations across almost every continent. Shifter culture isn’t just comprised of wolf-shifters; there are also packs of feline and even dragon shifters scattered across the globe, though the wolves have command over the entire shifter hierarchy, which Claude hinted at earlier. I also recall seeing some feline shifters on my ride through Kinrith’s citadel, evident by their slitted eyes.
“If dragon shifters weren’t so antisocial and therefore content to let me take the lead, they’d easily be able to overthrow the rest of the shifter population,” Camden tells me with a sardonic smile curling his lips.
“What do dragons look like in their dragon form?” I ask with wonder.
Camden’s smile turns indulgent. “They’re magnificent. A full-grown dragon can be the size of a small mountain. Their scales serve as the most impenetrable armor. Having them on your side of a battle all but guarantees victory.” A frown starts to morph his facial expression. “Unless, of course, you’re dealing with magical opponents like witches or faye. Nothing is impervious to powerful magic—not even a dragon’s scales.”
“Are the witches or faye a potential threat to your kingdom?” I ask.
Camden shakes his head. “Not most of them, no. Witches are very insular, as are sirens and the faye. The only faction that could present a problem is the dark faye—I wouldn’t put it past them toally themselves with the vampires if they’re in the mood for battle. Not because their ideologies align but because dark faye are dangerous creatures who feed on chaos.”
“What do you mean when you say faction?” I question.
“Breeds within species,” Camden responds, “Felines, dragons, and wolves are all factions of shifters. Dark faye, light faye, and noble faye are all factions within the faye species—so on and so forth.”
I nod, chewing on my bottom lip while digesting the information he’s just bestowed upon me. The world I live in has a wondrous mix of rich cultures all rooted in the gods that served as creators of each species, and before now, I’ve been too angry at the principle of how this world was built to even admire it. Now, however, I’m finding more and more interest when it comes to widespread interspecies matters. Part of me can’t help but feel guilty that, despite my upbringing to rightfully loathe every being that isn’t human, here I am actually enjoying spending time with the King of shifters. What does that say about me? That I’m a traitor to my own kind, surely.
Leisel emerges from the stacks of books with Wyatt, who’s holding at least ten books in his arms and looking a little befuddled as he follows after my energetic sister. She only has one novel in her arms, which she proudly presents to me with a wide smile. The cover of the tome readsA Collection of Grimm’s Fairytales.
“I’ve only read the Hansel and Gretel one so far, and I really like it,” Leisel says excitedly, flipping open the book and pointing to a drawing that depicts an old witch boiling a young boy in a pot. I have to stifle a smile that my sister—who comes across as a literal ball of sunshine ninety-nine percent of the time—seems to enjoy the darker nature of fairytales; including one where a boy gets cannibalized by a demented wicked witch.
