I shake my head, but his eyes hold steady, awe etched in every line of his face. He bends, pressing one last kiss to my lips, slow and lingering, before pulling back.
“Then I’ll leave you to your books, though it costs me more than you know.”
He rises from the bed, and for a moment the blanket slips lower over my chest, leaving me bared to the cool air. He reaches for his shirt where it was discarded the night before, the fabric catching in his hands.
I prop myself up once more, watching as he draws it over the breadth of his shoulders, the linen skimming down across the marks I left. Heat stirs in me at the memory, my skin still remembering every place his mouth claimed, every place his hands burned into me.
The passion of the night lingers, etched into me as surely as any scar. I swallow hard, my throat tight, though I try to temper my expression.
He turns then, fastening the last clasp, and his gaze catches mine as if he felt the pull of my thoughts. For a heartbeat, something raw and unspoken passes between us before he tears his eyes away, pulling on his belt with sharp precision.
After one last glance—as if memorizing me there in the morning light—he turns toward the door.
Pulling myself to sit, the blanket now pooled low around me, the comfort of my naked figure—I feel changed. Unbridled. That’s what I have been. More wild and free than ever before. With him I forget my inhibitions. I could very well forget the entire world when his hands clutch me close, when his mouth claims mine.
I snap myself out of the trance, reaching for the shift left near the bed, ignored while I slept in his arms. The soft linen slides over my skin, but it feels wrong. What I want against me now is him. Longing. Belonging.
It is cut short when Soria enters. Only a single loose strand slipping from her braid betrays any sign of last night’s festivities. I, on the other hand, wear my telltale signs like hidden script across my skin. I hope they do not give me away.
If she sees any lingering marks, she does not mention them as she helps me dress for the day. The strangeness of it should give me pause—being dressed rather than dressing myself—yet the overwhelming sense of these past days dulls the edge of it.
If I am to step into a life like this, there is no one I’d rather have at my side than her.
Tying the bodice into place, I try not to think about the hunger with which Vale undid it the night before, his fingers trailing fire over every inch of me. Instead, I lock onto Soria’s words to pull myself into the day ahead.
“Well then, my dear,” she says, her kindness never faltering, “you are fit for whatever your heart may desire today.”
I manage a smile, gratitude softening my voice. “I think I’d like to spend more time exploring the library.”
Readied to escort me, she inclines her head, but I assure her I remember the way, grateful for the discreet route seemingly intended for me alone. Perhaps in time I will learn the maze of corridors.
The private path through the Observation Gallery feels like hallowed ground. Light shifts through the dusty prisms of stained glass, scattering across the floor in fractured color. I let my fingers trail along the cold stone and, on impulse, spin once, my skirts fanning out as I twirl. For a heartbeat, I can imagine myself back in the forest, arms outstretched, unseen by anyone. A rush of air and color sweeps over me. Freedom.
The gown’s hue, a lighter green than the night before, reminiscent of moss and shade, clings like memory. It makes me think of home, of the danger that drove me from it. My heart speeds with the reminder that my unease is not mere discomfort; there are real threats still out there, still hunting.
The rush in my chest as I descend the stairs feels like lightness fighting the weight of all I carry. Dare I call it joy?
At the bottom, in the quiet liminal space at the stair’s foot, I pause. Once again I have left the world I knew. Once again I have been given the gift of a place that might become my own.
My fingers trace the woven fabric of a chaise near the hearth. The fire is already lit, as if the room had been expecting me. It gives me comfort to know I can claim this small peace if the vastness of the library or the bustling court ever becomes too much.
I cast a smile at the guard posted nearby, my good mood shared with the brooding statue of a man. For a moment, I think he almost smiles back.
Energy gathers in my muscles as I pull the heavy library doors open. The guard shifts, ready to come to my aid if needed, but I manage on my own.
Inside, I stop, awestruck.
The cottage seemed a trove of knowledge beyond my wildest hopes. Here, shelves stretch on into shadows with tomes older than I can imagine, I have no idea where to begin.
I wander the rows, swallowed by the vastness of the stacks, my caress across the spines turning leather and parchment into sacrament. Morning light shifts and brightens as I move deeper, simply taking it all in. With no concerns for how much time has passed, I reach a place that stills me on the spot.
Iron bars and an ancient chain block a small deep alcove at the furthest point of the library. Steps lead down into darkness, into whatever secrets might lie beyond the barrier.
Something stirs in me. Calls to me.
Without thought, my hand extends beyond the chains, through the bars. The air should be colder in the dark depths. And yet… it reminds me of the lingering summer heat that rides a nighttime wind as the day cools. Warmer than it has any right to be in the absence of light.
“Best be careful, m’lady—dangers lurk beyond.”
