“Yes, everything’s fine.” Her gaze swung away from him as she approached the shelf, releasing the bookwyrm to wriggle its way between the books. “I’m just getting worried that we’re not finding anything. The second Midsummer is coming far too quickly. Only a little over a week away.”
“Right.” He didn’t think that was the real reason for her mood, but he let it go. She would just shut him down more if he pushed her.
The two of them set to work searching in a heavy silence that sat uncomfortably on his shoulders and in his chest.
His gaze caught on the title of the next book. After pulling it out, he flipped through the pages, his gaze skipping over the words before something made him go back and read them again, this time more thoroughly. He stilled. “Beatrice. I think I found it.”
“Really?” She crossed the space and peered over his arm to take in the book. Her golden hair brushed his sleeve, and he caught a whiff of her faintly floral scent. “Let’s take this to Basil and have him confirm.”
Beatrice rocked backand forth from her heels to her toes and back as Basil sat behind his desk and perused the folk tale Benedict had found. After several moments, Basil tapped the book, his eyes distant. “This reminds me of something I read…where was it…”
He searched through the pile of books on one edge of his desk, setting several aside before he opened one that had been in the middle of the stack. He paged through it until he must have found the spot he was looking for.
“Well?” Beatrice probably should let him read in peace, but she just couldn’t help her impatience. She and Benedict had been searching for weeks. Had they really found the answer after all this time?
Benedict stood to the side, his arms crossed. Since he’d found the book, he hadn’t spoken much.
Finally, Basil looked up, glancing between the two of them before focusing on Beatrice. “If I’m reading this interpretation of the Laws of Bindings correctly, paired with this tale, I believe there is a way to break the fated mates binding. The two of you need to pledge your undying hatred for each other on Midsummer Night when the magic is highest. That will break the bond. If you do that, there will never be a possibility of another binding forming between the two of you ever again.”
“No binding?” Benedict’s face had harder lines than she usually saw in it, his blue eyes oddly bleak.
“None. Not a captive binding, and certainly not another marriage binding.” Basil shrugged. “Not that I expect that will be a great sacrifice.”
“Certainly not.” The words fell from Beatrice’s mouth, but they tasted like the dust of a dying farm on her tongue. Several weeks ago, she would have pledged her undying hatred for Benedict without another thought. She routinely did just that whenever someone so much as mentioned his name.
But now, after everything? How could she look him in the eye and vow her hatred? He’d protected her. Apologized. Spent hours with her in the Library talking about books and teasing about romances.
She no longer hated him. No, what she felt stirring in her chest when she looked at him was so much the opposite of hatred that she hadn’t dared face the truth of it.
Still, what other choice did they have? If they didn’t break the fated mate bond, then they would have to get married. She might not hate him anymore—she might even be starting to feel something else for him—but that didn’t mean she wanted to go all the way to marriage with him. Certainly not anytime soon.
If only she had more time to sort through all the confusing feelings filling her. If only they had more time for Benedict to continue to prove to her that this change in him was real.
But the second Midsummer was only a little over a week away. They had no time.
When she dared peek up at him, Benedict remained silent, his face even more blank than before. After she’d stared for another moment, he gave a slight shrug, his voice flat. “I suppose not.”
There was something in his tone, his stance. Almost as if he was reluctant to break this mate bond.
Was he feeling the same tumult of emotions that she was? And what would she do if he was vulnerable again and confessed as much?
Workinghis shift that day alongside Beatrice was torture. Far more torturous than the spiders and rats and everything else he’d been forced to imagine in Claudius’s prison.
She still wanted to end the fated mate bond. Worse, she had no problem pledging undying hatred for him.
He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been her childhood enemy. Her nemesis. He’d tormented her. Prankedher. Pretended he despised her. Even now, the two of them were rivals for the same assistant librarian spot.
What had ever made him think he would be worthy of binding their fates together in marriage for the rest of their lives?
No, he needed to put Beatrice out of his mind and his heart. Right now, he needed to focus on his plan to save the Library and expose the imposters before they ruined the upcoming Midsummer.
After all, he would do anything to protect this Library. No matter what—or who—it might cost him.
Plastering on a smirk, he swaggered nonchalantly through the Library, the evening darkness shadowing the corners and the shelves lit only by floating faerie lights. After some searching, he heard the loud noises and laughter of his brother and the other young nobles coming from one of the reading nooks.
He stepped inside, taking in the warm coziness of this particular nook. The shelves here were all dark wood, the moss an especially deep green. A brick fireplace was set into the wall, a fire crackling within, while plush chairs of deep red and soft brown leather clustered before it. Instead of the floral scent of most of the Library, this room always smelled of sandalwood and spices.
Borachio, Tybalt, and a young nobleman named Pedron lounged on the chairs. A couple of them had books open on their laps, but everyone knew they weren’t there to read. That was just an excuse to lounge about the Library. Such was the life of the sons of the noble fae who had finished their duty to the Library and now had nothing better to do but laze about.
