The library felt less like a place of study and more like a reliquary.

  Its books were displayed the way jewels were—polished, elevated, admired for what they suggested rather than what they contained. Elowen suspected many had not been opened in decades. Knowledge mattered less here than the prestige of possessing it.

  Above them, the ceiling bloomed with painted magic—fae figures caught mid-flight, spells frozen in luminous arcs, histories rendered beautiful enough to forget they had ended. Or failed.

  The shelves were carved with leaves and birds so delicate they seemed ready to lift from the wood. Between them stood tables and chairs equally ornate, designed more for ceremony than study.

  At one such table lay Alenya—cheek pressed to polished oak, braid spilled like a fallen crown.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Alenya muttered, eyes still closed. “Or worse—why I agreed to hunt with you this morning. There is clearly something wrong with me.”

  Elowen glanced up at the ceiling, flexing her gloved hands as a quiet ache lingered beneath the leather. “You loved the hunt.”

  “I loved not cheating,” Alenya said dryly, lifting her head. “You absolutely cheated.”

  Elowen smiled faintly. “The wind listens. I hear it. I guided the arrows.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  “That’s using what’s available,” Elowen replied. “Would you respect me more if I missed on purpose?”

  Alenya narrowed her eyes.

  “False humility is still false,” Elowen added, quieter now. “Pretending not to be able isn’t kindness.”

  Alenya stared at her for a long moment, then groaned and dropped her head back onto the table. “Save the philosophy. I’m still negotiating with consciousness.”

  Elowen’s smile lingered as she returned to her book.

  Pages turned. Time stretched.

  “What are we even looking for?” Alenya yawned.

  “Anything on the Wall. The fragments.” Elowen frowned at the text before her. “For a place this large, it’s very careful about what it doesn’t say.”

  Alenya stilled.

  “El.” She sat upright, pointing. “I’ve seen this.”

  Elowen leaned closer. The illustration showed a king and queen clad in Aurendal colors presenting a glass-bound fragment to the Queen of Miralys. The next image followed the fragment’s journey—displayed atop a short column, mirrors angled around it to scatter its light.

  Elowen’s finger traced the page slowly.

  “The dais,” she whispered.

  Alenya’s voice sharpened. “It’s been there the entire time. In front of us.”

  Silence fell.

  “How did we miss it?”

  Elowen swallowed. “I wasn’t looking.”

  “You were,” Alenya corrected gently. “You just had to survive first.”

  The word lodged itself in Elowen’s chest.

  Surviving.

  She wondered how long before it became an excuse.

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  “Court wears people thin.” Alenya continued. “And Aayan—he’s my friend. But he doesn’t know when to stop.”

  Elowen exhaled. “So… I can skip today’s picnic?”

  Alenya’s smile turned wicked. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying when he deploys the full force of wolf-puppy eyes and gifts.”

  Elowen shivered—and laughed.

  ___

  Jasmine drifted in through the window with the birdsong, and soft light settled across the gilt-edged pages of a heavy book. The writing table by the window rose into a shallow bookshelf, carved everywhere with flowers, vines, and birds. One drawer stood open, letters spread and softened by use; the others remained closed, heavy with unopened envelopes, all in Roderic’s familiar hand.

  Elowen had grown used to the excess. She almost expected it now. Her golden hair was half pinned beneath a thick braided crown, pale blue ribbon woven through it, the rest falling in tamed curls. Her gloved fingers turned the page.

  She stopped on an illustration. Elyon stood at the center of it, lifting a sphere of light above the gathered rulers. Behind them, the Wall was unbroken.

  Elowen traced the sphere, frowning.

  A sharp knock cut through the room. Elowen jolted.

  “Eloweeeen!” Alenya sang from the hall.

  “Coming!” Elowen shut the book and went to the door, already bracing.

  ___

  If not for the open sky above them, one might have mistaken the space for a ballroom. Furniture and long tables had been carried out into the garden, chairs arranged with deliberate symmetry. This was no picnic. Platters of fruit, cheese, and carved meats ran the length of the table, broken only by elaborate candleholders. No goblet was left half-served for long.

  His fingers followed the silver swirls embroidered into Elowen’s gloves.

  “You seem far away,” Aayan said.

  She hated the heat that rose to her cheeks. It took every scrap of discipline not to pull back.

  “Alenya and I went to the library today,” she said, keeping her tone careless. “I was thinking about the books we found.”

  She met his gaze—curiosity surfacing where her voice stayed deliberately light. “Miralys seems to be faring differently than the other kingdoms. Why do you think that is?”

  “Always the serious questions.” Aayan smiled, easy. “Stay here.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and rose from the table.

  When Elowen looked back down, Serenya was watching her.

  She had taken the seat Aayan left behind.

  “Miralys specializes in illusion, after all,” Serenya said mildly. “Reality is… flexible here.”

  “The disasters in Aurendal are too large to pretend away,” Elowen said. “Why are there no storms in Miralys?”

  Serenya smiled, indulgent.

  “How do you know there are no storms?” she asked. “Did you see the recent storms in Aurendal yourself? No—you heard of them. And here, you don’t.”

  Elowen frowned.

  “And how is it that you hear of them at all?” Serenya continued, her voice silk-smooth. “No one in Miralys speaks of such things. Is it our dear Roderic who keeps you informed?”

  Her dark eyes gleamed.

  “He is thorough, isn’t he? He’ll make a magnificent king. Perhaps a touch too noble for his own good—but that can be corrected. Difficult choices require a cool mind.”

  She inspected her manicured nails, then looked up again. “Does he write often?”

  Eowen’s gray eyes held, “He does.”

  Serenya tilted her head. “You don’t mistake his letters for interest, do you?”

  She smiled upward, already satisfied.

  “Roderic is not a man of careless feeling. He would never take a lover. He’s far too practical to indulge distraction.” She half closed her eyes, savoring. “He prefers strategy to romance.”

  Her gaze returned, sharp and appraising. “I’d pity any woman who fell in love with him.”

  Elowen’s expression hardened.

  “Oh, don’t look so cross,” Serenya said lightly. “There’s always Aayan. All charm and laughter. Capricious, of course—but Alenya has always been his constant. He grows unbearable the moment she leaves.”

  Her smile widened. “There he is. I was keeping your seat warm.”

  Elowen rose without a word.

  The sky darkened as she crossed the garden. Inside the palace, the air shifted—and it caught her midstep.

  A pull.

  She stopped, spine straightening, chin lifting. Another tug—stronger. The image of the column rose unbidden in her mind. The dais.

  She followed the pull and stopped before a closed door. Her hand rose, fell. She drew a breath, then opened it.

  The chamber beyond was empty. Uncharacteristically quiet and sober. At the far end, the dais waited.

  She moved toward it slowly.

  Halfway there, she turned back, breath caught tight in her chest.

  Then the pull came again.

  Her shoulders slumped. She bowed her head and turned back to the dais. The column loomed before her now, and the fragment stirred. Light pulsed beneath its surface, alive, beckoning.

  Her hand went to it on its own.

  “What are you doing?”

  Elowen spun, heart hammering.

  Aayan stood in the doorway, his gaze flicking from her face to the column behind her.

  She drew a sharp breath, unsure whether she had done something wrong—or whether she cared.

  He stopped a step away and took her hand without asking, his grip soft.

  “You left suddenly,” he said, searching her face—then glancing again at the shard.

  The mask she wore in Miralys faltered here. It didn’t stand when faced with the fragment. And without the mask, she wasn’t sure who she was meant to be.

  Aayan gave her hand a gentle tug. “Come back outside. Alenya’s waiting.” His smile returned, playful. “The sweet fountains are flowing with honey now, and she’s determined to mix things she probably shouldn’t.”

  She followed, accepting the lightness he offered—though the weight in her chest remained.