Sweat drenched the back of Radhildur’s neck as they hurried through the corridor leading from the main throne room to the annex for the library. They had barely finished training before the king and queen’s morning breakfast. They had no time to wash once they snuck back in, quickly shucking off their casual wear to don their usual cloak and dress.

The velvet and linen clung to their skin and their nose wrinkled. This outfit was going to stink by the time noon rolled around. 

For the most part they avoided any maids or advisors who’d want to pull them aside. At this point, Radhildur was the only one of the Royal family who’d yet to be married and thus always seemed to run into a good berating when coming upon any staff. Their other siblings aside from the Crown Princess had all moved to their own homes in neighboring lands. So the last thing they wanted was to run into some stuffy crone who’d try to guilt them into a beneficial union for the kingdom. They received that enough from the king and queen. If the citizens of Reyk truly wanted a good union, they’d allow Radhildur to join either the royal guard or the knights. That’s where they could truly bring good for the kingdom—not wedding themself to some foreign dignitary off in a foreign land ready to tie a leash around Radhildur’s neck.

A pearly white smile and narrowed green eyes flashed in their vision and they forced aside the sensation to vomit.

Library. Head to the library.

The mantra was a simple one and soon enough it helped disperse the horrible taste in their mouth and the phantom grip of hands around their neck. 

Oak double doors soon greeted them and they gently pushed one open enough to slip inside. Radhildur made their way past the initial columns before finding the foyer where the Scholars usually worked. A history lesson was being taught as the Master Scholar from the previous day discussed the founding of Reyk. Three kingdoms: Reyk, Lauf, and Dundin. Twenty-eight duchies held by twenty-eight lords who served the three kings. This allegedly had been the requirements set by the Celestials. 

Radhildur caught the attention of the head Scholar. After a quick instruction to the students to read through their texts, the Master Scholar made their way over.

“Princess Radhildur, I hadn’t expected you today.”

“I’m looking for Scholar Frederich.” Radhildur’s fists clenched. Yesterday's greeting and address, they had let slide. But today being referred to as “princess” irked them. Although that could’ve been the sweat—it made everything nasty. They had declared nearly five years ago that they should be addressed as highness or majesty only, wanting as neutral forms of address as possible. The king had immediately told everyone to disregard the request.

And most people deferred to the king. 

“I’m looking for Scholar Frederich.” They said again, curt and brusque. A calculated glance swept over the Master Scholar, and they noted with a pleased tilt of their head that she looked incredibly miffed. Good. If the Master did not want to heed any genuine respect towards Radhildur, then they saw no need to address them with any sort of frivolous formality. 

“I thought,” the Master Scholar muttered through gritted teeth. “You would be working with myself until the end of the week?”

“Change of plans.” Radhildur eased their shoulders back nonchalantly, their cape fluttering back and fully displaying the sword at their waist. “Now, Frederich. Where is he?”

Defeated, the Scholar shrugged sloppily. “You can find him in the folklore section of the library. He had to gather some research for his current transcription project.”

“Hm.” Radhildur nodded and turned on their heel.

The amount of Scholars thinned out as they made their way. True to what he had said the previous day, there were very few who meandered the fiction rows. It was almost eerie how empty the shelves were—compared to the normal areas where Scholars seemed to flock without any sense of personal distance. 

Radhildur’s gaze lit up as they found Frederich. He leaned against one of the bookshelves with his hair pulled back loosely with a white ribbon. Thin rose-colored glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, the rounded lenses practically blocking his eyes as he poured over a tome. The sides of his Scholar’s cloak seemed to round out the pretty and academic aesthetic that came with such a sight. They decided to tuck away the memory for later.

“Mister 13th Battalion,” Radhildur announced as they approached.

It surprised them when Frederich looked up with fear in his gaze.

The look was so genuine that it caused them to pause and raise their hands slowly, as if they were dealing with a creature that’d bolt at the slightest sound. Frederich removed the glasses from his nose.

“It was you.” 

“I can show you my hand, if you need more concrete proof. Although, I’m ashamed to admit your penmanship is smeared from sweat.”

Frederich waved at them as he slouched tiredly against the shelf. “No need. Few people know, so I doubt that a Royal such as yourself would be privy unless...”

“What’s the importance of it?” Radhildur asked before quickly adding, “Only if you wish to disclose.”

Frederich seemed to roll the request around before he hesitantly acquiesced. “I used to be a knight. Not very high ranking or anything like that mind you. I was a squire when I was little, perhaps between eight and thirteen. And then I became a knight until I was about seventeen.”

“Were,” Radhildur didn’t know what to say. “Were you hurt?”

“No, though I wish that had been the case.” Frederich stared down at his book. “There was a fire at my mother’s place of work, and the damage from the heat and smoke and trauma caused her to go mute. My family even with my father’s pension couldn’t keep up with the limitations that came with her injury. So I quit the knighthood and searched for a job that could provide better funds with lower risks.”

“So you left the 13th Battalion for the society of Scholars?”

“The pen is mightier than the sword, or so they say,” He bit back a tad bitterly. 

A sharp tug of guilt forced Radhildur to reassess. They had never believed that phrase, even when things had been different in their youth. It seemed as though Frederich didn’t believe it either. Clearing their throat, they leaned against the shelf. In times like these, they knew it wasn’t pity that someone wanted. It was acknowledgment in the new path they had set themself in. 

“Well, when I was snooping around in the foyer the other day, I overheard that you’re well on your way to becoming a Master Scholar. I applaud you.”

“Thank you, Radhildur.” It was genuine, and that decrepit sadness had been chased away by bemusement. He closed his current read. “So, I imagine we’re to begin our investigation.”

“You said something earlier that intrigued me.” Radhildur replied. “The human is at their most functional when they are asleep.”

“Yes, mentally. Mind you, no one can do anything physically when they’re an unconscious vegetable, sleep walking and muttering aside,” he added, “There’s no shortage of both folklore and scientific accounts that allot mankind’s ability within a dream state.”

They thought about it for a moment. “Would you say that all experiences during waking moments are also resurfaced during a dream state?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Ku also understands that it is humanity's warped beliefs of Celestials causing the realms to change. What if it’s because of all the superstitions floating around—so when people sleep and subconsciously recount the day's babble, they’re actively changing the Celestials’ realm?”

“It’s not unfounded based on what we know.” Frederich frowned. “But there’s nothing we can do to fix that. We can’t tell people to stop sleeping or dreaming.”

“No we can’t. But maybe the Celestials can change something about the dreaming,” Radhildur said. “Before things get out of hand.”

“Do they have the power to do that?” Frederich asked. 

“Ku gave me my powers. I don’t see why one of them couldn’t.”

Frederich’s face turned red. “Right.”

Radhildur leaned forward, their smile apparent even beneath their veil. “Imagine something interesting?”

“If Ku has the ability to change your very physicality, then I think you’re probably right.”

“So that’s what you were thinking of. Do you prefer my male form, little Scholar? You need only ask and I’ll change into something easier on the eyes for you.”

He looked at the ground, flustered. 

Maybe they’d teased him a bit too much, but it was too fun to resist.

“I meant what I said,” he muttered. “Both are fine forms.”

Radhildur paused and felt their jovial tone die in their throat. It'd been a long time since anyone had… They didn’t know where to look. “Thank you, Frederich.”

“Yes, well,” Frederich took a step back, the flush on his face growing deeper. “I've got work to do. If you’d like, we could talk later this evening. With dinner preferably, if you do that sort of thing.”

“I do like dinner,” Radhildur smiled, something about this didn’t seem particularly related to their research. But would it really hurt to play along? “Meet me along the outer wall of the west side. I know a really nice tavern near the Commons. If you do that sort of thing.”

Frederich laughed and waved as he walked away.