My heels clicked on the polished marble floor as Eamon and I trailed behind the knight. We entered a vast chamber where the scent of aged parchment and leather-bound volumes filled the air like an ancient perfume.
"Five libraries grace the palace grounds," the knight intoned, his voice echoing slightly off the stone and wood. The library within the main palace was a cathedral of knowledge, its vaulted ceilings lost in dim shadows and the walls lined with towering shelves that bristled with the spines of countless books.
"This one is dedicated to all matters of state." He gestured broadly at the rows upon rows of books, their gilt titles winking in the light.
My heart sank. I had hoped for esoteric secrets, not dry accounts of bureaucratic machinations.
"And the contents of the other four?" I queried, my tone laced with disappointment.
"Ah, I am not too familiar, my lady; my duties seldom permit leisurely study," the knight confessed. "I'll fetch a librarian who can better answer your questions." With a respectful bow, he strode away, leaving us amidst the literary giants.
"Real smooth, Luci," Eamon murmured once the knight was out of earshot, his smirk audible.
"Silence, Eamon," I scolded, though my lips twitched with reluctant amusement. "An heir seeking knowledge of her realm is hardly cause for whispers. I merely wish to prepare for my role."
"Not suspicious for the kingdom’s prodigal daughter to crave a crash course in the imperial Aurorean archives."
The knight returned, flanked by a tall and skinny librarian whose uniform—a peculiar ensemble of tweed and velvet—hung on him like drapes on a scarecrow.
"This is librarian Gideon Fenwick."
Gideon possessed a hawkish nose that seemed to have been designed specifically for looking down upon people and spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of it.
"This is Lady Luciana of House Kildare. She wishes to learn more about the palace libraries," the knight added.
"Enchanted," Gideon replied, his voice quivering with the barely contained ecstasy of a man about to discuss his life's passion. "Ah, the repositories of refined intellect!" he exclaimed, launching into a spirited monologue that threatened to last until the end of time. "Each one a bastion of curated wisdom!"
Eamon glanced at me, both sharing a silent prayer for brevity. But as Gideon waxed lyrical about the historical significance of the palace's cataloging system, we could only brace ourselves for the tempest of trivia that was about to engulf us.
Gideon guided us through the labyrinth of shelves with the grace of a sleepwalker, his voice a monotone drone recounting the lineage of books as though they were his ancestors. Eamon and I trailed behind him, our steps echoing softly on the marble floor.
"While each spine here tells a tale," Gideon droned on, "it is the silence between the pages that speaks the loudest."
"Indeed," I murmured under my breath, eyeing an ornate clock whose hands seemed to move slower than the librarian's speech. I seized the next pause in Gideon's monologue like a lifeline.
"Might we abbreviate this history lesson? My grandfather's time with the King will soon be over."
The librarian's eyes dimmed slightly, his mouth forming a small 'o' of disappointment, which he quickly masked with a brisk nod.
"Of course, Lady Kildare, my apologies for the... detailed introduction."
"Think nothing of it. My lady just wishes to learn as much general information on my first visit as possible," Eamon chimed in, his voice smooth as honeyed wine. "We shall undoubtedly seek your vast expertise upon our next visit."
Buoyed by the promise of future audiences, Gideon launched into a rapid-fire summary.
"The secondary library within the main palace boasts the latest literary works, biographies of note, and royal commissions. The other three libraries are spread across the Queen and Prince's castles. The Queen's library is replete with treatises on etiquette, volumes on fashion, and texts regarding the subtle art of courtly politics."
"Sounds positively enthralling," I deadpanned, tucking away each detail like arrows in a quiver.
"Then there's the crown prince's library. It is an extension of the main palace, with books only meant for the future king. And in the second prince's—"
"I wasn't aware there was a scheduled tour for today." A new voice cut through the air like a sword, smooth and piercing.
At once, the knight, librarian, and Eamon executed bows so synchronized one might suspect they had rehearsed it.
"Greetings, Your Highness," they intoned.
I turned, my face composed but my mind racing. The gods themselves surely chiseled the man before us. Dressed in deep purple and gold, he had dark brown hair falling in artful disarray, light brown eyes glinting with mischief, and a physique that could provoke a saint to sin. It was the second Prince Leandro.
"Your Highness," I managed, dipping into a curtsey that was more reflex than reverence.
He allowed us to rise, his lips curling into a sly smirk.
"Ah, the usurper graces us with her presence."
His barb found its mark, and my retort leaped from my lips unbidden.
"One cannot usurp what was never possessed by another," I countered sharply.
A pause fell, thick with tension and unsaid words, as the knight, librarian, and Eamon gaped at my boldness. Even the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to lean in, whispering of the brewing storm.
Prince Leandro's smile never wavered, but his eyes held the gleam of a challenge accepted.
"You bear little resemblance to your mother," he observed, stepping closer into my orbit.
My heart skipped.
"You knew her?" The words escaped before I could tether them, revealing more curiosity than I intended.
"Merely from portraits I've seen in the Crown Prince's chambers," Leandro conceded, his gaze unwavering. "I was but a swaddled babe when she ran away to Nimrea."
I clenched my jaw at the insinuation. Leandro leaned in close and took my chin gently between thumb and forefinger.
"However," he murmured, eyes delving into mine, "to doubt your lineage after seeing these emerald eyes would be the folly of a madman or perhaps one bereft of heart for family long lost."
The veiled jab at Alaric caused the edges of my mouth to twitch as I composed myself not to smile. Though I appreciated his jab at Alaric, I was annoyed by his closeness and unwarranted touch. All I wanted was to bat his hand away, yet some remnant of decorum held me back. Instead, I retreated a step, reclaiming my space.
"My grandfather is likely done with his meeting. I should not keep him waiting."
"Ah, but I have just come from there, and they are deep in discourse," Leandro drawled, picking up on my desire to be rid of him. "There is no hurry, Lady Kildare."
With a flourish of his hand, he dismissed the knight and the librarian, who bowed out of the room. His gaze slid to Eamon, narrowing with suspicion.
"And who might this be?"
"He is my personal attendant," I said briskly.
"You are without a personal maid?" Leandro's frown deepened as though propriety itself had been affronted. "Unseemly for an unmarried lady to be escorted by a man."
"Your concern is noted," I replied, teeth gritted against his high-handedness. "But Eamon has been at my side since childhood. No harm will come to my reputation through him."
Leandro's lips twitched with amusement.
"But it's not just about trust—it's about appearances. The whispers of the court are often louder than the truth. The tongues of high society only care for the scandalous tales they can weave from a single thread, my lady."
My retort died on my lips as he offered his hand, an invitation I hesitated to accept but did nonetheless. He led me towards the glass doors at the end of the library, promising views of a garden that bloomed with many flowers.
"Quite enchanting, isn't it?" Leandro mused, his voice smooth as silk.
"Enchanting indeed," I agreed, though I could not shake my earlier annoyance toward the prince.
Our stroll was abruptly interrupted by the patter of rushed footsteps. We turned to find a young man bounding toward us. He was short of breath, with curly blonde hair, a disheveled testament to his haste. He wore an expression of mild panic stitched upon his brow.
"Sebastian," Leandro called with casual authority, "what dire news do you carry to warrant such haste?"
"Your Highness, you cannot possibly miss another luncheon," Sebastian panted, "The court is rife with rumors that you have taken ill or—worse—have experienced heartache and thus have no desire for food."
"Neither so romantic nor so fortunate," Leandro replied, his lips twitching. Just as he opened his mouth to concoct an elaborate evasion, inspiration struck him like a bolt from the blue.
"But today, I shall grace the tables, for I have a guest to entertain." He motioned toward me, whose presence seemed to only now register with his aide.
"Who—?" Sebastian began, his gaze following Leandro's gesture to land upon me. His shock was palpable as if he'd just witnessed a ghost waltz into the daylight.
"This is Lady Luciana Kildare, the future Marchioness de Lorne." Leandro introduced, the name rolling off his tongue like honey laced with intrigue.
At the mention, Sebastian's eyes widened, a momentary lapse in composure revealing the undercurrents of scandal and whispers that my name invoked. But as quickly as chaos threatened to surface, he tamed it with the skill of one well-versed in courtly poise.
"Greetings, Lady Kildare."
He took a respectful bow, though his eyes showed his wariness to the Prince's suggestion.
"Are you certain, Your Highness?"
I interjected, my words coated with a politeness that did little to hide my desire to escape this unexpected social entanglement.
"I would hate to impose upon the prince's schedule. The garden offers ample distraction for me, and there was more of the library that I wished to see. So I should be on my way."
"Imposition? Nonsense," Leandro countered, his smile the embodiment of roguish charm. "Besides, I suspect the morning's exertions have left you famished, Lady Kildare."
I conceded reluctantly, a knot of foreboding tightening within me as we followed Sebastian back into the palace. My trepidation grew with every turn and corridor traversed, mirroring the aide's discomfort.
At last, we arrived at the dining hall, its doors imposing and carved with scenes of mythical feasts. Sebastian swung the doors open with a flourish that seemed more suited to announcing a duel than a meal.
Inside, the chamber was alive with hushed conversation and the clink of fine silverware. Four figures occupied the table: two were strangers adorned in the luxury of the court, their faces etched with curiosity; the other pair were unmistakably the Crown Prince and Alaric.
"Ah, Lady Luciana, how lovely of you to join us," Prince Sterling greeted, his voice rich with a warmth that did little to ease my discomfort.
Alaric's scowl was like a dark, cloud-threatening storm, but I offered him no acknowledgment as I masked my own displeasure.
"Thank you, Your Highness," I replied to the crown prince, my voice even and poised. Taking my seat next to the second prince, I felt relief that Alaric was at a suitable distance.
Prince Sterling gestured with an elegant hand that seemed to command the air. "May I present Count Valerian and Lady Evelina." he announced, his voice resonating like a silver bell.
"Charmed," I murmured, though the looks I received were anything but charming.
Count Valerian's gaze was sharp enough to slice through steel while Lady Evelina regarded me with eyes frosted over in disapproval. No doubt they were friends of Alaric; their barely concealed disdain for me was apparent.
"Prince Leandro," Lady Evelina began, "what a delightful surprise to see you at this luncheon after so many declined invitations."
Her eyes flicked toward me, and a smile curled her lips—a smile that held all the warmth of a winter's frost.
"It appears Lady Luciana has more influence than we anticipated. Not yet the Marchioness and already bending the wills of royals."
A ripple of laughter encircled the table, but it crashed against the stony shores of Alaric's scowl.
"Ah, but I never truly declined earlier invitations," Leandro countered with a laugh that danced lightly atop the tension. "Merely unfortunate conflicts of schedule." His gaze met mine, a spark of mischief igniting in his deep eyes. "Lady Luciana honored me by accepting my invitation despite being in the middle of her studies at the library. Her dedication to becoming the most astute and knowledgeable successor in the Kingdom is admirable."
I was confused by Prince Leandro's lies, but I understood when I glanced at Alaric. He lied not for my benefit but to aggravate Alaric.
A maid approached, setting a plate in front of me with understated elegance—a perfectly grilled steak accompanied by fresh vegetables and golden potatoes. As I lifted my utensils, I could sense the others' anticipatory gazes. They were waiting for a misstep, a lapse in decorum that never came. The bite-sized pieces, the slight tilt of my head, the soft placement of cutlery on the plate between bites—all were executed with meticulous attention to the unspoken rules of the table.
The conversation picked up again and soon drifted around the subjects of trade agreements, border disputes, and whispers of court intrigues. I noted that their words were laced with political jargon and veiled references deliberately meant to exclude me. But I didn't care; I was only half listening to them as I continued to eat while contemplating the appropriate time to excuse myself from the table.
Just as I decided whether my departure would be rude or permissible, my name sliced through the conversation.
"Tell us, Lady Luciana," Count Valerian's voice cut through the ambient chatter like a knife through butter, "What is your stance on Aurorea's current trade negotiations with the kingdom of Elaris?"
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