When the deep shadows enveloped Dal’coler, and the walls were drowned in darkness – so different from Devlonmere – Corvel knew he couldn’t stay in the safe and secluded room any longer. The fairy was right, he is a lord and has every right to command and go where he pleases. He needs to show Dal’coler that he’s not just an impatient child who has no manners and is afraid to live here. That he’s not just his father’s son, but a person in his own right – and not to be ignored. So when a Pooka servant came to his room to ask if he needed anything, Corvel said he wanted to see the palace library.

“The palace library,” the pooka repeated, his long, translucent eyebrows lifting. “The only library the palace has is that of the Ain’Dals.”

“The royal library”, Corvel’s mind ran through many scenarios, from getting there and being turned away by the guards, to being let in but angering the king.

“But this library is open to everyone, except for a room with a personal collection of Lorian Ain’Dal,” the pooka continued unperturbed. Corvel knew pookas, they served as servants in Devlonmere too. They were slow, but dutiful and very strong. Despite their small stature, they could easily rip the door to his room off its hinges.

Corvel didn’t need his strength now, but quick thinking might come in handy.

“Has Lord Alnam Devlon already left to supervise the trainees?”

“Yes, my lord.”

So… he was alone now, his father’s journey will take up to a week. Perhaps it was for the best. He won’t feel in his shadow, and he’ll be able to take his own risks, make his own decisions. This is exactly what Alnam wanted. For him to grow and spread his influence.

And he wanted it too.

His mother never approved of his journey to Dal’coler, but both he and his father knew it was necessary.

“Then show me the way to Ain’Dals’ library.”

The pooka bowed, Corvel could see the moth-like wings behind him; dark, covered with sprinkling dust. When the servant put his hand on the doorknob, young Devlon could see his hesitation. Was it the fear that Corvel would not be well received in the library? Or… a crazy thought crossed his mind… he had other orders for him?

Perhaps his father’s? Or… the King’s?

The corridors of Dal’coler had a different aura at nightfall than during the day. The magic here was strong, and the moon seemed to feed it, to spread it further. The huge orb he liked to watch at home seemed much bigger, more threatening… hungrier somehow. The moon had always been the element of his kind – every year was counted by the phases of the moon, and it made the magic of the fey stronger. Perhaps the moon liked Dal’coler. For some reason, it found him more deserving than some secluded place in the Shadowlands.

Or… which was very possible… Dal’coler was built here for a reason.

Corvel’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, behind a silent, almost noiseless pooka. Pookas had the ability to appear soundlessly right next to you, something he found annoying in Devlonmere.

Here he would find it… frightening.

They passed few Fae Lords, they didn’t stop to talk to Corvel, which was natural, the boy thought. Of course they were curious about the new lord… but the Fae didn’t like to waste time with empty talk. All words had weight and Corvel was almost sure that he would have the chance to make a good impression and to talk as much as he wanted.

Now he wanted to break out of his room, show that he existed… and see the library. Maybe he would meet someone there, someone who was as curious as he was. It would be a good first acquaintance. With a Fae who shares his view of the world – or seems to. Corvel knew that Dal’coler was a dangerous place, and that he shouldn’t believe the faces the court showed him for the first time.

The pooka meandered quickly and they stood in a vast, wide corridor that ended in a large door. The columns above him looked like trees, and the door was carved with branches that protruded from the walls around them.

Corvel felt shivers run down his spine. The spells that protected these doors from all but the Fae were not only strong, but full of exciting vibrations. This was where the dangerous history of the Fae had its roots. All wars, battles, miracles and temptations were immortalized here, behind these doors.

“My lord…?”

“You may go,” Corvel dismissed the Pooka. The doors were slightly ajar, raising his hopes of encountering a fascinating kindred spirit. His hand slid over the intricate wooden structure. He suddenly felt that this place could become his home, if he let it, if he stopped being a scared child and became the man he always wanted to be. He has so much time left. Hundreds of years… that he could spend here, serving the crown… and himself.

He slowly pushed the wings open and entered the room of the Royal Library.

It was…

… something he hadn’t expected.

In his wildest dreams.

The arches here seemed to hang higher and higher above him, the black shelves, possibly made of durable Rhaton wood, held the secrets that Corvel was suddenly almost afraid to uncover. The chamber was vast and its aura suffocating. Alnam had once told him that most important places in the capital were imbued with the magic of the forest, and that it could intimidate or sap one’s courage.

But Corvel felt nothing but fascination.

Cautiously, curiously, he approached the nearest shelf – forgetting that the doors were open and that someone might still be here.

And he got lost. Completely. Deliberately. Still not lost in the strict sense of the word.

The fairy lights joined him, sensing his power. He was not dark, but strong enough to attract them, and he allowed them to feed on him. The dark corridor disappeared into the night, making Corvel want to know what it was hiding… and if he was allowed to know its secrets.

The moonlight licked the nearest shelves and he couldn’t stop himself. He began to pull the books from their protective shells, some of them old and withered, held together only by the magic used to preserve the knowledge. The first kings of Ain’asel, the creation and rise to power of the Ain’Dal line… the first winter reigns… the youth of the fey… the first – and last – conquest of Marh’inal. Corvel always wondered what kind of fey the authors of these books were. Most of them lived in the very times they wrote about – so long ago. Many, many eons ago… it was fascinating, like touching an ancient artefact and feeling its power under your fingers. There was cruelty displayed in a literary, beautiful, seductive way. A dark fascination he couldn’t shake off.

He might have lost all sense of time, completely enchanted by the library, were it not for a soft, quiet voice that reached him from one of the darker corners.

“Such a curious soul. It’s… fascinating to observe your eagerness.”

Corvel knew that tone. That calm, collected voice.

Lorian Ain’dal sat on the sofa, a glass of wine on the small table and the book on his knee. There was no anger in his black eyes. But Corvel still knew that to parade in front of the King of Ain’asel, back to him, trying to rummage through the books that were – in fact – his own property, without his knowledge, was at the very least indiscreet.

“Your Majesty!” he bowed quickly and deeply.

“I wonder how deeply you have been absorbed by these volumes, by the hidden power of long past ages,” Lorian put the book aside, and Corvel could see its intricate gold cover intertwined with black. Behind him, shadow tentacles, a sign of his night power. Corvel, slowly straightening up, couldn’t take his eyes off them. Hypnotising. Like the eyes of the Strinak in the deep wilderness.

“I like to read, my lord.”

“Your father could be more specific about your personal fascinations,” Lorian’s voice took on darker tones, but Corvel didn’t feel in danger. Something in Lorian was relaxed, pleased… curious.

“My father both encourages and discourages it, Your Majesty,” Corvel didn’t know why the words left his mouth so quickly. “Perhaps I should follow in his footsteps and serve you as a mage…”

He said it quickly, without thinking. Like… Lorian pulled it out of him just by being there. But it was also true. Alnam both liked and disliked his love of literature. He wanted him to train his magic more carefully, to polish the rough gem of his power.

A ruby that could bring others to their knees.

Lorian still looked at him. Into him. Curiosity… and a strong will to know who he is. What he is, his very being laid bare before his eyes. Corvel was somehow sure that he would be able to do this.

“Your desires will be sated. Dal’coler likes to make wishes go flesh. Dreams, nightmares… and everything in between,” Lorian’s lips formed a smile and his shadows danced around Corvel, as if he suddenly wanted to pull him closer. Corvel involuntarily reached out his hand and it plunged into the night mist. He felt heat, so strong and fierce. Burning on his skin with hundreds of coals, but not harming him in any way.

Why am I making a fool of myself?

“My desires…”

“Anything you wish, Dal’coler can fulfill. But you must yearn. Beam with need. All the Fae here are hungry. And you will learn to be hungry too,” Lorian put the golden book back on his lap, his dark eyes boring into Corvel. “I am very glad that Alnam decided to bring you here. No one can claim to be truly fey without tasting the flavours of this place.”

He looked at the shelves behind Corvel, but somehow his gaze was still on the boy.

“Almost all the books here are for your use. My court would gain much if they were half as curious as you. Curiosity… leads to openness. And openness is a delicious state.”

Corvel didn’t know how to answer. But Lorian did not seem to expect an answer. He still looked at him, but like a wolf who had pointed out a deer in the forest, but who was too hungry to hunt it – and just watched it with attention, fascinated.

He was sure that the comparison was in no way exaggerated.

He had heard that the king was a merciless one. But he also seemed to enjoy playing with everything around him. Pulling on their invisible strings and seeing how they reacted. A game in which there could only be one winner.

And Corvel… immediately loved it.