Staying close to Leander was proving worthwhile. Not only was Quincey gaining knowledge of other kingdoms that he hadn’t had in his previous life, but he also began to notice a detail that had eluded him back then.

The more time he spent with the younger prince, the more he observed subtle tremors of magic in his study. They didn’t seem to originate from Leander himself—or at least Quincey didn’t think so—though he noticed that on some days a faint ripple of energy hovered even over his skin, but not in the same way he had seen with Edris.

The magic he beheld never appeared to emanate from the prince’s own body; it was not his shadow, but rather his shield. It moved in concert with him, and when the knight looked closer, he realized that in certain places, it was more visible, more formidable than in others.

Some days it appeared brighter over his palms, other days on his cheeks. It was always in such peculiar spots that Quincey couldn’t figure out what it signified.

Fortunately, Leander wasn’t his only mentor those days, and by focusing on the magic he had observed recently, Quincey finally managed to tap into his own and send a message to Lady Edris at night.

To say he was unprepared for her reply would be a vast understatement. What the girl described shocked him to his core, even though he had begun to harbor suspicions of his own.

Before burning the paper to leave no trace, he read the message again:

“Mages safeguard those closest to them. They create a shield around them that alerts them if they are in danger. If the shield is firmer in certain places, it marks the spots where they are most frequently touched by them. I trust I need not explain what that implies in this instance.”

Edris’s communication with him had grown more relaxed, as the last sentence demonstrated. Still, he would have been glad if she had stated it explicitly, to assure Quincey he wasn’t imagining things in thinking that the younger prince had an affair with the court mage.

It was a difficult concept to wrap one’s mind around, but the more the knight thought about it, the more sense it made. So much so that when he next dreamed of the last day of his previous life, he recalled the scream he heard as his final sound and began to think it might have been the court mage.

He couldn’t be certain, however, since he hadn’t spent enough time with him to recognize his voice in different situations. Thus, he resolved it was time to shift his focus to Alatar himself, rather than his partner.

Fortunately, thanks to Cassian’s orders, he had a good reason. From what he gathered, the king had arranged matters to seem as though it were his own royal whim for his Messenger-at-Arms to study under both men. In this way, Quincey could move without the burden of suspicion.

Just like with Leander, Quincey could spend one day with Alatar when he wasn’t attending to other duties tied to his role during the rest of the week. The king had sent him on several missions, but always only near the castle, not yet allowing him to leave the kingdom.

He spent two days delivering invitations to the high-ranking nobility loyal to the late king. Cassian had invited them to a private dinner to show that he valued their devotion to the crown and to ensure he built the same kind of relationships with them that his father had maintained.

Other days were also spent in the Upper City, inspecting royal suppliers. The king tasked him with checking the silk merchants’ warehouses to make sure the goods met royal standards—not that Quincey knew much about expensive fabrics.

The knight suspected that Cassian had assigned these missions simply because Quincey had asked for more responsibility, and the king didn’t want to send him too far away just yet. So he gave him tasks that were undeniably important but could be completed close to the palace.

Amid all this, one afternoon, the Messenger-at-Arms finally found the time to visit the court mage.

Alatar resided in the eastern section of the castle, in one of the towers. From there, he had a view stretching into the distance, using his magical sight to detect any incoming danger.

Quincey climbed the stairs to his door, and before knocking, he noticed the same kind of shield that surrounded the younger prince also enveloping the mage’s chamber door. He couldn’t let on that he had noticed, so after a brief glance, he tapped the door panels with his knuckles in a quick rhythm.

The door opened on its own, and the moment the knight stepped inside, he felt the same tingling and burning sensation he had experienced at Lady Inara’s house. Not only his instinct, but also his scar was alert, warning him that he was not in the presence of an ordinary mortal.

Alatar was a tall, slender man, his physique suggesting that he fought with magic rather than a sword, and his appearance clearly set him apart from other Valerionians. Though his long hair was typically a sign of nobility, in the case of a mage, that was not necessarily true. His strands reached almost to his ankles, and though they appeared dark at first glance, flashes of light revealed varying shades of purple. They resembled amethyst, one of the rarest gemstones, hinting that, like the stone, this man was exceptional.

His eyes shared a similar hue. Unlike Edris, who was only half-magic and thus looked more like a regular Valerionian, Alatar appeared a mage at first sight. Fortunately, everyone near the castle knew what he looked like, so he could walk outside without fear. He also wore the royal insignia on his cloak, indicating his rank, just as Quincey did.

The knight was used to his unusual appearance, but what he saw now for the first time was the aura floating and pulsing around him, marking his origin. He couldn’t stare at it for long or indicate in any way that he had noticed it, however, as doing so would reveal his own secret.

“Master Alatar,” the knight greeted first.

“Sir Quincey,” the mage returned the greeting and stepped closer, moving away from the shelf holding various potions. Quincey would have liked to examine it more closely to see if it held the one Leander had given him in his past life, but he didn’t get the chance.

Unlike the younger prince, Alatar did not seem pleased to have a new pupil. Not that Leander had been ecstatic, but he had never looked at the brown-haired knight with such hostility, as though they did not serve the same kingdom.

“Am I disturbing you?” Quincey asked, aware that the mage couldn’t outright say he didn’t want his presence. After all, it was the king’s command.

Alatar’s gaze made clear what he would have preferred to say, but when he opened his mouth, he merely muttered, “Of course not. I was expecting you.”

He gestured toward the table while taking his own seat, clearly indicating where Quincey should sit. Unlike with Leander, he didn’t let him sit near the desk and watch his papers.

“What is it you seek to know?” he asked once they were both settled.

“Anything you consider important,” Quincey replied automatically. Though he had learned a little about magic over the past days, as a knight he was not supposed to know anything, and he intended to maintain that pretense.

Alatar raised an eyebrow, and if he was trying to hide irritation, he was failing. “Very well. We will start with the basics.” For the next several minutes, he explained fundamental details about the different kingdoms and the traits of their inhabitants that set them apart.

The Sky-Walkers were the swiftest of foot, the Tide-Born possessed the gift of breathing beneath the waves, and the Root-Bound communed with the beasts of the earth. Nothing Quincey hadn’t already known.

“With all due respect, Master Alatar,” the brown-haired knight spoke the moment the mage finished his monotone explanation, “all that you listed is certainly important, but they are basic facts. What about their weaknesses? Or the hidden threats one must guard against?”

From what he heard, the Messenger-at-Arms understood that he should never attempt to outrun the folk of Venturia, nor should he ever venture into the waters of Thalassar. In both instances, he would find himself at a dire disadvantage.

“Could you be more specific?” It seemed this was not a topic the man with amethyst-colored hair wanted to discuss.

“I know better than to try escaping from the Sky-Walkers in case of danger, but what about the other kingdoms? Caelestia, Amoris, Nivemare… all sound harmless, but surely they are not, right?” The last one was certainly not harmless, but Quincey couldn’t ask only about it, or it would raise suspicion.

Alatar found his line of inquiry no more pleasing than before, yet he seemed intent on seeing the lesson concluded with all haste, so after a brief, almost weary breath, he began to answer. 

“Caelestia stands closest to the mages. The Light-Weavers may not have the same power, but it is easiest for them to craft potions and magical artifacts. Additionally, trained Oracles can foresee events at will. Some need only a touch and they will know your every next move. They can have visions without it, but you’d do well to avoid being touched by them,” he instructed.

The knight nodded, waiting for more information.

“The Empaths of Bloom from Amoris dislike conflict. That means they will try to gather information or neutralize a target by other means. No blood, no fighting, no shouting. Drink nothing they offer. Chances are it contains an aphrodisiac, and you will either wake up with a memory gap or not wake up at all.”

Saying Quincey was surprised would be an understatement. Every book had described the people of Amoris as peaceful. Clearly, that was not the case.

“And Nivemare?” he inquired, as Alatar did not continue with the same readiness as before.

“The Serpent-Kin of Night are mistakenly thought to be the most dangerous of all,” the mage surprised him with his words, then continued: “They can be your greatest enemies, yet even in Thalassar they could be drowned, in Amoris drugged, and in Eldervine left to be trampled by wild beasts.”

“But I’m not from any of those kingdoms,” Quincey pointed out, suspecting the mage sought to evade a true answer.

“No, you are not.” The long-haired man nodded and continued as if nothing had happened. “With the Serpent-Kin of Night, the most dangerous thing is their blood, but they also carry poison in their fangs. They possess fangs that are not easily glimpsed, yet they can extend them at will, and a single bite may cost you your life.”

“So, don’t drink their blood and avoid their fangs?” the knight summarized the essentials.

“Exactly.”

Finally, he had learned something new.

The most useful information, however, came later that day, when he again managed to connect with his instinct and essence. Not only did he send a message to Lady Edris indicating he was ready to learn something new, but in return, she sent him the first spell he could practice.

Well… it wasn’t exactly a spell involving anything complex. No, she wanted him to start from the very beginning and first try something that even children could manage. By some irony of fate, he found himself in the same situation that had first helped reveal his power.

She instructed him to capture sunlight in his hands and didn’t tell him exactly how to do it. She simply said he would figure it out himself. Apparently, it was something toddlers did instinctively, which she had seen with her own eyes, so it was only natural that he should start the same way.

Surprisingly, it was easier than he expected. After the initial failure to sense magic within himself in the castle, he had thought that performing anything connected to spells would be difficult. But when he rose the next morning and the sun was just rising, its rays falling on his bed, he automatically reached toward them.

At first, he felt only a warming sensation as light bathed his palm and fingers. It was pleasant, and so in the silence of the dawn, he closed his eyes and tried to shape that warmth into something magical. 

The heat was comforting, but the magical bracing running through his body thrilled him from within and gave him the feeling that something grand was about to unfold.

As he steered his essence toward where he felt the sun’s rays, he imagined Idril and Hansel manipulating light with their tiny hands, shaping it like a castle made of wet sand.

Like them, he decided to form it into a bubble, and when he opened his eyes again, he realized it had worked even better than he expected.

Floating orbs of light drifted all around him, making him feel as though he were within a mystical forest rather than his own chambers. They illuminated his room, reaching places the sun had not yet touched. They drifted through the air like dandelions in summer, and when Quincey blew on one, it effortlessly floated even higher.

Before he realized it, the knight let out a laugh. Not the kind of laugh when something is merely amusing, but the pure, innocent joy of a child discovering something that genuinely delights them.