The Royal Library of Aden was a place where time seemed to stand still amid the tall dark-oak bookcases. Sunbeams filtering through the stained-glass windows danced among the few specks of dust rising from the untouched shelves. For Azalea von Berge, this hall was the only place where she did not feel the judgmental glances of the ladies-in-waiting.

She sat on a wide couch upholstered in worn velvet and carefully turned the pages of an old folio. «Poetry of Love». A silly title for a girl whose future had been mapped out by her father’s creditors, but the words inside were genuine.

“Hiding from the dance again, Lea?” Gerhard’s voice, low and slightly hoarse, made her start.

She didn’t turn around. By his footsteps, she knew he was alone, having left his retinue behind the heavy doors.

“I’m not hiding, Your Highness,” Azalea closed the book, pressing it to her chest. “I’m studying. Her Majesty has made it clear that my presence at court must be of benefit to my mind.”

Gerhard walked around the couch and sat down unceremoniously beside her, peering at the text. “Studying? From poems three hundred years old? Aren’t you tired of rereading this for the tenth time?”

Azalea finally looked up at him. In his eyes—blue as the sky before a storm—the familiar twinkle danced. Amid all that gilded hypocrisy, Gerhard was the only one who called her “Lea” instead of “poor relative Berge.”

“I’m not tired of it,” she replied firmly. “Telling a story beautifully is hard work. But making words sound as if they touch your soul… And in verse, no less! That takes skill.”

The prince snorted, leaning back against the armrest of the couch. “You’d be better off reading something about magic. The borders are restless; there’s talk of chaos breaking through, and you’re wasting your time on rhymes.”

“First of all,” Azalea crossed her arms over her chest, “You know perfectly well that I lack the gift of magic. Reading about streams is like a blind person reading about the colors of the sunset. And secondly... Her Majesty will scold you again if she hears the Crown Prince speaking like a commoner. ‘Rumors’? ‘Unrest’? Where is your courtly etiquette, Gerhard?”

He mirrored her posture, puffing out his lips comically, which made him look just like that boy she used to climb garden trees with. “What’s wrong with the future ruler speaking just like an ordinary citizen of his country? Besides, Mother isn’t here, and you won’t tell her.”

Azalea cleared her throat, giving a barely perceptible nod toward the two servants standing motionless at the entrance to the library. Their faces were as inscrutable as masks, but their ears caught every breath. “Your Highness, you are as careless as ever. The walls of this palace have not only ears, but also long tongues.”

Gerhard followed her gaze, and his face hardened for a moment. But a second later, he smiled again—that very sincere, warm smile he reserved only for her. “Let them listen.” “You are my conscience, Lea. As long as you are here, I know that at least one person will tell me the truth, even if I don’t like it.”

Azalea looked away, feeling a bitter warmth spread inside her. She knew her place. She was the daughter of a man whose title meant less than the price of a mortgaged estate. She was here by the Queen’s grace, who honored the memory of her late mother.

She didn’t hope for the Crown’s protection. All she wanted was for these moments in the library’s silence to last forever. For Gerhard to always see her as a friend, not as a girl from a troubled home.

“Let’s go,” Gerhard stood up and held out his hand to her. “They’ve served desserts with southern berries. If we don’t hurry, your ‘long tongues’ will eat all the best stuff.”

Azalea looked at his outstretched hand. For a moment, she wanted to place her hand in his and never let go. But she simply stood up, smoothing out her simple, often-re-sewn dress.

“Go on, Your Highness. I’ll come later. I need to return the book to its place.”

Gerhard nodded in surprise. He understood that they were no longer in their carefree youth and that Azalea was doing the right thing. According to all the rules of the court. So he didn’t argue with her.

And Azalea knew this. Better than anyone else. Her position was precarious. Her days at court were growing fewer and fewer. Soon she would return home.