"You have been quiet," Yvaine said, her footsteps soft beside Keira's.
Over the days Keira spent at the High Ledge, Yvaine had found herself drawn to her, not just out of duty, but out of something gentler.
Affection, perhaps.
She admired Keira's determined spirit. Yvaine had known other humans before, had even pitied a few.
But Keira was different. And though she hadn't served her long, the girl had already carved out a place in the quiet parts of her heart.
Keira didn't answer her question at first.
The halls of the High Ledge were quieter than the rest of the palace, less sneering, less noise.
"I'm learning to be," Keira muttered finally. "Quiet seems the safest."
Yvaine glanced at her. "And serving Lord Aeren? How has it been?"
Keira gave a small breath of a laugh. "Decent. Strange. He isn't… cruel. But he isn't feeling at the same time."
Yvaine's face didn't change, but her voice did. It become softer. "Lord Aeren is one of the kindest of the Fae lords. He is not cruel."
Keira slowed, but she didn't stop. "Indeed. The prince on the other hand...you said before… he wasn't a monster. But he has acted like one."
"I meant it," Yvaine said. "Prince Riven is not a monster. He has just experienced a lot, sorrow strong enough to break a Fae."
Keira snorted, sharp and unkind. "Right. And that's why he terrifies half the court. Because he's… misunderstood."
Yvaine didn't smile. She only looked at her a moment longer, as though weighing something. Then she turned, her cloak whispering across the floor like smoke on stone.
"Come along," she said quietly, nodding toward a narrow archway veiled in shadow. "There is something I think you should see."
They passed down one of the lesser halls, where the tapestries were dustier and the torches burned lower.
Keira's steps slowed as they reached a tall ironwood door.
"This place isn't forbidden… is it? As as a human am I allowed in here?" Keira asked, though the answer already whispered at the edges of her mind.
Yvaine's lips curled into a half-smile, cryptic and quiet. "No. Not by law. But few mortals ever step beyond its threshold. Fewer still are invited."
Inside was a vast room that smelled of old paper, candlewax, and memory.
Towering shelves reached high into the vaulted ceilings, ladders hanging from grooves in the walls.
The floor was uneven stone, worn smooth by centuries of tread. There was no fire, only floating globes of light, pale, faintly blue, casting shadows over the rows of books.
Keira's breath hitched, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
"This is one of the royal archives," Yvaine murmured. "Older than most remember. Kept for those who still value memory."
Keira stepped across the threshold, taking the view in.
"Why show me this?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
Yvaine turned to her, gaze steady. "Because you wish to understand the world you have been thrown into. And truth, in this court, is always buried in the oldest pages."
She gestured to the shelves, to the worn spines and forgotten bindings.
"So you must read."
Yvaine hesitated, then reached for a volume on the nearest shelf.
She placed it in Keira's hands, fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
"Unfortunately, I won't be able to stay," Yvaine said softly. "I need to attend to Lady Nythera by this time. She grows restless, and I am bound to serve where I'm called."
Keira looked up, startled. "You're leaving me?"
"Only for a time," Yvaine replied, though something in her tone said otherwise. "But this"—she tapped the book—"this will speak when I cannot."
Then, with a final glance, quiet, unreadable, Yvaine turned and walked out, her steps becoming more and more faint.
Keira let out a sigh and then opened the book. Most of the pages were unreadable, flourished lines and ancient symbols, but a few passages, toward the center, shimmered, and shifted. And then… Common. Or something close to it.
A page held a faded sketch and she narrowed her eyes at it. There were three figures standing in a field.
The first was unmistakably Riven, young but sharp-eyed, a crown glinting faintly. Beside him stood a second man, all angles and elegance, she recognized Aeren. And the third…
She frowned. The third man she didn't know.
His face was leaner. Sharper than either of the others. There was no crown on his head, but something about his bearing made her shiver.
She was still staring when she heard the sound, a quiet crunch of a boot behind her.
She turned.
And froze.
Prince Riven stood just behind her.
No crown adorned his brow.
Only him.
Tall. Silent.
Carved from the night itself.
"What," he said, "do you think you're doing?"
Keira's heart jumped. She quickly closed the book, her fingers fumbling. "Your Highness. I, I didn't mean, I was just—"
"You were just trespassing," Riven said, stepping closer.
She bowed her head, too quickly. "Forgive me, my prince. I was curious."
He didn't answer.
She took a shaky step backward. "I'll leave."
But before she could turn fully, his hand shot out, swift, certain, fingers wrapping around her wrist.
"Do not walk away from me when I am still speaking," he said, voice low. Unmoving. Unyielding.
The touch was warm. Familiar. And wrong.
A flicker, like flame behind her eyes.
It was not her memory, and yet it unfolded within her as if it had always belonged there.
She was laughing. Younger. Seated in this very library, sunlight draping over the marble floor. Leaning into him. There had been music playing from nowhere and everywhere, and his hands, gods, his hands had held her like she was the only thing that had ever been real.
She gasped.
And yanked away from him.
Riven's eyes had widened, not with anger, but something else. As though he, too, had seen it. Felt it. Known it.
But she didn't wait.
Keira turned and ran.