Darian
The library was steeped in that quiet dignity only centuries of careful preservation could produce.
Polished walnut shelves climbed the walls, their ranks lined with gilt-embossed volumes; the scent of aged leather and beeswax polish hung in the air. A Persian rug lay beneath my boots, its intricate pattern softened by time, and the hearth glowed with a low, steady fire that warmed the chill from the morning.
I had taken my customary seat — a wingback chair near the tall windows — reviewing dispatches from the eastern provinces. It was not a room many ventured into without invitation, and certainly not a place where I expected to be disturbed by the rustle of skirts.
Yet there she was.
Lady Elowen Ashbourne — entered with an air of deliberate composure, her gloved fingers brushing the edge of the doorframe as though measuring whether she belonged here. Her gaze lifted immediately to the rows upon rows of books, and I caught the faint curve of her lips, the subtle widening of her eyes.
"You have… an enviable collection, Your Majesty," she said, her voice low but touched with genuine admiration. "A gentleman's library in the truest sense. One could lose themselves here for weeks, if not months."
I inclined my head. "It has been my refuge for years. The court cannot intrude where the weight of knowledge has already claimed the space."
She stepped further in, her gown's hem whispering across the parquet floor. "Do you possess works of medicine, Sire? I confess, I have a particular fondness for such studies."
The corner of my mouth lifted. "I do. The mezzanine holds several volumes — treatises on anatomy, herbal remedies, and even a physician's journal from the late last century. Acquired at no small trouble."
Her eyes lit as though I had spoken of some rare treasure. "Truly? Most households keep only the most perfunctory of manuals — remedies for common ailments, instructions for the management of household health — but nothing beyond that."
"You will find no such limitations here," I replied, gesturing toward the curved staircase that wound upward to the mezzanine. "Come, I will show you."
She began her ascent, her gloved hand resting lightly upon the polished banister. I followed at a measured distance, my gaze drawn — against my better judgement — to the graceful sway of her figure as she climbed.
"You spoke with Princess Fiona yesterday," I said, breaking the silence.
"I did," she replied over her shoulder, her tone softening. "She is a most agreeable lady. We share… certain inclinations toward the welfare of others. I daresay she has a sincere heart for charitable works."
"I warned you she might surprise you," I murmured.
A faint smile touched her lips. "Indeed. I should like to spend more time with her in the future. It is rare to meet someone within court circles who speaks plainly and without calculation."
"That is precisely why I am glad my brother chose her to be the princess," I said, stepping onto the mezzanine. "A man in my position requires such company, lest he forget the sound of unvarnished truth."
Her gaze had already returned to the books, scanning the gilded spines. "May I?" she asked, gesturing toward a high shelf.
"Of course," I said. "Though allow me—"
But before I could reach her, she had risen on the tips of her slippers, stretching for a particular volume bound in dark green leather. The hem of her gown shifted, the fabric catching subtly on the lip of the step.
It happened quickly.
Her foot slipped; she gave a soft, startled gasp. I was there before thought could intervene, my hands closing around her waist. The momentum drew us both backward, the world tilting, and in the next breath we were on the rug below, the impact softened by its thick weave.
She lay above me, her palms braced against my chest, her face scarcely an inch from mine. Her breath was warm against the side of my neck, carrying the faintest trace of lavender — not overpowering, but enough to unsettle a man's composure.
My fingers still rested at her waist, the heat of her body seeping through the layers of her gown. I knew I should release her at once, and yet… I did not. For the briefest moment, the propriety of the court, the dictates of our stations, the very air between us — all of it seemed to thin into something raw and unguarded.
Only when I felt the subtle tension in her frame — the awareness that mirrored my own — did I let her go. "Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice lower than decorum dictated.
She pushed herself upright, her cheeks touched with colour. "No, Sire," she said, her tone composed but not entirely steady. "I am perfectly well."
Yet when her eyes met mine at last, there lingered an unspoken acknowledgment between us. Whatever had passed in that moment was not to be named — not yet — but it was real, as real as the steady beat of my pulse still echoing in my ears.
I rose after her, smoothing my coat, though it did little to conceal the fact that my pulse had not yet settled.
The volume she had been reaching for — the cause of all this — rested just out of her grasp still, its spine catching the light.
I took the book down from its place, brushing a faint film of dust from the cover. The green leather was worn but intact, its gilt title in elegant serif: Medicinal Compendium: A Physician's Observations, 1781. A rare work, written by a man who had travelled across half the world cataloguing the ailments — and remedies — of every culture he encountered. I had kept it for years, unopened, out of respect for its rarity.
Turning back to her, I descended slowly. She had composed herself by the time I reached the last step, though her gloves were clasped tightly before her — a tell-tale sign that she was not entirely unshaken.
"This," I said, offering it to her, "is the book you risked breaking your neck for."
Her lips curved, but only faintly. "A worthy cause, then." She accepted it with both hands, her fingertips brushing against mine for the briefest moment — enough to stir that same unwelcome heat low in my chest.
"I would prefer," I said evenly, "that next time you allow me to fetch what you require, rather than attempting a dangerous acrobatic display in my library."
The glint in her eyes told me she had caught the undercurrent of humour, but she replied in the same measured tone I had used. "And I would prefer that next time, Your Majesty, you trust me to keep my footing."
I arched a brow, though my mouth twitched before I could stop it. "We shall see which of us is right."
She glanced down at the book again, running a gloved hand over its cover. "I… thank you, Sire. This is a finer gift than I expected to find in your keeping."
"It is not a gift," I replied, the words out before I thought better of them. "It is a loan. One does not give away an artefact of this rarity without assurance it will be returned intact."
Her gaze flicked up to mine, sharp and assessing. "Then you may be assured, Sire, I treat what is entrusted to me with care."
For a moment, it was not the book we were speaking of.