Chapter Twenty Five
Daphne
We slink into the castle and, by some miracle, avoid all other Idol confrontations. We’re halfway down the hallway when I first notice something’s wrong. Well, something more wrong than usual.
It’s the rabbit. Yes, that rabbit. The one who treats time like a personal vendetta and punctuality like a blood sport.
He hops past us at a steady speed. No urgency.
Zero panic. He doesn’t scream about time or lateness or impending doom.
He just hops, bop bop bop, carrying a teacup while ignoring us.
My gaze tracks him as he crosses the path ahead and disappears through a set of doors that I have no idea what they lead to. “That’s unusual,” I whisper.
“No,” Genie murmurs beside me. “That’s untethered.”
Untethered. Not a comforting word.
We press ourselves into the shadow of a carved stone pillar as a pair of guards wander past the corridor ahead. Wander. Not march. Not patrol. Just… wandering. Did they all drink spiked berry wine for breakfast? It wasn’t me. I swear. I was elsewhere. Right?
“Those are Hallowed guards,” Nash whispers. “But they seem off.”
One of them stops mid-step and waves his hand in the air, red sparkles kissing his fingertips. I’d love to claim that this wasn’t my doing, but we know better. “I’m not sure I like this,” he says to the other.
The second tilts his head. “Like what?”
“Existing without a purpose. Guarding without a charge.”
The second considers this. “I think I preferred stabbing, but I no longer have the urge to thrust my sword.”
Despite past events, I’m not a fan of stabbing.
“It’s disconcerting,” the first agrees. “But I believe we will sleep soundly in our beds.” They both nod and continue wandering.
I blink. “Well,” I whisper, “I may have accidentally improved morale.”
Hart leans in close behind me. “Those same guards would aid our decapitation in a heartbeat if the Idols willed it.”
“And now they’re exploring emotional growth,” I say. “This is what we call character development.”
Nash drags a hand down his face. “This is what we call a problem.”
Theo’s hand rests low on my back, grounding, warm, like he’s making sure I don’t float away.
“Do you still feel it?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” The jitter is still there. Not as wild or as sharp as before, but present. Like a second heartbeat, or something pacing just beneath my skin, waiting for me to do something reckless.
Which, to be fair, is its natural habitat.
“I feel it too,” Theo says. Because whatever happened has tied us more tightly together than ever before.
We move again, deeper into the castle. The twisty corridors are like my personal nemesis—anything that requires directional intelligence is an issue. But doors keep appearing and disappearing on the walls, as if the realm is adjusting to the new order.
The knights see it but don’t comment. I get it; we need to get to safety before we address the extra weirdness.
We pass a flamingo. It pauses to stare at me, then slowly backs away like I am the threat.
“Rude,” I mutter.
It hisses, turns, and struts off with what I can only describe as judgment.
“I liked it better when they were weapons,” Nash says.
“I liked it better when they didn’t have opinions,” Hart adds.
We reach the final corridor, the one leading to the library. The air changes, growing heavier and quieter, as if the castle is holding its breath.
The library doors at the end of the corridor are enormous. Carved with scenes that shift when you look too closely—heroes rising, villains falling, lovers breaking, kingdoms burning and rebuilding and burning again. Stories. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Watching. Waiting.
“Did they always do that?” I ask.
“Nope,” Hart grumbles. “It appears to be an upgrade.”
The doors part with neither a groan nor a creak. A soft, knowing opening. Like we’re expected.
“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” I murmur.
“Stay close,” Nash says. Malachi draws his sword. Theo swings an ax.
“Where in the Blazes did you find an ax?”
He shrugs. “It was on the wall.”
We step inside, and the world expands. Shelves stretch upward beyond sight, spiraling into shadows that feel as though they contain entire lifetimes.
Books drift through the air, rearranging themselves, whispering in voices that brush against my mind like half-remembered dreams. Ink moves, pages turn, and stories breathe.
It’s like a poor man’s version of the Living Library, but it’s blissfully empty of Idols.
The jitter in my veins settles. Not gone, but quieter, as if this place recognizes it. Or… understands it.
“Welcome,” a voice says.
We turn to find Gwyneth standing between two towering shelves, her fingers resting against a book that glows faintly beneath her touch. She looks... not fragile or weak, but tired in a way that feels ancient, like she’s carrying too many endings, none of which are hers.
“You made quite the entrance,” she says.
“I prefer to make statements,” I reply.
“You made Red Queen potpourri.”
“She was asking for it.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Well, as you know, I’m a rule breaker,” I say with a shrug.
Her gaze sharpens. “Yes,” she mutters. “That you are.”
What’s wrong with her? She normally barrels into me with her tiny form while berating me for the billions of things I’ve done wrong this annus.
She flicks her eyes toward Theo. “You’re back.”
“Looks like it.”
“And not a dragon.”
“Always a dragon, Stone sister. Never mistake this form for something less deadly.”
She hums low, and her jaw tics as someone whispers to her, “Ask her the question.”
The knights flank either side of me, their unease rippling down my spine.
“What question?”
Genie reappears and slides his gaze between us, noting the weird distance. “What happened? I got stuck guiding a flock of unemployed flamingos out of the wine cellar. Those pink-feathered fiends don’t handle their berry wine well.”
“Gwyneth is about to ask me a question,” I explain.
“Okay,” Genie drawls. “But why are you standing on opposite ends of the library like it’s a battlefield?”
“It is,” Gwyneth says. “It all is.”
Oh. Oohh. For some unfathomable reason, she thinks I am not me. “You need not ask, sister,” I say, raising my voice. “For you never need ask. Sisters forever.”
Her jaw wobbles. “Tell me who your first kiss was.”
I make a face. “Animal or human variety?”
“There’s a different answer?” Malachi mutters, amused.
“Both,” Gwyneth demands.
I pace back and forth. “That frog who made himself at home in the village well. I kissed him when I was seven annuses old. Actually, on my birthday. Human, we try to forget it, but Meryl.”
“Wait, you kissed a girl?” Theo asks.
“And I liked it. Your point?”
He holds his hands up.
“Now, for your first kiss,” I say, pointing at Gwyneth. “Was Lord Thomas, also known as Tom Thumb. Really doesn’t count due to the fact his lips suckled on your chin instead of your mouth. You also kissed that duck when you lost the bet over who the Duke of Strongfair would bed on his party night.”
Her lips twitch.
“You kissed a duck?” the whisperer reprimands before a shocked Charming steps out of the stacks.
She scowls at him. “You’ve handled more female feet than I’ve had hot dinners.
Let’s have less judgment from a prince obsessed with toes.
” She darts a look around the library and jerks her head for us to follow her.
We hurry after her, meeting her in one of the seating areas.
She glances over my shoulder. “One, two, three, four, and a genie. Good, we’ve got them all. ”
Was that a concern?
“Finger,” she demands.
Ah, the blessed bleeding. What fun. We need a healthier lock system. She pricks my finger, and we get sucked along a dark corridor and spat out into the Living Library.
I groan and rub my butt while wobbling on my feet. Gwyneth throws her arms around me, tackling me to the floor. “Stop leaving me and almost dying. My heart can’t take it.”
I squeeze her back and laugh into her blonde hair. “In all fairness, I didn’t almost die.”
“Not helping, Daphne.”
“Agreed,” Hart growls.
“Why did you greet us so coldly?” Nash asks. Good question. One I can’t ask on account of her strangling me with her arms. Who needs oxygen anyway?
“The Idols have sent in a decoy of Daphne three times, trying to gain access to the Living Library,” she explains.
“And three times, Gwyneth has foiled them,” Charming adds. He sounds proud of my sister. It makes me want to punch him because he doesn’t deserve her light.
A tempo, or maybe five later, she climbs to her feet and holds out her hand to me. She drags me upright and smiles. “I knew it wasn’t you,” she says, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“How?” I wonder, because I’m not that remarkable.
“I disagree,” Theo murmurs, and Gwyneth blinks at him.
“I’ll catch you up later, but basically, he can hear my head.”
“Thoughts,” Theo corrects. “She means I can hear her thoughts.”
“Ah. As for your question, the first imposter walked in a straight line without issue, even when a stray frog tried to trip her.”
“Definite giveaway,” I agree.
“The second was a little more believable up until the midday meal was served, and she was utterly disinterested in the variety of sausage.”
I gasp. “I feel dirty.”
“So do I,” Theo murmurs.
My cheeks heat.
“And the third?” Malachi asks.
She swings her thumb at Charming. “She was pleasant to him.”
“That is a serious lapse of judgment,” I say.
Charming rolls his eyes.
Gwyneth gestures around us. “There have been some changes,” she announces.
I spin in a circle to take in the Living Library. The last time I stood here, it felt hollow. Grand, yes, but abandoned. Like a story paused mid-sentence and left to gather dust and disappointment.
“This is different,” Hart says, taking in the room alongside the rest of his brothers.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
The key librarian appears from the top of one of the spiral staircases, glasses perched on the end of his nose in constant judgment. “You’re back.”