Chapter 22 #2
“Wonderful!” She claps her hands. “Then you will not object to accompanying him to the betrothal ball in two days’ time?”
The what?
Anders clears his throat. “Forgive me, my lady. But perhaps Elara is already attached.”
“Nonsense.” Helen’s smile falls.
Sharp eyes scan my arms, looking at the bracelets adorning each wrist, accessories Thea insists upon every morning.
“I see no betrothal circlet,” she says.
I’m not given time to process the connection between my homeland and this wondrous place before Helen asks, “You are not promised, are you, Elara?”
I brace myself for the image of Lev to flash behind my eyes, but I suck in a small breath when it’s Rian’s silver-flecked gaze staring back at me.
“No, Lady Helen.” I shove the Shadow Prince’s likeness from my mind. “I am not promised.”
Anders winces.
Helen claps again. “Wonderful. I cannot wait to share the news with Leto. I will be certain your maid knows to fit you for a gown befitting the companion of one of the contestants.”
The cunning edge to her smile makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
At her expectant look, I dip my chin. “Thank you, Lady Helen.”
Her unsettling grin grows.
“We should be getting back.” Augustus takes his wife’s arm and loops it through his. “Before our son notices our absence.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, he is so besotted with Daphne that he’s very likely unaware we’re not at his side.”
The sour note in her tone gives me an idea what kind of mother-in-law Lady Helen will be.
I send up a silent prayer to Olyra for resilience and patience on Daphne’s behalf.
Augustus turns to Anders. “I will see you this evening.”
The blond Fae lowers into a half bow. “Until then.”
I stare at the pair’s retreating figures with a furrowed brow.
Augustus seems genuine. But Helen… I’m not so sure. My gut says I need to be on my guard around her, and my gut is rarely wrong.
Except when it comes to yearning for a bloodthirsty Fae prince.
I scowl. Oh, shut up.
“Elara?”
My gaze snaps to Anders.
Lines crease the edges of his brilliant-blue eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course.” My smile is wobbly at best. “Why do you ask?”
He cocks his head to the side, assessing. “You seem troubled.”
Is this how patients feel when I observe them? Like an ant under a magnifying glass?
I lock my cheek muscles, holding my smile in place. “I’m fine. Just tired. I stayed up late into the night reading.”
“Ah.” His skeptical expression fades. “I understand. I’ve fallen victim to late-night studies myself a time or two.”
I bob my head. “Actually, it’s great that you’re here. I was wondering… Are there any books from Astloria in the library?”
“There are. Is there any subject in particular you’re looking for?”
“Anything about Verdanthian history. Or even the Fae.” I choke out the words. “I-I want to learn as much as I can…after spending my entire life in the dark.”
“Of course.” His features soften. “This way.”
Our footsteps are quiet on the plush carpet as he leads me toward the back of the library. We pass occupied tables.
Today, it’s not just women studying. Men lean over tomes of all sizes, scribbling notes on papers.
Scholars, perhaps? They don’t look as brawny as Leto or the other men I’ve seen in Virendrell. Each man also wears a medallion over their neck. I squint and make out the emblem of what I believe is an Aella eagle when Anders guides me left.
We walk down a narrow aisle and stop in front of a thin shelf tucked in the corner.
A layer of dust covers the faded spines.
“Here we are. All of these books come from the continent, many from beyond the Veil,” he reveals, pulling one off the shelf.
He blows the cover, and dust billows in front of his face.
He waves it away and opens the old book. “Most are fables or children’s stories, but all fables are founded on truths.”
He flips through the book, turning the pages toward me.
“This one is a tale of a sleeping curse.” He turns the page. “And this one tells the story of how a sorceress turned a prince into a wolf for daring to break her heart. Many allege it is based on an ancestor of the late king’s family.”
My heart thumps in my chest. “What do you mean, late king? The one before King Marek?”
“Of course.” He nods, then winces when he takes in my expression. “Forgive me. I forget, the humans kept you ignorant.”
The impulse to correct him and say Fae are responsible for my lack of knowledge dies on my tongue.
He’s right.
The Elders forced ignorance on Verdanthia. Port City’s existence is proof.
Anders slips the book back on the shelf and retrieves one with a thicker spine. “Here’s a lineage text of the Highland Fae.”
He extends the book. I take it, my arm threatening to buckle under its weight.
I draw the book close to my body. “Who, exactly, are the Highland Fae?”
And why does their lineage matter?
“It’s merely a designation indicating where in Eranthia their ancestors originated from,” he explains. “There isn’t much to distinguish them from their Lowland counterparts. Other than their bloodline has populated the royal line for several millennia.”
My heart races.
I flip over the book and take in the cover.