Chapter 12
LILIA
Hadrien led me through the Great Hall and down a corridor, stopping before an iron-banded door. He hesitated, not moving with his characteristic stillness, and I turned to glance at him just as he pushed the door open.
“Wow,” I whispered in awe. I’d thought the rest of the castle was vast and impressive, but my mouth dropped at the sight.
A library, vast and magnificent, rolled out like a mirage.
Moonlight peered in from tall arched windows and cast a warm glow from floor to ceiling that spread in a curve across the walls.
Countless leather-bound books filled the shelves that loomed above dark-wood cabinets.
A rolltop desk was tucked against one wall, a fireplace nestled in another, and a couple of large chairs with small tables and reading lights were arranged across from each other.
“Magnificent,” I uttered and stepped forward as if in a dream. I coasted my fingertips over the spines of old books, brushing over the worn leather with gold lettering, and breathed in the scent of leather and parchment.
I read as I went. Histories, star charts, agricultural ledgers going back centuries. And then—my pulse jumped—a thick book on botany.
“Can I?” I asked, turning to him.
He gestured with an open hand. “Be my guest.”
This was my kind of section. I pulled out more books and gaped at the covers: medical compendiums, books on magic and spells. I tucked them against my chest and carried them over to a massive, gargoyle-sized chair where I stacked my pile on a small table.
“We might find something in one of these,” I said.
One side of his lips rose into a smile as he perused my stack. “I have a feeling you might be here for a while. I’ll start a fire.”
I skimmed through books, being careful not to damage these valuable texts.
The scent of burning logs and the crackle of a fire added a cozy feel to the library and warmed the cool room.
When I finally glanced up, Hadrien had arranged himself in the large chair beside the hearth, watching me with an expression I couldn’t read.
My cheeks warmed. “How long have you been sitting there watching me?”
“Long enough to see how engrossed you are,” he teased.
“I was reading.” What a silly thing to say, to point out the obvious.
“I noticed.” His voice was a notch softer than his usual gruff bark.
I blinked my tired eyes while I rolled out my neck, which was tight from being hunched forward for so long.
“You should rest,” he said gently.
I rolled one shoulder. “I’m not tired.”
He stared at me with a look that called me out.
“Fine,” I admitted. “I’m exhausted. But there’s so much in here we can learn from. So much we can try.”
“Tomorrow,” Hadrien said. “The wards won’t fail overnight. You can come back in the morning after you get some sleep.”
“Can I?” I perked up. “You’ll let me come in here on my own?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But only under one condition.” He raised a thick index finger.
“What?”
“No looking through my desk. No going through the cabinets. No sneaking into my private affairs.” He gestured toward the upper bookshelves. “Just the books. Understand?”
I nodded. “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t go through your stuff.” I set the book I was reading down on the side table with reluctance, smoothing the cover as though it might run away. “What will you do?”
“What I always do.”
“Fly? Wander?” I arched a brow. “Brood?”
A low, gruff sound escaped him, one that almost sounded like laughter. “Brooding sounds good.” And then his mouth spread into something I never thought I’d see on the gruff gargoyle—a half-smile.
Progress. I knew not to push it. A warm tingle spread in my chest.
I pushed myself up from the chair. “Thank you, Hadrien.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome, Little Thistle.”
I cocked my head and smiled. “Still a pain in your side?”
He tipped his head back, his expression pensive. “Less pain. More…the helpful plant you’d described.”
When he brought his gaze back to mine, something shifted in the air between us, filling the space with pulsing energy. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I turned toward the door.
Before I reached it, Hadrien stopped me. “Lilia, wait.”
Lilia? So he did know my name. And the way he’d said it, low and deliberate—it did something to me.
I turned over my shoulder. “Hadrien?”
He stood at the hearth, the firelight behind him casting long shadows across the floor. For a moment he didn’t speak, his weight shifting, almost imperceptibly, from foot to foot. Was this massive, unshakable gargoyle fidgeting?
“Will you dine with me at sundown tomorrow?” The question came out low and measured, as if each word had been practiced.
He held my gaze then, and what I found there stopped the breath in my throat. He appeared—tentative. That hint of vulnerability in this formidable gargoyle wedged its way under my ribcage.
“Of course.” I turned back to the door, and then stopped again, because there was a question I’d been carrying since I first noticed he only appeared at night, and it had finally worked its way to my lips.
“Hadrien.” I kept my voice gentle. “What happens to you at sunrise?”
The firelight caught the shift in his expression. His jaw tightened. His shoulders drew in.
“You go to the rooftop,” I pressed.
A beat of silence. “Yes.”
“Do you have to?”
Another pause—longer this time. “Yes.”
I considered that, turning it over with everything else I’d been cataloging about this castle, its stone statues, and its strange silences. “Do all gargoyles…”
“No.” The word came out slowly. He grimaced, just barely. “Part of her doing.”
Something cold moved through me. I already knew, but I needed to hear it confirmed. “The queen?”
He didn’t answer. He gave a single nod, stiff and restrained, as if even that much admission was a surrender.
“Oh.” The word came out on a sigh.
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that I was afraid I already knew what that meant. The word forming in the back of my mind was curse, and the heavy weight that word carried. He stood in the firelight, immovable and ancient and somehow more fragile than stone should ever be.
My heart panged for him. “Goodnight, Hadrien.” I stepped outside the library, knowing he’d shared much with me tonight—more than I might ever understand.