Chapter 4 The Moonveil
The thoughts and pressure in my head wouldn’t let me sleep. After hours of tossing and turning in bed, I finally rose, deciding I needed to clear my head.
Soehl hadn’t returned yet from her own Calling celebrations. She was likely with Shakari and our new twin friends in the common area of Solphire Tower, just as they’d planned.
I dressed in silence, pulling on the Dragontail Legion’s green uniform that had been delivered to my room while I was at dinner. It was tight and long-sleeved, exposing a narrow strip of beige skin above my belly.
Nerves coiled beneath my ribs, tight and restless, and there was only one place I knew that could quiet them.
The library.
I had never been to this library before, but I didn’t take long to find it. The scent of parchment and ink wrapped around me, warm and familiar, signaling the beginning of my solitude.
It was the only place I could breathe.
It always had been.
I grew up among scrolls and stories, raised more by my grandmother than my mother.
When I was small, she would let me curl beside her in the archive wing of the Glass Castle, pointing at different times and telling me what they meant, even if I couldn’t read them yet.
She made the quiet places feel sacred and safe.
My grandmother believed knowledge was armor. She taught that the mind must be sharper than your strength, or both would dull in battle.
And after all these years, I agreed. Despite my wish not to go to Emberkeep, that didn’t mean I didn’t value the literature or the classes they would teach. Knowledge was power, and without it, war couldn’t be won, and kingdoms couldn’t be led.
And now, I was trailing my fingers along the shelves. My hand settled on a faded, tragic storybook. The leather was cracked and title nearly gone. I smiled. Today, I didn’t need to read history or debate strategy; I needed a story. I needed a simple distraction.
I pulled the book free, the cover whispering against the shelf. For a moment, as I opened to the first page, the world outside, the crown, the Calling, even the weight of my bloodline, fell away.
I lit a fire on my right hand to light the pages and read as I walked toward the window. Not watching where I was going, I brushed against someone. Both our books slipped from our hands and fell open across the floor.
I knelt automatically, reaching for mine just as he crouched to do the same.
Our fingers nearly touched. Something shifted in the air, subtle and unmistakable.
The space between us grew heavy, out of place in the hush of ink and parchment.
The hair on my arms rose. My magic stirred, restless beneath my skin.
I looked up and met Lorik Draventh’s eyes. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. His green Dragontail uniform fitted like armor, sleeveless, revealing arms crossed by old scars. He didn’t move or blink, just studied me with unreadable curiosity or calculation, maybe both.
A scent of honey and jasmine flooded my sense that didn’t seem to belong to him. Sweetness instead of smoke and steel.
My pulse stumbled, then pounded harder. Instinct, fear and something deeper twisted together in my chest.
We both slowly stood up at the same time, in silence and ease. Neither lowered our gazes.
“You,” I said, my voice was colder than I felt.
His lips almost lifted to smirk but didn’t. “I suppose my reputation precedes me, just as yours, Princess.”
“What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight,”
“Same as you, I’d imagine. Though it seems our interests are different. I’m not such a romantic.” His tone was flat, detached as he looked at the book I had chosen. There was thread of sarcasm tugging at the corners of his words.
I caught a glimpse of the book in his hands, its cover embossed with a coiled serpent, before he shifted it to his side, hiding the title from view. It looked less like a textbook and more like an old journal.
“Knowledge matters to me, Princess. If you must know.”
Not the answer I expected.
“Even your court can’t rewrite all the truths locked in these shelves. At least not if you look hard enough,” His voice was low, steady. Not threatening. Or Worse. It was sincere.
He stepped forward, catching candlelight on the edges of his defined muscles, highlighting every single one.
“I like history,” he continued. “Legacy. The kind no one dares to speak aloud.” My eyes were wide open, almost believing his words, but I knew better.
“Are you here to kill me? Intimidate me?” I asked. The words came out sharply; instinct already braced for the strike I searched for in his eyes. He didn’t answer.
My throat tightened. I didn’t want to show weakness. I couldn’t let him see my fear. He almost looked bored. “And why would I want to kill you, Princess?”
Perhaps he was not going to kill me, but he didn’t deny my other question.
Perhaps he was here to intimidate me, and it was working.
I was scared, I couldn’t deny it. He was close, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath.
Every instinct screamed danger. He was taller than I expected, steady, unyielding, the kind of presence that filled the air like a storm waiting to break.
My heart thudded hard against my ribs, loud enough that I was sure he could hear it.
I wanted to step back, to run, but pride kept me rooted. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
“Besides, not that I can kill you, right? You were called to Dragontail.” Lorik said with a humorless grin. I swallowed hard. Perhaps if I weren’t Dragontail, he would have?
But I was not going to fall prey to his game. I needed to shake off the fear. “You hate my family.” I finally said. I kept my voice steady.
“Now that is true,” he murmured, gaze narrowing.
“Why?” I asked almost immediately.
He studied me, then: “You’ll have to figure that out.”
Silence pressed around us like stone, and I stood strong. I didn’t even move an inch. “I won’t be an easy prey,” I said with challenge. “I’m not weak if that’s what you think.”
“You may not be weak, but you are afraid,” he said, tilting his head.
The words landed softly. Like a blade laid against the skin instead of cutting it but sharp enough to bleed. He stripped me bare, even if I were trying all I could to not show it.
I straightened. “I am not afraid.”
The way he looked at me like as if I was both a test and a threat. That made my skin prickle. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to destroy me or understand me. And somehow, I didn’t know which would be worse.
He looked at me like I was a puzzle made of fire.
And some reckless part of me wanted him to solve it.
Then, from the shelf nearby, a noise broke the silence. Perhaps a person, perhaps just a book falling from a shelf.
Lorik’s eyes flickered toward the sound, then back to me.
He dropped his voice. “I didn’t come here to kill you or intimidate you.” Then he tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting, not a smile, something sharper. “There are worse things than getting killed, Princess.”
He said it like a slur wrapped in silk. Like the title tasted foul in his mouth. Each syllable was enunciated with deliberate mockery, equal parts of disdain, defiance, and something that sounded dangerously close to challenge.
The word hit harder than any blade. A reminder of everything I was… and everything he despised.
Before I could speak, before I could breathe, he turned and vanished between the shelves. His magic had already unraveled, silent and gone. But the sting of that one word pulsed through my chest like a curse.