23. Chapter 23
Idon’t sleep.
This is becoming a habit, which is deeply unfortunate because I have always enjoyed sleeping. Sleeping is peaceful. Sleeping requires no conversation. Sleeping does not involve kings, locked doors inside my mind, or men with shadows who look at me like they have already chosen where I belong.
Unfortunately, my mind has decided sleep is beneath us.
So I lie awake beneath silk sheets softer than anything I ever owned in Elvora and stare at the carved canopy above my bed while Onyx’s warning turns over and over in my head.
He believes he can bear any cost if the kingdom survives.
I hate the sentence. Not because I don’t understand it, but because I am beginning to. That’s far worse.
It would be so much easier if Thorin were simply cruel.
If he sat on his dark throne and laughed while his people suffered.
If the servants flinched when he passed.
If the court whispered his name like a curse instead of lifting goblets to his strength and endurance.
It would be easier if the Shadow King presented himself as the monster Elvora taught me to hate.
But he doesn’t.
He is arrogant, impossible, secretive beyond reason, and insufferably handsome in a way I resent more each passing day.
He looks at me as if I am both a problem and a solution, which is its own special form of madness.
He gives me fragments of truth and calls them protection.
He trains me until my arms shake and my magic burns beneath my skin, then looks exhausted when he thinks no one is watching.
That is probably the worst part. I have eyes too, and I’ve started noticing when he thinks no one is watching.
Sometimes he has shadows underneath his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in days.
I notice the stack of reports Mazelle carries into his study when I am passing.
I also notice the guards waiting outside council rooms long after supper.
The quiet way people step aside for him, not because he demands space but because they know he is carrying more than any one person should.
It changes everything, because it makes me concerned.
And concern is irritating. Especially when directed at a man who kidnapped me.
I turn onto my side and punch the pillow into a shape that does absolutely nothing to improve my mood. The room remains beautiful and warm around me, all dark wood, soft furs, and blue firelight flickering in the hearth. A gilded cage, yes, but a comfortable one.
I throw back the blankets. If my mind insists on refusing sleep, then it can at least be useful.
The palace is quieter at night, but not silent.
It never truly sleeps. Somewhere beyond my door, a guard shifts his weight.
Farther down the corridor, soft footsteps pass and fade.
The blue flames in the sconces burn low, casting long shadows across the walls.
Every sound feels amplified, and I move carefully as I dress, pulling on dark trousers, a soft tunic, and boots light enough that I can at least pretend I am being stealthy.
I am not being stealthy.
I know this because the moment I open my door, Riven is standing outside with his arms folded.
We stare at each other… and he doesn’t look surprised.
I sigh. “How disappointing.”
His mouth twitches. “Going somewhere, Lady Tarethyn?”
“No. I dressed for dramatic hallway standing.”
“Of course you did.”
“Do you intend to stop me, Riven?”
“That depends on where you’re going.”
I consider lying, but where would that get me? Nowhere.
Unfortunately, Riven is annoyingly observant and far too difficult. Cadrin would have been easier. I could have insulted him, stepped around him, and enjoyed the entire interaction.
“The archives,” I say.
Riven studies me for a moment, his dark eyes calm beneath the blue glow of the sconces. “At this hour? Are you feeling well?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a particular reason this cannot wait until morning?”
I shift my weight, hoping he doesn’t notice how uneasy I suddenly feel.
“Several. Most involve me being less likely to throw something if people stop withholding information.”
“That seems optimistic.”
“I’m capable of optimism when properly provoked.” I flash him a charming smile.
He sighs in the way of a man deciding whether the trouble of stopping me is worth the trouble of escorting me. Apparently, I win, because he pushes off the wall and gestures down the corridor.
“I’ll take you.”
I narrow my eyes. “That was too easy.”
“You were going either way.”
“True. That is very, very true.”
“And if I refuse, you will find another route, get lost, insult someone important, and I’ll be blamed for it.”
I smile. “You’re learning, Riven!”
Another sigh. “Against my will.”
We set off down the corridor together, and for once, Cadrin doesn’t appear to ruin the atmosphere.
The palace at night feels older than it does by day.
Without servants moving through the halls and nobles drifting about in their expensive fabrics, Andell becomes more mountain than palace.
Stone presses close around us and the shadows seem thicker.
I wonder if any of them belong to Thorin…
No. I know the shape of his shadows now. I would know if he were watching me.
The memory of us in the corridor late at night rushes back to me as if it happened yesterday. It has happened several times since, and every encounter sends heat racing through my pulse, zapping through me like lightning. I nearly stumble over a rug as I allow Thorin the space to occupy my mind.
Damn it.
Riven glances at me. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine!”
“You look pretty angry.”
“I thought about something.”
“Dangerous. Don’t do that anymore.”
“You spend way too much time around me, Riven. I’m becoming a bad influence on you.”
“So I’ve noticed. Not my choice, Lady Tarethyn. But you’re far better company than I expected.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You expected me to be bad company?”
“Oh, absolutely.” He doesn't even try to soften it. “Mazelle especially. We knew you hated His Majesty. If you'd made one move against him, you'd have been dead before you got anywhere near him.”
My stomach drops at the way he says it so matter-of-factly. So all those times I imagined killing Thorin…
I would've been dead before I ever reached him. Damn.
“His Majesty would’ve killed the lot of us afterward,” Riven continues with a shrug, “but that wouldn’t have mattered. We won’t let anyone get close enough to harm him.”
“And now?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Now?” His gaze flicks toward the palace before settling back on me. “Now the whole guard can feel the difference.”
“Difference?”
“You’re safe.”
My thoughts tumble over themselves as I try to make sense of everything he's just said. So, to sum it up…
Everyone notices whatever is happening between Thorin and me.
Wonderful.
* * *
By the time we reach the archive doors, a scholar in cream robes is sitting on the floor outside with a stack of books beside him and a half-eaten apple in one hand.
He looks up as we approach, blinking owlishly beneath a mop of wheat-colored hair that appears to have lost a battle with his own fingers.
“Lady Tarethyn,” he says, scrambling to his feet and nearly dropping the apple.
“I mean—Lyra. I mean, forgive me, I was told you preferred Lyra, but I didn’t know if that preference extended to late-night unauthorized visits, though technically this portion of the archives isn’t unauthorized if escorted, and you are escorted, so perhaps it is only unusual rather than forbidden. ”
I stare at him.
Riven closes his eyes briefly, pursing his lips. “Hello, Brother Rivero.”
Brother Rivero nods Riven's way before turning to me. His gaze sweeps over my face, then drifts up to my hair.
“Do you always sit outside the archives eating apples in the middle of the night?” I ask.
His ears turn pink. “Only when I forget supper.”
“That sounds like something that happens often.”
“More than it should.”
“Good. Then we understand each other. I forget many things that would probably improve my life.”
He smiles, bright and earnest, before remembering to look nervous. “Are you here for something specific?”
“Yes.”
Riven shifts beside me.
Brother Rivero’s attention flicks to him, then back to me. “Should I ask?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t.”
“Excellent. I prefer knowing less when it might get me into trouble.”
“That is the exact opposite impression you give.” I give him a knowing look, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.
“I know.” He shrugs with exaggerated innocence. “It’s one of my biggest shortcomings—but we all have them.”
He opens the archive doors, and the scent of parchment, ink, and leather wraps around me the moment I step inside.
The room is dimmer at night, lit by fewer blue glass lamps, but somehow more beautiful for it.
Shelves climb into darkness above us, bridges and spiral staircases cutting through the towering stacks.
The lamps cast pools of soft light across tables piled with scrolls, their edges held down by smooth black stones.
Dust floats through the air like tiny stars.
If the palace is a cage, the archives are at least a cage full of keys.
I walk toward the table where I first saw the old records of the first king and queen, but Brother Rivero hurries ahead, already shaking his head.
“Those are not where you want to begin.”
I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. “How do you know where I want to begin?”
“Because everyone begins with the oldest myths when they’re frightened by their own importance.”
Riven makes a low sound that might be a laugh.
I slowly turn to Brother Rivero and he freezes. His face goes red, like a bright red tomato. “I said that aloud.”
“Yes, yes you did,” I say, giving him a wide grin.
“I did not mean to.”
“You absolutely meant to. You only regret it now.”
“That is also true.”