31. Between the Stacks
Between the Stacks
The libraries of A’aravos Paravale had always fascinated Torren. When he had first come to live at the palace in the Wylds, Torren often disappeared between the stacks, drawn back out only by the promise of sweet treats.
The long, narrow walkways through shelves of books that seemed to go on for an age had wholly captivated his imagination.
Here, within the bounds of the walls that were lined with books from baseboard to the ceiling high above his head, Torren could read about grand adventures from the Fair Folk years past. He could entrench himself in the histories of the Wyld Hunt and the Kings of the ages.
More than that, Torren could lose himself in books where the hero always triumphed over the evils in their world. No matter how the day went, Torren could turn the page, and his favorite characters would save the day and live to tell the tale.
Unfortunately, when Torren inherited the throne of the Wylds after his grandfather's passing, his time in the vast libraries became devoted to research, planning, and subterfuge. There was far less time left for tales of heroes of old.
While in the gardens earlier, he, Cypress, and Rhene had finalized the plan to infiltrate the Keep. Now there was nothing to do but wait for their invitation to be forged and supplies to be readied.
Packing for an excursion was always the worst part in Torren’s opinion, so he was glad for the help of Small Folks, who loved that sort of thing.
And because the planning was all but complete, Torren was happy to bring Cypress into the depths of the Libraries today. Their destination was perhaps one of the more dull aisles within the shelves, but it was better than his usual selections.
The worst part of ruling was the never-ending planning and approval of everything. He wasn’t the sole ruler of the Wylds, as his council was appointed by popular vote and could restrict Torren’s power if need be, but the griffin’s share of the day-to-day work was placed upon Torren’s shoulders.
“This way, Lass,” Torren said as he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist and guided her down an aisle between the bookshelves.
“How many books are in here, do you think?” she asked.
Cypress's dark hair fell over a bare shoulder. She remained barefoot, just as she had been in the gardens. The line of her bare leg drew Torren’s attention with every sway of her hips.
"Millions. I don't know the current count, but there are millions of books housed in the libraries of A’aravos Paravale," Torren replied.
When he let her wrist slip from his grasp, Torren could have sworn he felt her shiver.
“Millions,” Cypress gushed, and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling.
“Surely you’ve been to the libraries at the Keep, Lass?” Torren said, bemused at her expression of wonder.
“Do not even try to convince me you think the human Keep is anything like… well, this,” she said, and waved her hand around.
“Still, they’re just books.” Torren shrugged.
“A book is not just a book, Thief,” Cypress said.
The look she sent his way through her lashes made Torren’s heart thud loudly in his ears.
“No? Tell me what a book is then, Lass, if you’re so clever.”
“Books are magical things. Yes, they are parchment, ink, thread, and leather casings, but that is not all they are.
Torren let himself smile, wondering if Cade and Caelith knew exactly what a prize they had under their noses. He had to admit it himself. The Lass had completely captivated him in those mismatched green and brown eyes of hers.
“That was a test of some kind, wasn’t it?” Cypress asked, and the look across her beautiful face spoke of mild annoyance.
“Everything is a test, isn’t it?” Torren retorted.
She let out a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Finally, though, they had arrived at the stack he was searching for. Torren came to a stop at the end of the aisle with a small marker hanging on the end of the shelf that read ‘Noble Houses of Faerie’.
Cypress scoffed. “Sure, I suppose. This is what you wanted to show me?”
Torren nodded. “I wanted to show you what we have on Eobbaara while we’re here. You know, in case everything goes to shit.”
Cypress whacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand.
“Oof-”
“Don’t say that.”
“Fine.” Torren rubbed his stomach. “I wanted to show you what we have on Eobbaara. The lands.”
“Thank you. Where is it?” Cypress asked with a saccharine smile. Her eyes barely lingered on Torren before they darted over to the rolled parchment and bound books on the shelves.
Torren scanned the bookshelf index for the code linked to Eobbaara's records.
E09CR… E09CR, where are you E09CR?
Finally, when he located it at the end of the shelf, Torren selected the appropriate parchments and books. “Here they are.”
Cypress hesitated for barely a heartbeat before she accepted a few of the books from him to carry with trembling hands. “Can we read them now?”
Torren smiled. "There’s a table just over here." He gestured, then led her through the stacks again. The table had an incredibly smooth top, worn down by centuries of use and loving hands.
Without another word to him, Cypress dove into the documents Torren had found. First, the rolled parchments which held maps of the land she’d inherited.
From what he remembered, Eobbaara was wet, but beautiful. Cypress trees grew thick in the marshland, forming groves. The castle of Eobbaara grew in a circle, completely surrounded by those Cypress trees.
Torren presumed the ring was the lass’s namesake.
Cypress did not utter a single word as she absorbed the details of the map, though she did press her hand to her mouth at one point.
Torren sat quietly as he watched her devour the information—like a madwoman. Cypress examined every page with a fine-toothed comb. Those mismatched eyes never missed a detail.
He did not know how long they stayed down in the depths of the library while she read everything he’d pulled. It didn’t matter, though. The rest could wait, just a little while longer.
Torren woke with a jump; eyes snapping to Cypress's hand on the cover of a closed book. He found Cypress's enchanting eyes on him when he woke. She wore a bemused smile, and was framed by a soft golden halo of sunlight. The effect was entirely hypnotic.
Again, Torren wondered how he hadn’t seen the Pixie blood in her when they first met. She was enchanting—more so, even, than any Fair Folk in his court.
He had no doubt that her ability to slip into the mannerisms of the Grethnah nobility was due to her Fair Folk blood. Like some sort of innate Glamour she could trigger at will.
Cypress blinked, and Torren’s attention snagged on the fan of her lashes against her cheekbone. The way her pupil dilated when she focused on him.
“All done?” Torren shifted in the chair to stretch.
“Yes. Thank you for showing me these.” Cypress’s tone surprised Torren, and he had to hold back a belt of startled laughter.
He’d never heard her say the words so…genuinely before. He almost didn’t know what to do with himself.
“As you wish,” Torren mumbled.
“What did you say?”
“I said, ' Are you ready to go? But, I suppose if there is something within the stacks to your interests, I’ll do my best to find it for you.”
Torren stood and cursed his nerves.
Cypress shrugged and joined him on his side of the research table. “I’m done for now. Can we take the long way out?”
“Out of the library?”
“Yeah. Show me more of the palace, Thief,” Cypress ordered softly, and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
The action sent a rush of blood straight to his cock.
Torren painted a genteel smile on his face and said, “Oh, right this way, Duchess.”
She smelled like the forest, of wildflowers and petrichor. Torren almost felt like he was going mad on Pixie wine with the way Cypress tormented him, without doing anything.
Cypress laughed and kept her hand tucked in his elbow as he led them between the stacks.
“Oh, no snide comments or orders not to call you that?” Torren murmured, glancing down at her.
The line of her bare shoulders in the top she wore made his mouth water, and his blood thrum.
When he grabbed her ankle in the garden earlier on impulse, it had been a mistake. Now all he could feel beneath his fingers was her skin. All he could think about was the breathy noises she made in the throes of pleasure.
“The more I tell you not to, the more you want to. So, what’s the point?”
Torren stopped short and pulled her into a nearby alcove. “Lass, that is not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I do not call you Duchess because it irritates you. It’s what you are.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like getting under my skin,” Cypress said and lifted her chin to keep her eyes locked on his.
Torren took a half step closer without thinking.
“Am I under your skin, Duchess?” he murmured, leaning closer.
Torren watched the flush creep across Cypress’s cheekbones and down her neck like a man starved.
“I think we both know the answer to that,” Cypress countered as her back softly met the wall.
Torren’s hands ached with the need to touch her. To feel her skin beneath his fingertips.
Instead of grabbing her and ravishing her right here, he instead put his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders. “Lass, I think-”
“Shh,” Cypress pressed her finger to his lips, eyes darting over his face and pausing on his lips pressed against her finger. “Don’t think. Just—”
And then, Cypress rose up and pressed the lightest kiss against his lips. Torren groaned into it and pushed her firmly into the wall with his hips. Then, he slipped a thigh between hers.
Torren’s blood rushed when he pulled Cypress’s waist tight against him. Just the feel of her body flush against his made Torren’s cock stiffen, and his fingers tremble with need.
All too soon, the kiss broke, and then Cypress was gone. She slipped out of the alcove and out of the nearby door before Torren had the chance to even comprehend what had just happened.
Torren was left standing alone in the alcove while he gasped for air for a few moments. Cypress was the one to kiss him, so why had she run off?
Torren rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh and left the library. Maybe he’d deepened the kiss too soon. Maybe he was laying it on too thick.
But what did he truly want out of this?
What would Cypress want out of this?
In any case, they had no business getting into something right before going on a mission. If things went horribly between them, who’s to say Cypress wouldn’t hang him out to dry in retaliation?
Instead of following the hallways and stairs that would lead him to his rooms, and consequently, Cypress’s, Torren took the stairs toward the towers. In the atrium of Kings, a statue of his grandfather stood with statues of the Kings of old. Together, they watched over the circle and A’aravos.
If Torren went down to his rooms, or rather, to Cypress’s door, he didn’t know what he would do. Whether he would be able to control himself, to stay away from her rooms, and be on his own.
Torren needed clarity.
So, on and on, he marched up the stairs to the Atrium of Kings while he listened to the trees whispering and the birds singing a song only they knew.