7 #2
Repelled by my actions, I washed off the dust and grime.
Exchanging the vest for a silk shirt hidden beneath a fitted doublet of iron gray, then shrugging into a dark velvet surcoat bearing my insignia, I set off for the library wing.
Murmurs drifted through the castle halls.
Hand-knit runners muffled my footfalls, the scent of cardamom and pears wafted through the wainscoted corridors, and flaming sconces etched oil paintings in muted light.
My spirits lifted. Home, at last.
Nobles shuffled by in brocade finery and headdresses.
They extended greetings, their expressions alighting at my return, several discreet glances toward my physique reddening their complexions.
Autumn admirers peeked as much as Spring did, except the residents of this nation did not exploit their attractions.
Stepping into the library wing, I threaded around reading chairs and librarians clutching leather-bound volumes. Built-in cases housed countless titles, each one embossed with decorative symbols, their edges painted in gold leaf.
The broadswords rested against my spine. My gaze panned across the stacks, hunting for signs of unrest. Other than a quill pen or letter opener, no one carried potential weapons.
Reassured this area was secure, I hastened along a narrow passage toward a door embellished with a heavy maple leaf carving. Sentinels guarding the entrance genuflected while I pushed open the partition, anticipation brimming across my flesh.
The meeting room glowed with firelight from the mouth of an eight-foot tall hearth.
Murals of copper foxes and bountiful trees embellished the coved ceiling, deep green wallpaper patterned in leaves extended from paneling, and starlight filtered through the high windows.
More bookshelves embedded into the walls, and a long table spanned the central rug, around which a set of ornate chairs stood empty.
As the doors shut behind me, I frowned. Had I entered the wrong room?
Movement to my right drew my gaze. A dark silhouette stared out the window, his back facing me. Over a pair of sable brown pants, a deep orange coat hugged his shoulders, the tips of his shaggy layers brushing the fluted collar.
Poet.
My lips split into a grin. I moved to speak, then halted as the figure turned, sensing my arrival.
Not Poet. Only now did it occur to me, the lean young man swerving in my direction lacked the jester’s muscled height.
But he did possess the same sculpted jaw and verdant green irises.
Only these wide-set eyes gleamed with less mischief.
By contrast, his aura radiated with curiosity, enthusiasm, and pure wonder.
A decadent trickster did not stare back. A visionary dreamer did.
Belatedly, I registered the log-shaped animal lounging across his shoulders, the ferret perking up at my entrance. The fireplace threw light across the lad’s expectant face, his fae-like features stalling my breath.
I had one second to process. Then the young man gasped and charged at me like a slingshot.
“Aire!” he shrieked, barreling into me so fast, we staggered backward.
Tumble, the ferret, scurried down his body. The creature pawed at my boots in excitement, then flew across the rug, likely to expel his energy. The extensive lifespan of fauna compared to humans rarely ceased to amaze me.
Meanwhile, the young man’s unfiltered merriment seeped into my pores like sunshine, elated shock warming my soul. I never chuckled. I rarely mustered a forsaken smile. But in this moment, a weighty laugh barreled from my chest as I embraced him, welcoming the Royal Son’s crushing grip.
Not as strong as his father. But getting there.
Cedarwood wafted from his clothes. We tipped from side to side, mirthful until he pulled away. A jubilant smile raced across his countenance. Newly eighteen and on the cusp of manhood, he had inherited Poet’s beauty, only from a different angle, a uniqueness granted only to him.
“Nicu,” I marveled, shaking my head in awe.
“You came back!” Nicu rejoiced, his bright pupils shimmering. “You followed the ribbons home.”
Garlands hung from the rafters. Glancing from the ribbons, I grinned. “I’ll always come back to you, my liege.”
Never get attached. Never risk loss.
That rule, I upheld. Nonetheless, this young man remained my sole priority, and I would honor that pledge until my dying breath, regardless of time and distance. And because my liege remembered every word verbatim, I emphasized my reply, making sure he committed this vow to memory.
Nicu beamed. The striking picture wrought another to my head, a second set of youthful eyes flashing in my consciousness, so long lost to me. Grief cut a gash into my heart. This feeling would never abate, but the image of Nicu rejoicing alleviated the clouded memories of my brother.
I spoke past the lump in my throat. “And how you’ve grown. With your speed and strength of grip, you will outshine your father soon enough.”
“Tsk, tsk,” murmured a suave voice. “He already does, sweeting.”