“It was nice to have a day off.” Vhalla scolded herself for beating around the bush. “Thank you for the gloves. They’re perfect.”

“You like them?” His whole face lit up in a way that elicited a twinge of pain within her. “I never had sisters growing up, and well, I was hopeless picking them out.”

“You did well,” Vhalla reassured.

“Say, Vhalla,” Sareem opened, leaning against the bookcase, his hands picking off imaginary lint from his robes. “During the festival soon, we’ll have some time off. We only have to work one day and well, I was thinking that maybe...you and I could, well...”

Vhalla’s heart slowed. This couldn’t be happening. Roan couldn’t be right. She looked at her childhood friend nervously. Certainly he was attractive. He had filled out and lost some of his boyishness, and his darker skin tone really complemented his lighter eyes and hair. He comes from a good family, she reminded herself.

“Vhalla!” The master called from the central desk suddenly. She glanced behind her and back at Sareem. “Vhalla, come here.”

“Go ahead,” her friend looked utterly deflated. “I’ll catch up with you later. Happy birthday, Vhalla.”

She hovered awkwardly, waiting for one long moment before the master’s call had her running back to the desk. What had Sareem wanted to ask? She didn’t dwell on it for long as she was quickly distracted by a waiting guard.

“Your presence has been requested by a member of the Court to assess some books,” the guard announced, almost mechanically.

“Me? You don’t mean the master?” Vhalla looked at the old man who was barely taller than the central desk. One of the few people in the world that was shorter than her.

“They asked for you by name,” the guard replied.

“You dare not refuse.” The master sent her off easily enough, but Vhalla heard the signs of curiosity in his wavering voice.

The guard had not lied. Vhalla followed him up through the palace and into a stately study. Bookshelves dominated two walls and she was left alone to pick through their contents without clear instruction. One wall possessed four large windows, and soon the scenery competed for her attention.

A side door opened. When a lean figure clad entirely in black crossed the threshold of the room, all else was forgotten.

“Prince Aldrik?” Vhalla blinked.

“I do believe I told you Aldrik was fine in private,” he reminded her.

“What are you doing here?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as he approached.

“Well, it seems you had forgotten something.” Pulling a hand from behind his back he held out her winter robes. Vhalla felt a foreign bubbling in her stomach and, as if on cue, he continued, “Plus, you told me that if you could, you would come and let me teach you today.”

She laughed. She teased him for pulling her from her work, and she scolded him for his use of authority to get what he wanted. But his abduction of her was far gentler than the minister’s, and Vhalla found she did not mind being surrounded by opulence. In good spirits, the prince was enjoyable company, and he had her moving a quill from one side of a desk to the other without touching it by the end of the day.

Her phantom was haunting her anew, but no longer with notes. The prince spirited her away the next day, and two days after that. Each time there was some clever excuse, and when those ran out he simply materialized between the shelves in the library and they would slink off together like children.

With his dutiful tutelage Vhalla began to master basic magic. His palm would rest on the back of her hand, lacing his fingers firmly between hers to keep her hand in place as she tried to attempt magic without physical movement. Vhalla met with little success at this tactic— and a great deal of distraction. He promised her that she would learn something called “Channeling” soon that would make magic easier. But, whatever the technique was, he was holding it over her head until she made a decision over joining the Tower.

In time, Vhalla peeled back the layers to Prince Aldrik, even though he still avoided anything remotely personal. In fact, she knew more about him from what she read in books than what he told her. But what she did learn in person was not written anywhere. Vhalla learned he favored a strong Western-style tea that was almost as dark as ink. She learned that when his lips parted it meant he was surprised, and when his eyebrows raised it meant he was impressed. She gathered very quickly that he did not like speaking of his family under any circumstances.

It took Vhalla a week to realize that, for the first time, she did not actually want to be in the library.

As the master led her back through the shelves toward the heavily fortified door of the archives, Vhalla caught herself staring longingly at a tapestry upon the same wall—a tapestry she now knew led toward a world of wonder and magic that was hers alone.

The hinges complained loudly as they granted the master and her access. Vhalla followed Mohned into the dim world that was the Imperial Archives. She barely suppressed a cough induced by dust.

The Imperial Archives almost created a library unto themselves. When a book was an old original, rare, or the last copy of its kind, it was moved into the archives for safekeeping. There were five levels to the archives, filled with books and an iron spiral staircase through the middle. Some of the oldest manuscripts and the earliest records for humanity were kept there. Vhalla felt a sense of awe whenever she entered.

Heavy curtains covered every window when no one was present, preventing the light from fading or damaging the manuscripts. Mohned pulled a few of the curtains back, quickly expelling the darkness. Dust caught the beams of light, dancing through the air like tiny fairies.

“There are some Eastern works that are close to falling apart.” He led her around the staircase to the second floor down, opening a few more of the curtains as he went.

“Eastern?” she asked.

“Yes, we don’t have many older works from the East actually.” The master started.

“Because of The Burning Times?” Vhalla asked offhandedly.

Mohned stopped and stared at her, adjusting his spectacles. “That is quite right, Vhalla,” he replied softly. “Haven’t I told you to stop reading books when you should be working? You should be careful where you place your nose, Vhalla,” he added cryptically.

“Master...?” Vhalla asked, confused.

“Ah, here it is.” Mohned carefully pulled a large tome off the shelf with two hands.

Vhalla instantly saw where the leather binding was flaking off and helped him gently ease it down onto the table.

“If you finish this one, the other three in this series will also need attention.” He motioned to the shelf. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, I remember how to change bindings,” Vhalla said with a shake of her head.

Mohned nodded, and she gave him a small bow as he shuffled back without further word.

Vhalla settled in one of the chairs, carefully starting her work. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard a set of footsteps lightly treading down the iron stairs. They were too heavy for the ancient master, and it was well before closing.

She ignored the heated flush brought on by the frantic beat of her heart. The prince had said he was likely to be busy today. Vhalla knew he couldn’t steal her away every day, but she was shamefully hopeful.