Chapter Twenty-Nine

I’ve never actually been in a library before; the closest we had to such a thing in my village was a very old bookstore that sold ancient copies of classic texts, and whatever else it could manage to get its hands on; mostly biographies of one form or another. The shop was small but it was my haven in the village. It had less than a hundred books, mostly one copy of each, and functioned more as a library than a store; villagers would pay the shopkeeper to borrow books for a certain amount of time or pay triple the amount to purchase. Everything I’ve read that wasn’t passed down from my parents, I got in that tiny shop—four dusty walls with rows upon rows of books.

The library in the castle is not merely four walls with a scant collection of books. The entrance is grand arched double doors, which I pass through hand-in-hand with Leisel, leading into an absolute paradise for any book lover.

The first room is gigantic, with a high vaulted ceiling, chandeliers holding orbs of light on spindles, and torches hung on stone walls that give the space a feeling that it’s halfway between a fairytale and a gothic nightmare. The room has a circular structure, and the walls are made up entirely of bookshelves that span from the floor to the domed ceiling. In addition to the walls, there are bookshelves everywhere, with swirly wooden carvings adorning them. The initial space after the entrance offers a view of row after row of bookshelves—dozens upon dozens of them—a maze that any bookworm would gladly get lost in.

In the center of the entrance area is a spiral staircase that leads to the second floor, which is a landing that wraps around the room in a porch-like fashion, visible from the ground floor. To the left of the entrance is what looks like a reading area, set up with sofas, chaise lounges, and stuffed chairs all arranged in front of a magnificent stone fireplace. I’m drawn to the fireplace like a moth to flame by the otherworldly carvings adorning the mantle and exterior. Upon closer look, I realize it’s depicting a portion of Greek mythology; the myth of Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to mortals. Though, at this point, there’s little point in thinking of it as mythology, as the arrival of mythics proved that many myths were anything but, and the Greek pantheon is the real pantheon.

“Woah,” Leisel says beside me in a wondrous whisper, snapping me out of my amazement-induced stupor and drawing my focus back to her.

I look down at her with a fond smile. She’s still glued to my side and holding my hand tightly, but her attention is entirely consumed with our surroundings. Her golden eyes are wide as she looks from the fireplace to the couches to the bookshelves to the chandeliers and back around again, as if she can’t figure out where to focus her attention first.

I give her hand a little squeeze and offer her a smile when she looks up at me, still wide-eyed and stunned with amazement. She whispers to me, “Am I dreaming?”

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me as I bend down and press a kiss to her cheek, stroking my hand through her long strawberry locks. “No, sweet girl. It’s real. Where do you want to explore first?”

Greta and Camden are still lingering at the entrance of the room, apparently having decided to give Leisel and me a moment to take in the astounding luxury and sheer wealth of knowledge surrounding us by ourselves. I appreciate it; the royal library is overwhelming to say the least. Like Leisel, I don’t know where to look first or start first.

“I was thinking the fairytale section would be a good starting point,” Wyatt calls from the doorway.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing that he’s arrived and is giving Camden a slap on the back in greeting. I watch as the two brothers exchange a look that appears to be filled with hidden meaning. I wonder what information they’re transmitting without needing to use words. They both look serious, so I assume it’s important, and since they aren’t using words, it’s also safe to assume whatever matter they’re silently discussing is private.

I know firsthand how powerful the bond between siblings can be, although I’m also aware that Leisel and I are a particularly special case. She might be my sister by blood, but I raised her as if she were my daughter, and I know that’s left us freakishly close—we can have entire conversations with nothing more than an exchange of eye contact, but I usually don’t communicate with her silently unless I feel like I’m in hostile territory that I don’t trust.

Seeing Camden and Wyatt’s exchange momentarily makes me wonder if they don’t still view Leisel and me as potentially hostile or untrustworthy. Are we still on opposite sides of the proverbial battlefield? Do I still need to keep them as the enemy in my consideration?

I haven’t exactly moved them from enemies all the way to friends in my mind, but I’m making a point to try to view them in a more neutral light. If anything, I’d say earlier tonight I developed what could be the start of a connection that might grow into friendship with Wyatt—I certainly have a newfound respect for his world opinions and intellect—and I managed not to harm, threaten, or even insult Camden during dinner. That makes tonight a reliable success in my book.

Does Camden not feel the same way?Do I still need to watch my back around him as much as I needed to from day one?

That bit of doubt surprises me because it’s accompanied by a pang of pain, as if some part of me can’t stand the thought of Camden thinking less of me. I frown and absently rub a hand over my chest at the almost obscene realization that the thought of Camden having any negative sentiments or mistrust towards me is enough to create a physical reaction. The pain is barely noticeable—more so a suggestion of pain than the real thing—but it’s there, and I don’t like the fact that seeing him exchange a look with his brother caused uncertainty that translated into negative physical sensation strong enough to border on pain. That means our bond has progressed even more than I realized.

What’s even more worrying is the sudden urge I have to seek comfort and reassurance from Camden, as if the bond is pushing me to seek solace with him rather than accept the uncertainty that a simple look exchanged between him and his brother can now spark. As if Camden knows, he turns away from Wyatt, and his burning gaze finds mine. He offers me a small smile and the incline of his head, and at that easy gesture, the doubt inside me instantly settles.

Indignant to my newfound reactions towards the most menial things, I turn my full attention back to my sister. I can unpack the rest of the bullshit later.

“You want to go to the fairytale section?” I ask, already suspecting her answer.

As expected, she firmly shakes her head. I blink as Chip suddenly emerges from one of the folds in her dress—he was probably sleeping in a hidden pocket—climbs his way up the silk pink material covering my sister, and settles himself on her shoulder, rubbing his cheek against her neck in greeting.

Leisel giggles and picks him up in her free hand, asking her chipmunk, “When did we outgrow fairytales?”

Chip makes a chattering noise, and my sister nods along in agreement. “See? We were over them years ago.”

Wyatt closes the distance between us with a few smooth strides, and I watch my sister’s reaction carefully. I’m not as adamantly opposed to Wyatt’s presence in her life as I would’ve been even this morning—my conversation with him earlier calmed me because it demonstrated he has a brain as well as a royal title. From what I managed to read of him, I also believe he’s someone who values integrity and decency; both things I can respect even if I don’t innately love his presence in Leisel’s life.

Leisel looks to me as Wyatt approaches, and the understanding dawns on me that she’ll continue taking her cues from me for as long as I continue to guide her. I can sense that her approval of Wyatt hinges on mine—which makes perfect sense considering I’ve been her sole protector and role model in life, but this also makes me feel guilty. While I believe I did an excellent job modeling the importance of ambition and work ethic, I also fear how much my jadedness has begun to rub off on little Leisel.

Her golden eyes flick between me and Wyatt as he stops in front of us, waiting for my direction before she reacts. From what little I glimpse each time she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, Leisel is innately curious about Wyatt—probably in the same way I’m innately curious about Camden’s wolf. Camden, the man, made a shitty enough first impression that I was able to forgo any natural curiosity about him, but his wolf has done nothing to earn my dislike or distrust, and earlier tonight proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that not only am I inherently interested in Camden’s wolf, I’m also drawn to it. It strikes me that Leisel might be drawn to Wyatt in the same way and has just been holding her curiosity back because she didn’t want to feel like she was going against me.

My heart aches as I give her hand a squeeze and offer her an encouraging smile. Whatever she chooses to do, it’s my duty as her guardian and sister to support her. If she’s interested in spending time with Wyatt, I wouldn’t dare risk harming her by separating them, but the mama bear instinct in me also pushes me to keep them as far apart as possible because I know eventually, Wyatt will try to take Leisel from me.

Wyatt grins at Leisel as she faces him full on. “How about Grimm’s Fairytales? Have you gotten over those already?”

My sister’s nose wrinkles with confusion as she tilts her head to the side. “Grimm’s Fairytales? Are the heroes boring?”

I can practically see Wyatt’s excitement at my sister directly addressing him, and for once, I’m not tempted by the immediate urge to shut down any interaction between them and get Leisel away from him. Instead, I’m content to let them be and simply see how things go. Whatever can be said about Wyatt, I see the regard he holds for my sister through the way he watches her. His gaze holds endless affection, a deep curiosity, and I can feel the protectiveness radiating off him. I think he just might make a handy ally in the palace.

“Nope, the heroes are more often anti-heroes, and the villains are the truly interesting ones. Want to check out some of the books?”

Once again, Leisel looks at me before answering, and once again, my heart clenches as I feel like I’ve failed in some way by holding her back or making her unsure of herself. I give her another smile and nod, even gently pushing her in Wyatt’s direction, letting her know I won’t protest.

She pulls me down to give me a kiss on the cheek before closing the distance to Wyatt and giving him a very astute up and down. She glances at Chip, who’s returned to his comfortable perch on her shoulder. Chip stares at Wyatt for a long moment before letting out a series of noises that sound faintly approving.

Leisel nods, then says to Wyatt, “Okay, show me the Grimm.”

When Wyatt offers her his hand, she only stares at it for a beat before taking it and letting him lead her into the maze of bookshelves. Going against every parental instinct I have, I force myself to stay in place as they round a corner and disappear into the shelves. If something goes wrong I’ll be by Leisel’s side in an instant, and since we’re technically still in the same room, I feel it’s fair to let her and Wyatt explore for a bit.

Camden murmurs something to Greta, and she bows before turning and disappearing out of the library, apparently intending to leave the royals alone with their fated ones for the evening. I watch as Camden makes his way over to where I still stand in front of the fireplace.

Feeling more than slightly awkward, I say, “Aren’t Grimm’s Fairytales the original Germanic version of fairytales that the western world later made kid-friendly?”

Camden barks out a laugh. “That’s an excellent way of putting it, and yes, that’s exactly what Grimm’s Fairytales are; the root of most fairytales.” With a nod, he goes on, “We have similar issues in my native realm, from what I hear. The old version of literature meant for children is judged as increasingly barbaric and unfit over the years, so we edit old stories to make them more appropriate. As your sister so eloquently put it, that usually means boring heroes.”

He gestures between the sofas we’re standing in front of and the bookshelves that start up deeper into the room. “Do you want me to show you around the stacks, or would you like a night cap in front of the fireplace?”

I feel a reluctant smile pull on my lips. “If I ever choose to sit in front of a fireplace before exploring a room filled with books, there’s probably something medically wrong with me.”

Eyes dancing with humor, Camden nods. “Noted, I’ll keep that in mind. Let me get you acquainted with the basic layout of the space, then you can choose what to read and where.”

I ask curiously, “What will you be doing?”

“My favorite thing,” Camden responds without delay. “Watching you.”