Chapter Thirty

Camden spends an hour or so leading me through the different sections of the library, watching my wide-eyed wonder with a fond glimmer in his eyes and contently trailing after me as I switch aisles sporadically. Once I’ve gathered no less than six books—Camden had to remind me that the library is available at any time to prevent me from taking more—we settle on the couch in front of the fireplace.

There, he starts to tell me about the history of the castle. It was commissioned shortly after mythics invaded, upon the shifters establishing themselves as the most dominant group of beings on the entire globe. Camden’s grandfather wanted the entire structure to be a tribute to their culture and beliefs, instructing architects to follow suit.

There are nine individual spires; eight are meant to represent the phases of the lunar cycle, and the ninth and tallest central spire is a tribute to the moon goddess Selene. All of the material used for the castle’s foundation was imported from their home realm, as was most of the stone used for the rest of the structures because apparently the stone forged in their realm is far sturdier and longer lasting than the materials humans used in their buildings. Of all the natural resources on Earth that drew mythics here, evidently shifters still had to bring some things over from their old homelands.

The longer we talk, the more engaged I feel as I listen and learn. Camden’s speaking style is calm, steady, and even a little humorous, throwing jokes in here and there as he explains things to me. After the castle and Kinrith, we get into larger-scale geography, which also starts to tread into infrastructure, economy, and even politics.

He tells me shifters make up the majority of the population of this world and therefore have the largest and most established nations across almost every continent. Shifter culture isn’t just comprised of wolf-shifters; there are also packs of feline and even dragon shifters scattered across the globe, though the wolves have command over the entire shifter hierarchy, which Claude hinted at earlier. I also recall seeing some feline shifters on my ride through Kinrith’s citadel, evident by their slitted eyes.

“If dragon shifters weren’t so antisocial and therefore content to let me take the lead, they’d easily be able to overthrow the rest of the shifter population,” Camden tells me with a sardonic smile curling his lips.

“What do dragons look like in their dragon form?” I ask with wonder.

Camden’s smile turns indulgent. “They’re magnificent. A full-grown dragon can be the size of a small mountain. Their scales serve as the most impenetrable armor. Having them on your side of a battle all but guarantees victory.” A frown starts to morph his facial expression. “Unless, of course, you’re dealing with magical opponents like witches or faye. Nothing is impervious to powerful magic—not even a dragon’s scales.”

“Are the witches or faye a potential threat to your kingdom?” I ask.

Camden shakes his head. “Not most of them, no. Witches are very insular, as are sirens and the faye. The only faction that could present a problem is the dark faye—I wouldn’t put it past them to ally themselves with the vampires if they’re in the mood for battle. Not because their ideologies align but because dark faye are dangerous creatures who feed on chaos.”

“What do you mean when you say faction?” I question.

“Breeds within species,” Camden responds, “Felines, dragons, and wolves are all factions of shifters. Dark faye, light faye, and noble faye are all factions within the faye species—so on and so forth.”

I nod, chewing on my bottom lip while digesting the information he’s just bestowed upon me. The world I live in has a wondrous mix of rich cultures all rooted in the gods that served as creators of each species, and before now, I’ve been too angry at the principle of how this world was built to even admire it. Now, however, I’m finding more and more interest when it comes to widespread interspecies matters. Part of me can’t help but feel guilty that, despite my upbringing to rightfully loathe every being that isn’t human, here I am actually enjoying spending time with the King of shifters. What does that say about me? That I’m a traitor to my own kind, surely.

Leisel emerges from the stacks of books with Wyatt, who’s holding at least ten books in his arms and looking a little befuddled as he follows after my energetic sister. She only has one novel in her arms, which she proudly presents to me with a wide smile. The cover of the tome reads A Collection of Grimm’s Fairytales.

“I’ve only read the Hansel and Gretel one so far, and I really like it,” Leisel says excitedly, flipping open the book and pointing to a drawing that depicts an old witch boiling a young boy in a pot. I have to stifle a smile that my sister—who comes across as a literal ball of sunshine ninety-nine percent of the time—seems to enjoy the darker nature of fairytales; including one where a boy gets cannibalized by a demented wicked witch.

I reach forward to run my fingers through her hair, before deciding it’s been too long since I’ve cuddled her and pull her onto my lap. Leisel relaxes against me, opening her book over her skirt, and starts on the next chapter, which looks like the original version of Cinderella. It’s difficult for me not to be attached to Leisel at just about all times, and I’m starting to get the sense I’ll need to enjoy my moments with her when they come the longer I spend in the castle because I’ll likely get busier and busier.

I glance at Wyatt, who has deposited his stack of books on the floor and settled into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. He meets my eyes with wide ones and says, “Where does she get the energy from?”

I laugh. “No idea, but when she wakes me up at five in the morning, I wish I could borrow some of it.”

Camden stands from the sofa and makes his way to the bar set up in the far corner of the room. He pours himself and Wyatt a few fingers of scotch in a beautiful crystal tumbler, and then calls out to me, “Wine?”

“White if you have it,” I respond.

I don’t know much about wines, but I do like the taste, and I absolutely love the rich history behind wine. It’s one of humanitys oldest inventions, passed down from era to era through various regions and trade routes.

Camden returns with a glass of wine for me, hands Wyatt his tumbler, and then settles beside me again, with a single cushion separating us. Leisel spares him a brief glance before returning her attention to the book, gently flipping it to the next page.

Wyatt, staring at her with total fascination, whispers, “Can she even hear us?”

I stifle a laugh. “Not when she’s reading. The rest of the world sort of falls away, and she gets into a zone of total focus. Honestly, I think that’s something she accidentally picked up from me.”

As if to punctuate my point, Leisel flips yet another page, totally oblivious to the conversation going on around her. I hold her a little closer, feeling my heart practically burst with love for this tiny witch that I’ve been responsible for since I learned the true meaning of responsibility. Leisel is my world—there’s no other way to characterize or explain my connection with her.

If I truly start angling to do work that would change the world as mythics know it, it would be with her in mind, for her. In fact, that’s the only way I could see myself getting over the barrier of being immersed in a world I was raised to hate; I’m only doing it so I can change it for the better for the sake of Leisel. For the sake of all children, really, including Mythic children, who should not live in such a poignantly segregated society.

For half an hour, we talk about light topics related to literature—mostly philosophy—while Leisel quietly reads away on my lap. Eventually, she starts to grow tired, slumping against me and yawning. As if summoned by Leisel’s fatigue, Greta enters the library and makes her way over to us.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty, but it’s the Princess’s bedtime.”

I gently push Leisel off my lap, stand, and take her hand, ready to take her upstairs and put her to bed.

Greta looks horrified by this development, as if a royal putting a child to bed is abominable. “Please, ma’am, I can take her. Enjoy your nightcap.”

Hesitant to let someone else put Leisel to bed, but also understanding that she is at an age where me tucking her in every night is no longer a necessity, I look at my sister. She smiles and lets go of my hand, walking over to Greta.

“Can you read me a story so I fall asleep?” Leisel asks her, as adorable as ever with her wide glimmering eyes.

Greta visibly softens. “Of course. Come along, now, Leisel.”

I watch for any hints of discomfort as they walk out, only relaxing a fraction when I see how easygoing Leisel’s demeanor is with Greta. I know I’m as attached to Leisel as she is to me—probably more since she was literally my lifeline at times—but it also might not be a terrible idea to test run how it goes with Greta because from what Camden told me about the rigorous duties that accompany the title of Queen, I’ll be swept up in quite a few tasks shortly.

A few days ago, I might’ve laughed at the idea of integrating into shifter culture; now, I’m truly starting to glimpse the power I could wield. Some of the most powerful figures across human history were women; Jeanne d’Arc, Katherine the Great, Cleopatra, Queen Victoria—all of them were warriors in their own way, and all brought about revolutionary change in their wakes. It means immense hard work and more hours than the day offers, both of which I’m willing to put in if it’ll build a better world.

Shifters seem to have a primitive view of diplomacy and foreign relations, probably rooted in the insular nature of packs. They conduct trade with other species on other continents, but they don’t actually intermingle very much, which is problem number one. I can testify that the insular nature of my village and life led me to make shifters out to be far more monstrous than they are; fundamentally, they aren’t very different from humans as people, which means monstrosity is a decision, not a nature. Camden’s wolf certainly looks like a monster, and he spent twenty minutes whining for attention and wagging his tail earlier.

Wyatt stands, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, I’m gonna drop these books off in your wing and head to bed. It’s been a long day.”

I give him a nod, and Camden murmurs a quiet goodnight.

Once Wyatt’s has left, it’s just Camden and me in a vast beautiful space empty of other living beings. The environment itself—surrounded by a treasure trove of knowledge and stories—is an aphrodisiac, and with Camden’s good behavior tonight, I start to feel myself grow warm in his presence. The sort of warmth that isn’t kind or cuddly, but sharp and lustful and very difficult to ignore.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” Camden asks, his voice so low it’s practically a growl.

On cue, the warmth starts to travel to my nether regions, and I practically salivate at the idea of his lips on mine—which is not a reaction I would’ve foreseen. Sure, Camden is an attractive specimen that speaks to just how perfect the male form can be, but I don’t have the best record of liking his personality, with tonight being the first exception.

I open my mouth, intending to tell him what a bad idea that is. Instead, what comes out is, “So, why don’t you?”