The capital’s main library was a monument to knowledge—a vast structure of white stone and imposing columns that supported towering vaulted ceilings.

Its interior was illuminated by floating mana lamps, casting a dim but sufficient light for scholars to read without strain.

Endless rows of dark wooden shelves filled the enormous space, crammed with ancient tomes and meticulously organized scrolls.

A sweet scent of aged paper and ink permeated the air, and the occasional rustle of turning pages or hushed whispers broke the solemn tranquility of the place.

Nolan sat at one of the long reading tables, surrounded by a mountain of stacked books.

His expression was tense and focused as he rapidly flipped through the pages of an old volume on advanced spellcraft.

Beside him, several books lay open, each covering a different topic: studies on mana cores, magical illnesses, rare curses, energy flow theory…

Anything that might offer a clue about what was happening to Emily.

Despite the library’s restricted access, Nolan had secured special permission thanks to his recent battlefield accolades.

Yet he wasn’t alone.

To his right, seated with regal poise and a steaming teacup on the table, was Princess Iris.

Her gown was sky-blue with golden accents, her delicate hands covered by white lace gloves, and her long blonde hair was flawlessly styled, adorned with a subtle yet undeniably royal tiara.

Though known for her grace and patience, the princess now teetered on the edge of frustration.

“Nolan…” Iris whispered for the third time, leaning slightly toward him.

No response.

Nolan remained buried in his reading, utterly ignoring her. His eyes darted across the text at breakneck speed, his left hand scribbled notes with precision, and his furrowed brow betrayed his desperation to find something—anything—useful.

Iris sighed in annoyance and tried again, her tone more insistent this time:

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Nolan, can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

Several library patrons—scholars and nobles alike—began to notice the scene.

Whispers rippled through the hall. It was rare to see the nation’s princess being outright ignored by an obscure nobleman, let alone one who dismissed her hushed attempts at conversation.

Iris’s jaw tightened. She gripped her teacup harder before setting it down gently and inhaling sharply.

“Nolan!” she exclaimed suddenly, raising her voice just enough to turn heads in her direction.

The young man blinked, tearing his gaze from the book with visible irritation. His reply was flat and blunt:

“What?”

Iris crossed her arms and shot him a glare, then sighed and straightened, regaining her composure. With a polite cough, she replied:

“I wanted to ask if you’d consider granting an interview. Many in the capital wish to hear your story, and—”

“No,” Nolan cut her off instantly, slamming a book shut.

Iris blinked, startled by his swift refusal.

“Wait, at least hear me out—” she pressed.

“I’m busy,” he replied curtly, grabbing another book and flipping through it without glancing her way.

The princess pursed her lips, clearly irked by his indifference. Yet instead of losing her temper again, she switched tactics.

“You could gain significant wealth and influence by accepting. You could use it for… whatever you want.”

Nolan didn’t look up from his book.

“Not interested.”

Iris clicked her tongue, propped her elbows on the table, and interlaced her fingers, staring him down.

“People are talking about you. You can’t just ignore the attention you’ve garnered.”

This time, Nolan met her eyes. They locked gazes for a few seconds before he replied with icy detachment:

“Don’t care.”

Iris felt a pang in her chest. His coldness—the way he dismissed her words without a second thought—was infuriating. She’d dealt with arrogant nobles before, but Nolan wasn’t arrogant… just impossible.

The princess fell silent for a moment, at a loss. Her gaze dropped, her expression softening. In a quieter, almost melancholy tone, she murmured:

“At least… will you attend my birthday party?”

The question hung in the air. Her voice carried a hint of sadness, and for the first time, Nolan studied her more closely. He noticed her hands clenching faintly in her lap and the vulnerability flickering in her usually confident eyes.

Nolan sighed.

Making a princess cry in public would be more bothersome than just agreeing.

“Sure. I don’t mind that,” he finally said.

Iris looked up, surprised. A tentative smile touched her lips, as if unsure whether to celebrate.

“Thank you, Nolan,” she said softly, relief coloring her tone. With renewed poise, she added, “I’ll make sure it’s worth the trouble.”

Nolan simply nodded halfheartedly.

“Fine.”

The princess watched him a moment longer, as if expecting more, but when he dove back into his books, she chose not to push. Gracefully, she rose, smoothed her gown, and picked up her teacup. With a royal nod, she said:

“I’ll leave you to your work. Good day, Nolan.”

He didn’t reply, and Iris didn’t wait. She strode away, leaving behind the faint floral trace of her perfume.

Whispers crescendoed as she exited, but Nolan tuned them out entirely.

He turned back to his books.

If there was a solution to what was happening to Emily, he would find it—no matter how long it took.