Between daily lessons, social obligations with the Duchy's vassals, and mandated family time, the past two days have seen me completely immersed in the study of magic.

The “level reading” test I conducted revealed definitively that I do have enough aether to learn magic, though just barely. The sight of my own blood turning a ruddy golden colour under the light of the moon is still stained behind my eyelids, phantom adrenaline accompanying it.

Unfortunately, it seems I will be limited to the basics for now. I can now use elemental magic to channel heat through my palms into my teacup so my tea never gets cold. A small convenience, but it’s not nothing.

The books I’ve read suggest that I’ll eventually discover a magic type I’m most suited for. I thought enchantment magic would be the best option for me—for navigating complex political situations. But so far, I haven’t shown any aptitude for it. The two magic types I’ve managed to wield—albeit in small ways—are elemental and abjuration magic.

Elemental magic is self-explanatory (the name says it all), but abjuration magic required some further reading on my part. From what I understand, abjuration is primarily focused on defence. Its most iconic use is the “abjurative barrier”, a magic barrier that shields those within its radius from harm. After practicing all day, I can cast a small protective barrier around my thumb and forefinger so I no longer prick myself during embroidery.

Again, it’s the little things.

I am leafing through another book when Flossy knocks at my door. “My Lady?” her voice carries. “May I come in? I have a letter for you from the Prince?”

Hastily, I shove the book under my pillow. I still don’t know whether or not it would reveal my identity to be seen studying these introductory-level texts. Once I’ve caught up and moved onto at least an intermediate level, I imagine I won’t need to be so cautious.

Clearing my throat, I reply, “Yes, come in.”

Flossy lets herself in, offering me a polite curtsy before handing me a sealed envelope. The wax seal that encloses it is heavy and important-looking, made of marbled red and gold wax embossed with the shape of a crown against a backdrop of dancing flames—the royal crest.

I glance up at Flossy.

“Ah, of course,” she flushes, stepping back. “I will give you privacy while you read.”

The letter is addressed from Crown Prince Isidore in response to my earlier correspondence. Like him, it is blunt and straight to the point.

> Okay.

>

> Regards,

>

> Crown Prince Isidore Fehlberg Von Perrion

My lips twitch into an involuntary smile. It would have been nice if Prince Isidore and I could have been friends. As I curl the paper out further, I notice an addendum added to the bottom of his letter.

> P.S.

>

> Most Honourable Lady Linnea Corydalis,

>

> I hope this message finds you well. As Princess Cassandra's ball approaches, I would like to formally invite you to join me in the Royal Library at your convenience. I find it a wonderful place to gather one's thoughts in tranquillity.

>

> Should you still be in search of a new novel to read, I would be glad to recommend a few of my favourites.

>

> With warmest regards from your friend,

>

> F.

My heart swells with fondness. I press the letter to my chest and hold it close, smiling. ‘F’ is clearly Florian. He must have thought it safest not to identify himself more overtly in case the letter was intercepted before reaching me. It makes sense—our only meetings have been in secret, after all.

Thinking of him, I feel a sudden urge to see Florian again. There are no Palace meetings scheduled between the prince and myself this week in the lead-up to Princess Cassandra’s ball. Prince Isidore will most likely be busy also. But Florian…

He invited me to the library, just as he suggested the last time we spoke. I don’t know why he put in the effort to extend the formal invitation through his brother, but I find myself ardently hoping it is for the simple reason of desiring my company. Florian was not like his siblings in the novel, he was not known for being tricky or underhanded. If he had a flaw, it would instead be that he was too trusting. He was earnest, loyal, and kind. I liked him for all these reasons and more.

There are four days left until Princess Cassandra’s ball. The closer to the date we get, the busier the Palace will become. My best bet for a peaceful visit is today. If I spend too long thinking about it, I’ll run out of time. So, I decide not to think.

I inform Flossy of my afternoon plans and, with her assistance, change into a dress better suited for fitting into the Palace fashion scene. Then I head straight for the waiting carriage.

The distance between the Corydalis estate and the Royal Palace is not too far. By carriage, the trip takes between thirty to forty minutes on average. The route I take is a private one, not charted along the same route that commoners or merchants peddle. Because of its secludedness, there isn't much to look at outside except for meadow and woodland. It made for pleasant scenery the first time. But one can only find so much novelty in the same unchanging landscape repeatedly viewed.

My personal guard rides up front, beside the driver, so I have the carriage to myself. I take full advantage of this privacy to sprawl out along the carriage seat and get comfy (as much as possible inside a moving compartment) with a book.

Between the two magic types I’ve shown an aptitude for so far, I’m leaning towards elemental magic. It seems more versatile. And who wouldn’t want to learn how to throw fire with their bare hands if given the chance? I don’t deny my weakness for a killer aesthetic.

I’ve just begun attempting to follow along with a section detailing how to use magic to cool my palms when the carriage rocks to a stop. I slip the book surreptitiously into a pocket in my petticoat before the carriage door is opened and a guard extends their hand to help me descend.

One perk of having a personal entourage wherever I go is that I never need to know where anything is. I simply inform my companions of my intended destination and they escort me right there. The Palace is like a city in its own right, but my guard delivers me right where I want to be.

When I get to the Royal Library, I am taken aback by its sprawling splendour. On first glance, it's larger than a standard ballroom, with a lower recessed section, a hanging second floor, and stairs leading further up and down. The sheer amount of books in here feels staggering to comprehend. It would take multiple lifetimes for a single person to read this much.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Only after I’ve wandered dazedly by a dozen tables do I freeze, realisation hitting me.

Florian may have invited me using the phrase “at your convenience”, but surely he would be expecting a little warning beforehand? What if he isn’t even here right now? Anxiety pricks at my composure, and a knot forms tight in my chest. It isn’t as if I have a phone in this world with which to text him and let him know I’ve arrived.

Standing around awkwardly as I am, looking visibly lost, it does not take long before I am approached by someone in a dark brown waistcoat and an expression of thinly veiled opportunism. A young man, perhaps a few years older than me.

I do not recognise him—though that itself is hardly noteworthy—but I do recognise the look in his eye. It is the same look I sometimes see in Flossy. The look of someone who sees me first and foremost as a means to an end, a Corydalis. Or: someone worth sucking up to.

“Lady Linnea,” the man preens. I tuck my hands hastily behind my back when I notice him swooping in for a palm kiss.

“Uh,” he blinks, turning the gesture half-successfully into a bow instead. He smooths his hair back. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Alain Cribb, Baron of Milton. Pardon my forthrightness, but I couldn't help but notice your unfamiliarity with the Royal Library and was compelled to offer you my aid. Might you allow me to show you around?”

Swallowing my discomfort, I flounder to think how best to turn him down. If I am too polite, it may raise suspicion (Linnea was not polite). At the same time, I wonder if there were certain individuals whom even Linnea knew to be on good behaviour around? A baron is below a duke in feudal hierarchy. So perhaps I can get away with snubbing his offer and make a quick retreat? At that moment, my gaze catches on a familiar figure walking down an aisle behind him.

At once, the tightness in my chest unspools. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Florian?” I call, stepping forward.

The second prince turns in the direction of my voice. Our eyes meet, and his face lights up with that bright, earnest smile I've come to treasure.

“My Lady,” Baron Cribb insists, not yet willing to back down. His gaze flickers between Florian and me, his lip curling. “Surely you would prefer the company of a man of my calibre, rather than that of this… Spare?”

I bristle. The condescension in Cribb's voice is impossible to misinterpret, and my temper flares in response. If he planned to endear himself to me, insulting Florian was a very unfortunate way to start. I know Florian's position here isn't one of respect. I can venture a good enough guess at what "Spare" implies. With my instict to defend Florian risen, I find my ealier worries about politeness slip away.

I fix Baron Cribb with a cold, steady gaze. "I suggest you mind yourself, Baron," I warn. "I'll spend my time as I please. Not as you dictate."

Baron Cribb turns white in the face. He seems to have realised that he misstepped. Swallowing hard, he stumbles backwards, muttering, "Apologies, My Lady," his head dipped low.

My eyes are only for Florian now. I don’t spare a second more on the Baron.

Prince Florian is as radiant as ever. He wears his usual pastel-coloured ensemble, with a lace-edged silk cravat and cloud silk breeches. A lock of strawberry blonde hair curtains one side of his face, where, as always, those magnetic emerald eyes shine like precious gemstones.

There are two books under Florian's arm already. He doesn’t particularly seem to have been expecting me, but it doesn’t appear my presence is unwelcome to him either.

"Does your offer to show me the Royal Library still stand?" I ask, a light blush warming my cheeks.

His eyes widen a fraction in suprise, before his smile deepens. "Yes, of course. It would be an honour, My Lady."

Florian extends an arm and I take it gratefully. Together, we begin to walk down the central aisle. "The Royal Library is home to some of the oldest surviving texts in the kingdom," he explains. "Some even date back to a time before our land was united. Those are kept on a lower level for preservation though. Whatever your interest, I'm certain you'll find a book to suit somewhere here."

There are more levels to this library than I would have imagined. It's like a maze. Additional alcoves, hidden rooms, and towering aisles. Some corners are busy, decorated with reading tables and chairs all filled by scholarly-looking folk. Other areas seem deserted. I'm all the more thankful for Florian knowing how easily I could have become lost on my own.

"This is where you'll find the best novels," Florian says, leading me into a rounded alcove where two reading chairs sit beside a step-stool. The bookshelves aren't as tall as they were in other areas, but I'd wager they still reach three metres in height.

My eyes scan the shelves eagerly, my heart lifting at the sight. Even the smell of old paper is cathartic. I've missed the simple joy of reading for pleasure. That said, I wonder what counts as 'Fantasy' in this world? Reading a fantasy book in the world of a fantasy novel feels like the set-up to a bad joke.

"So," I say, leaning forward onto the tips of my feet. We're about the same height, but on my tip-toes I can pretend I'm taller than Florian. "You were going to recommend me one of your favourites, right? What sorts of novels does a prince read?"

Florian shrugs, his eyes glinting with an easy, almost playful amusement. "All kinds. I've read most of the books in this section already."

He hesitates a moment. The tip of his nose twitches and I can’t help but picture him again as a cute, nervous bunny.

"As for my favourites," he gathers a deep breath. "I've probably reread these the most."

Without having to look around for them at all, he plucks three novels out—all from different places on the curved bookshelf. He must have memorised where they are in the filing system. Of course, I knew Florian spent a lot of time here. But now I'm wondering just how often he's been alone with only books for company? I can’t help but remember the way Baron Cribb treated him--like he wasn't even worth acknowledging. The Spare.

"What are they about?" I ask.

He perks up. "I read this one when I was younger and it really stuck with me. It's about a group of adventurers who team up to steal gems from a dragon's hoard. They don't all trust each other at first but they end up becoming really good friends later in the book."

This time Florian points at the second book, a novel titled 'Love and Lies'. "This one is more romantic. I-If you like those sorts of books. I think it had a really heartwarming story."

He blushes, and quickly moves on to the next recommendation. A blue clothbound book that looks to be a collection of short stories. "This one is sort of about magic? It's almost like a fairytale, but it's focused on the story of how magic was first discovered in this land."

"It's about magic? Like, fantasy magic or real magic?" (This is a distinction that I never thought I'd have to make).

"Oh, sort of both! It's split up according to the different schools of magic—each one is its own short story. I think the author was probably a historian, because there are references to different magical theories that actually exist, and the way it describes early-world magic is similar to how theologians estimate it to have been in actual history."

He is so animated when he talks about books, so full of passion and excitement. I think it's the most emotion I've seen from him so far. It's very charming.

"You must have really enjoyed it."

Florian blushes, rubbing his neck self-consciously. "Yeah, I did." He glances up at me through gold-tinged lashes. "Is that weird?"

"No!" I exclaim, waving my hands emphatically. "No, I think it's really cool!"

"Actually…" I bite my lip. This feels like I'm sharing something very personal, but I want to meet him where he is. "I've just started learning magic myself."

"Really? But—" he cuts himself off, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I suppose I assumed you would be free to learn whatever you like. I shouldn't have assumed. It just seemed like your life was a lot freer compared to mine. But I should have realised you have your own struggles too."

I look at him, confused.

"Wait," I say. "Are you not allowed to learn magic?"

He winces. "Not officially, no. I can read about it, but nothing practical."

I think back to a line in the original novel; that while Isidore was limited to basic weapons training, Florian was not permitted to train in any martial form at all. Magic is so versatile that I hadn’t been thinking about it as a potential means of offensive power. But if he isn’t allowed to hold a sword, of course Florian wouldn't be allowed to hold fire in his hands or read people's minds.

My heart pangs, guilt striking it. Now Florian thinks we have this in common. That I had to learn magic in secret because I was barred from seeking professional lessons. It's not a misunderstanding that feels good on my conscience to let fester, but I can't really correct him without thinking of another lie to replace it with.

"Do you want to learn together?" I suggest.

Florian tips his head to the side, looking at me through warm, half-lidded eyes. Like he's seeing something new in me, something intriguing.

"I'd like that," he says. His smile turns mischievous. "But actually, I've been teaching myself in secret for years."