I bounded into the library with a grunt, feet sore and my face sunburned. Awkwardly, I maneuvered by the circulation desk, balancing all the children's books clutched in my arms. Miss Wickwellem looked up from her chair. Faux-crystal rimmed spectacles magnified her wild eyes. A dramatic affectation for a librarian, but they made sense on her heart-shaped, rosy face, which was creased with well-earned laugh lines.

"Oh! You survived!" she trilled, clapping her hands together. Her many rings and bracelets jangled in symphony. "The children didn't eat you alive after all."

"The children weren't nearly as bad as you said. Dare I say, a few of them seemed to enjoy me. I did manage to read two stories - well, one and a half, before they all had a fright and ran off."

She squinted at my head and tapped the top of her skull, hidden as it was behind reams of curly hair. "What's this you have? Did you fall into a garden on your way back?"

The garland Oliver had given me. I forgot I was wearing it. The flowers were lovely, a variety of lilacs and roses and blossoms. The band did a great job of holding my thick, wavy hair in place.

"It was a gift. The Festival has people in a generous mood."

"Ah," Miss Wickwellem's fingers drummed her ledger. "And who was the gentleman?"

Eager to avoid her knowing gaze, I placed my armful of books to the return cart and checked off the titles on the circulation ledger. The last I'd seen of Oliver he was retreating toward the castle in utter embarrassment. All because I had taken his hand. Humbling, I must admit.

"Ha! You think I was born last winter?" she said when I didn't respond, "The Festival may have began as a celebration of Centaura's independence but in practice it's a bloody mating ritual. Men and women, fuelled by free booze, courting each other in all sorts of combinations... tuh. I know what'll be happening in alleyways across town tonight. I'm no idiot."

"No one was courting me," I huffed playfully, "This was merely the result of a trade. I convinced a knight to borrow a book."

"A knight?" The librarian shot out of her chair, gasping with laughter. She only barely stopped a bottle of ink from spilling over. "I'll be a wyvern's tail! I didn't think any of them could read."

"Be kind, ma'am! It did take some convincing on my part."

"I'm sure all you had to do was bat your eyelashes, show a little clavicle. What did this knight look like? Tell me."

I'd seen knights on patrol before, but Oliver was the first to speak with me. I took my time in absorbing his details, the black leather, chainmail, and armored steel of his outfit. He stood out in a crowd, not just for his height and brooding good looks, but for the red cloak draped around his shoulders and left arm, like a sideways cape.

Oliver was a tall man, broad-shouldered and solid. Much of his physique was hidden behind his uniform, but his neck was thick and cabled with muscles. His short hair was a darker shade of blond, as was the stubble that dusted his sculpted face and hard, square jaw. His eyes, a grey that bordered on silver, said much more than his words. I could see a war behind them when he looked at me.

I could fill entire scrolls describing Oliver, the unexpected longing I felt when I first laid eyes on him, how I imagined his large, warm hands caressing my body…

I absently fanned myself with the circulation ledger. "He was tall."

"About half the men on this island are taller than you," she said with a sharp laugh. "Narrow it down for me, love. Was he handsome?"

I began reshelving the books, wishing that I was halfway across the world instead of here. "That hardly matters. The point is, I was able to make him a patron."

"I'm sure he was hoping you'd read to him instead. Alone in his chambers. With the curtains drawn."

"Not every man who lays eyes on me wants to rut me senseless."

"Surely you've seen a mirror, you daft boy. Now tell me more about this knight before I get upset. How full did his trousers look?"

In the two weeks I have been studying librarianship under Miss Wickwellem, we have not had one professional conversation. Not that I minded so much. During our first meeting I found her to be funny and informal and very open about her personal life, so I told her an anecdote about a stonemason who once asked me to dinner and then mysteriously arrived to our date with his face and chest covered in dried mud (a state he did not explain and I felt entirely too awkward to ask about). Since then, we've circled the same topic over and over: Miss Wickwellem's thoughts on Centauran men. Specifically, how more of them should be rutting me.

"I'm not staying in Centaura for long, ma'am. When my apprenticeship is over I'll be heading back to the All Continent to look for a career placement. I don't have room in my life for romance."

"Romance?" She reacted as if I'd spat at her. "Such a thing is dead. The best you can hope for is a man who won't flee from your cot as soon as the sun rises."

"How very poetic."

"Speaking of which, I'm off early today. I want to get a good spot in the crowd for the King's speech. You're free to join me."

"Ah, no thank you, ma'am. I'll finish off my shift and close everything here."

Miss Wickwellem took an exaggerated look around the empty building. "It's not as if we're fending off patrons with a stick. I'll still pay you for a full day's work. The Festival only happens once a year!"

The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in a huge crowd of drunk and mindless people for an entire night. I politely refused her invitation several more times before she gave up and left for the day, muttering about my stubbornness. As she disappeared into the quickly darkening night and the doors closed behind her, my shoulders relaxed.

With no patrons to watch over, I took the stairs up to my small loft. One of the benefits of being Miss Wickwellem's trainee was that she housed me right in the library. She was kinder to me than I deserved. I'd hate for her to find out I wasn't really seeking a career as a librarian. Her heart would freeze in her chest if she knew why I'd really come to Centaura…

Beneath my bed I retrieved the satchel full of books I'd been methodically taking out of the library's collection. As I didn't want to arouse suspicion, I had only taken one per day. They were ordinary and very basic books, none that would ever be missed. But I still had to be strategic in my choices. Taking a book that would not provide any useful magic was a waste of time, not to mention a potential danger. If I wanted to safely reach my next destination, the so-called Obsidian Keep, I would need all the magic I could get...

I caressed the spine of my latest acquisition, a dry and humorless tome about the history of warfare. The latent battlemagic practically hummed between the letters, begging to use my body as its vessel. This book would be useful if I found myself in a situation where I needed to fight. Granted, I am no battlemage, but I could use the power similarly as long as I concentrated. The trick was having the book within reaching distance, keeping a clear enough mind to absorb its energy, and focusing hard enough to wield it before its reserve ran out...

Jealousy suddenly pierced my thoughts. Blurgh. It was so much easier to be any other type of mage. Their power was right at their fingertips, ready to be summoned with a simple thought. I could only use magic through deliberation and physical contact with a book page – and that's only if the book in hand had a strong enough magical imprint I could absorb from. If there was an easier way for me to do it, I had not been taught. In all my travels, I have never met another libriomage. Isn't that absurd? Not a one! I've not even met a warlock or witch who's heard of a damn libriomage. As far I know, I'm the only one of my kind.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breath. My heart was thundering now, and it did no good to make myself so anxious.

Stay focused on the Obsidian Keep, a voice reminded me. Find those answers, fill in the gaps.

The desk bell rang as the front door opened and shut. Drat. It was already passed sundown and I'd forgotten to lock up behind Miss Wickwellem. This happened sometimes, a drunkard would wander in and confuse us for the Grateful Nomad tavern one door away.

I carefully hid my procurement of stolen books and returned to the main floor, grumbling with each footstep. "My apologies, but the library's closed for the night."

Oliver stood by the front desk, looking as if he were treading through rising water. I was startled to find him in casual clothes: rumpled black trousers, well-used boots, and a light brown shirt laced down the center. Had I assumed a knight never took off his armor? Never allowed himself the luxury of cotton and linen and fur? Funny, the things you never consider. Somewhat scandalously, Oliver's collar was open, offering a peek of chest hair and an outline of his solid pectoral muscles. I tried not to stare.

"Sir? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"I came to, erm... to... return... the book." He stepped slowly across the room. His right sleeve was rolled up on a tanned, powerful forearm in mid-flex. He handed back Mercenary of the Underworld and again, I tried not to stare. I largely failed.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"You've only had it since this afternoon. Have you finished it already?"

"You sound surprised."

"It's a fairly lengthy novel. I know I wouldn't be able to finish it in a day."

His left sleeve wasn't rolled up like the other one, I noticed, and he wore a leather glove over his left hand. Before I could comment, he cleared his throat.

"Could I be frank with you, Rowan?"

"Oh. Please do."

He exhaled, voice deep with discomfort. "I would like to apologize. For our previous conversation."

"You mean our only conversation?"

"I reacted to you strangely. I'd rather- I'd rather you not find me strange."

A grin I'd been hiding poked the corners of my mouth. "And if I do?"

His brows - dark, unlike his hair - knitted together in concern. "It's not a quality befitting a knight."

"Why does my opinion matter so much? I'm not your captain or your king. We've only just met."

He didn't seem to have an answer to that. He was strange, and ungainly, and abrupt in conversation, but I found those qualities endearing. I suppose that makes me strange as well.

"For what it's worth, I accept your apology and I should offer my own. I can be very passionate about the written word, and in doing so I sometimes overstep certain boundaries. Please, forgive me."

Something that might have passed for a smile appeared on his face. But it was fleeting, a brief glimpse of the sun between storm clouds. "You've no reason to apologize."

"Huh, well, you Centauran knights are very agreeable. A knight or valkyrie from the All Continent would brain me with a glaive if I so much as looked at them sideways."

Oliver shrugged. "Perhaps it's not so different here. But we have good leadership in our king. I don't think my continental brothers and sisters have many such examples."

"I've not seen this infamous King Niklas yet, to be honest. How is his manner?"

"He can be thick-headed, but he's a good leader nonetheless. Cares for his people."

"Sadly a rare quality. I've heard he's rather young for a ruler."

"He's young if you consider me young. We grew up together. He still talks to me as if nothing's changed and we're still youths in knightstudy."

For some reason I found this fact delightful. He had a friend! I'd taken him for a loner. "What's it like being friends with a king?"

The knight shrugged his wide shoulders. "I'm not sure how to answer that. His path to the throne was not... traditional. Our whole lives, I've only ever known him as the man most likely to get kicked out of a village inn for sleeping with the owner's son. And all of a sudden, he inherits a title he and his family never in a thousand years thought he'd inherit, and, well..."

"I don't understand. House Destrian isn't a royal family?"

Oliver stopped himself short of barking with laughter. "Goddesses, no, the Destrians are from the Northlands. No one with a title has set foot on those frozen grounds in ages. No, lad, House Engerri was our royal family."

"I thought the only way kinghood could be inherited by another House was if the entire royal family-" Upon Oliver's sudden grave expression, I knew I didn't need to complete my thought aloud. "Oh. That's horrible. How? When?"

"How else. The Chaos War."

"Two years," I muttered distantly. "I'm sorry for your kingdom's loss."

"We all lost something in that war," Oliver said, pointedly looking elsewhere. "The Engerris all defended their kingdom to the bloody end. The mages were ruthless. Men, women, children… it didn't matter who was in their way. When it was finally over, the councilors discovered that the former king, in his will, named House Destrian the royal successor. And my witless friend Nik just so happened to be the eldest son."

A king who became king almost entirely by accident. What a scandal that must have been – and no wonder these people were so hostile when it came to magic. I should have known. Mages from the All Continent whispered warnings of this place. Some might have called me a fool for traveling here on my own accord, but it was only one of a few kingdoms to keep a library at all, so my options were limited. With no other libriomage to support or guide me, I had to operate entirely in secret, all under the unforgiving watch of a kingdom that would fear and hate me if my identity ever came to light. Which meant that any dalliance between me and a Centauran would be bad, bad, bad idea indeed.

It was this thought that made me nakedly aware of the fact that Oliver and I were alone. An entire sea of books and yet only five feet of space separated us.

"Here. I suppose I should return this to its rightful owner." I took off the flower garland. My wavy black hair fell free, which I raked through with my fingers in an effort to look presentable.

"I have no use for such a thing, lad. Keep it."

"Oh, don't act so chivalrous, I'm merely honoring our trade. This garland was yours."

"It's better suited on you. Here, may I?" Oliver offered to place the garland back on my head. I allowed him. His nearness quietly thrilled me, as did the fleeting sensation of his fingers on my hair.

"How do I look?" I asked when he finished.

"Noble."

That made me laugh. "Noble, sure. Perhaps a prince of some forgotten garden. But thank you."

Neither of us said anything for a while, and he motioned like he was about to leave, but something stopped him. "I would like to see you again."

"See who? Me?"

"You, the one I'm speaking to at this very moment. Yes."

"Sir," I breathed, facing the nearest bookshelf. My hands nervously pushed in a few unaligned books. "The library is open sunrise to sunset. You may visit us any time between them."

"That's not what I meant. And I don't think you're as coquettish as you're pretending to be right now."

The back of my neck studded with goosebumps. He stood much closer now. I could feel the heat of his body, his breath faint against my ear.

"Oliver, the last time I saw you, the mere touch of my hand made you run like I was some leper begging for money."

"I've apologized."

"I know you have. But what changed between now and then?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it was the annoying but persistent voice of my friend Nik. Perhaps it was this Festival, the agony of seeing so many happy couples celebrating together. Perhaps it was realizing that I couldn't count the number of nights I've spent in a trance, taking another listless bath, drinking another bottle of wine, falling asleep alone. That would've been tonight's plans, had I not remembered a curious fellow I met earlier today."

I did like the image of Oliver in a bath, wet skin glistening in candlelight, long legs angled over the lid, dripping soapy water on his bedroom floor. I similarly enjoyed the image of him pulling me into that bath and onto his lap. But I kept that to myself.

"This fellow must be curious indeed if he could rouse such emotions in you." I gathered the courage to look at him again. His direct gaze would have scared me if I didn't find his attention so intoxicating.

"You've no idea how curious," he answered.

Remain strong, I told myself.

"I'm not sure what you're asking of me, but my stay in Centaura is temporary, and any-" I cringed to use the word "-relations of mine would be as well. You don't seem to be a temporary type of man."

"You don't know what type of man I am. I'm not expecting the moon and the stars, Rowan. All I'd like is for us to share a drink, or a meal, or maybe a walk and a conversation down by the shore. We lead very different lives, you and I. A brute like me would benefit from your… intelligence, your grace with words. Your beauty."

"You've no need to flatter me."

"I agree. A beautiful man doesn't need to be flattered."

His tone was dry and unromantic, his words little more than a deep mutter. But still, he said it.

"Why are you doing this, Oliver?"

"Doing what?"

"Being kind. You don't even know me."

"You think I have to know you to be kind to you?"

"I think if you knew me, you'd think twice about it."

Oliver's stubble ridged with a frown. "You speak so harshly about yourself."

"I speak truthfully. Listen, I won't pretend I don't enjoy your company but you and I are better off knowing each other as knight and librarian-in-training only. Do you understand?"

He stood statue still, eyes searching me deeply. After a few moments, Oliver started for the front door. The regret that lanced my chest shocked me.

"Wait," I said before I could stop myself. "I'm- I don't- please don't leave."

Goddess, what was I doing?

"You confuse me, Rowan."

"I confuse myself on my best days."

"You made yourself clear just a moment ago," he said, still facing the door. "Does toying with a brute like me bring you enjoyment?"

"You are no brute, Oliver."

"No?" When he turned his face was solemn and dark. His voice was so deep it reverberated in my chest. "You're lucky not to have known me during wartime. I'd have disgusted you. Perhaps you're right to turn me away."

Was I mistaken about who Oliver was? Likely. But I'd be lying if I said that lessened his appeal. I was humbled that such a formidable man was trying very hard to do something he found deeply uncomfortable. Couldn't I meet him halfway? Couldn't I let myself… enjoy him?

"I don't want you to leave," I said, stepping closer without thought.

Oliver towered over me. His chest rose and fell with effort. Dark brows slashed over grey eyes, which sparked with heat. Before I knew what was happening, he leaned down and kissed me. My mouth opened in a gasp. Strong arms enveloped my body, pressing my slender form against him as our hot, wet lips melted together. A startled moan escaped me as his stubble rasped my face. His tongue gently prodded my mouth, and I eagerly accepted as my arms smoothed around his broad shoulders. With a grunt of need he lifted me off the ground and guided my legs up around his waist. Goddess, he was strong.

Fuelled by pure lust, we tumbled together onto the circulation desk, my arm frantically clearing away books and loose papers. I felt his hardness press against me, straining against the burden of his trousers. Large hands ran down my body before hiking my legs up higher. His hardness rubbed along the underside of my thigh, teasing us both. A man hadn't been inside me in quite a while. Oliver's slow, purposeful grinding reminded me of what I'd been missing.

This was insane. This couldn't be happening! I led men on, stole from them, and abandoned them once I had what I fancied. While I needed men for certain things, I did not want them. Oliver shouldn't have been an exception to this little rule. Centaura was not my home, I was only visiting, it was one stop along a grander passage. Yet I wanted Oliver. I wanted him to consume me until there was nothing left. And whatever was happening now, I didn't want it to stop.

Oliver tore himself from our kiss to look at me, reaffirming that I was actually in his embrace as his grey eyes glazed with lust. My heart roared in my chest. A savage need was building up in both of us, and I could tell our thoughts were identical. As he went to kiss me again, a sudden and startling cough rocketed through the air. I felt the cool breeze of the outside wind against my face, and in turning my confused gaze to the library's front doors, I realized it was wide open. Dozens of bewildered people stood in the entrance and peeked in from the street. Their faces were slack with scandalized amusement.

I remembered for the second time that night that I hadn't locked those damn doors.

"Sorry to interrupt," said a woman who was shielding her young child's eyes, "But is this the library? My, erm, daughter was in the market earlier today and she was listening to a young man read a story-"

"That's him!" the girl cried, batting her mother's hands away from her face. Her tiny finger stabbed in my direction. "That's the storyteller! The one on the bottom!"

Oh, Goddess be, this could not be happening.

Oliver dashed up like lightning, straightening his shirt and coughing as if something was stuck in his throat. I shot to my feet soon after. The flower garland, formerly snug on my head, tilted off my hair and fell to the floor. We must have looked absolutely bonkers. Among the crowd I recognized several of the children I'd read to earlier that day, along with their families, and other curious passersby. Huh. Ridiculously poor timing aside, it looked like my advocacy had actually paid off.

"We just thought, with the Festival happening, that you might be offering some sort of open-doors tour. For the children." The mother smiled brightly, no doubt to hide her own embarrassment.

Oliver and I, both equally dishevelled and flushed, traded a weary look. "Erm, sure. Who would like to begin a fantastic journey through the library?"

A chorus of happy voices rose in affirmation. Oliver's expression went from utter shock to flat despair. I stifled back my own laughter as I shrugged at him.

My stay in Centaura was shaping up to be a strange one indeed.