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Fifteen minutes later, I was tugging my gloves off again as I made my way to the palace library. My encounter with Given had left me in no mood to return to the noise and sweat of the training yard. But I had other, quieter tasks to tend to. The Midnight Palace was a place of revelry, not scholarship. The library was always empty. No one would disturb me there.

When I entered, I immediately stopped short. Jordan of Twyl sat at one of the big tables with dozens of books spread before him.

“So much for that idea,” I muttered.

“My lord?” He scrambled to his feet. “Uh, the Lord favors you—”

“None of that shit,” I said curtly.

He cast his eyes down and bit his lip. “Sorry.” A broad shaft of sunlight fell just behind him, picking up the chocolate highlights threaded among his dark curls.

An awkward silence settled between us. Eventually, he lifted his gaze. “Are you…here for a book, my lord?”

“Is this where they keep them?”

His blush could have heated the great hall. “I d-didn’t mean it like that. I just…didn’t take you for a reader.”

“You have a rare talent for giving compliments, Brother Jordan.” I walked to his table and spun one of the thick books around. “The Heraldry of House Lar Satha,” I read aloud. I snorted. “I see warnings have no effect on you.”

His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, but his tone was steady. “I’ve never been able to stop myself from reading, my lord. It’s a character flaw, I’m afraid.”

It was a polite way of telling me to fuck off with my warning. On the one hand, I could respect his determination. I swept my gaze over the assortment of books. Whatever knowledge was in there, he wanted it badly enough to make an enemy of the Brotherhood—and now me. It was a brave stance to take.

On the other hand, “brave” and “stupid” weren’t mutually exclusive traits. On the battlefield, for example, they could often be found together.

I went to a wooden cabinet and opened it with a key from my belt. Scrolls of every size and shape were stuffed into small compartments. Wax seals attached to ribbons dangled off most of the documents. As I began my search, I could see Jordan studying me out of the corner of my eye. His gaze bounced between his books and me before finally settling on me.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked.

He jumped slightly. In my peripheral vision, he surveyed the sea of books on the table. “Oh… Well, yes and no. I mean, vampire historians are much more thorough than their Sithistran counterparts. Which makes sense.” His regard fell on me again. “Are you…looking for something?”

I answered without pausing my search. “Is it that obvious?”

He lapsed into another awkward silence. He tugged one of his books close and, for a moment, appeared to read it. But his gaze strayed to me again and again, and he watched with undisguised curiosity as I carried a scroll to the table next to his.

I ignored him as I spread the parchment open. The damn thing tried to curl back up. I looked around for a heavy book. When I turned back empty-handed, he was there. He pressed the top two corners flat against the wood and held them in place.

“Thanks,” I said gruffly.

“No problem.”

“You move quietly.”

His smile was almost apologetic. “It’s the robes.”

I looked him over. He wasn’t wearing his mirror pendant today, but he was still swathed in the dark gray robes of the Brotherhood. Now that I didn’t have him pinned to a wall by the throat, I could see he was taller than most Wesyfeddans, who tended to be short. There was a hint of strength in his shoulders…

And wariness in his blue eyes because I was staring.

I turned my attention to the parchment. Several seals, including Laurent’s, were stitched to the bottom of the parchment. Everything was intact. Good.

“This is a betrothal contract,” Jordan said.

I straightened. “My sister’s, yes.” It was hardly a secret. Evelina probably held the record for Nor Doru’s longest betrothal.

His gaze landed on the tangle of seals. “Are you going to dissolve it?”