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Samuel wanted to say no—that he was no spy. In the brief moment that he actually met Isaac de la Cruz, he had seemed kind, charming, funny. A little overworked, yes, but not a serial murderer. It was wrong to accept his friendship in such an underhanded manner, to use it against him in this way. But… perhaps if he befriended the man, he could prove that he was innocent of the charges laid against him.

After all, wasn’t that what an investigator was supposed to do?

By the time he arrived in the library, Samuel had managed to turn himself around in knots, doubting the wisdom of his decision. He took a moment to steady himself, closing his eyes and breathing deep of the smell—the comforting scents of paper and ink and old books.

There were more books here than Samuel had seen in his lifetime, filling well-made shelves that rose from floor to ceiling. The library was arranged by subject matter—labelled by small, engraved panels on the ends of each shelf—and Samuel had to restrain himself from diving in headfirst. History, politics, philosophy, magical theory…

Even amidst such wealth, such a thing felt like coming home.

“Can I help you?” asked a soft voice at his elbow.

Samuel turned to see a woman staring at him, short of stature but firm of disposition. Her lips were drawn into a harsh frown, as if he had interrupted her sanctuary, and he realized with a jolt that this must be the librarian.

“Ah, yes, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head to her. “I’m to meet with Sir de la Cruz. I was told he would be here.”

She gave him a quick look-over, and after determining that he passed whatever standard she was measuring him against, nodded. “He’s in his usual corner.”

Smiling slightly, Samuel glanced away. “I’m not sure where that is.”

“Right.” Sighing, she turned sharply on her heel. “This way, Lord…?”

“Samuel Hutch—” He caught himself, biting down hard on his lip. The King had given him a clear directive—he wasn’t a Hutchinson, not anymore. “Aberforth. Samuel Aberforth.”

The librarian stumbled, tripping over the hem of her skirt. Samuel reached out to help her, but she had already caught herself, dropping into a deep curtsy. “My lord, I had no idea. Please forgive my impertinence.”

“I… uh.” He blinked down at her, utterly baffled. “It’s fine, really.”

The woman remained bowed, her head low. “Your charity is overwhelming, my lord.”

He just stared at the back of her head, searching for the right words. What was happening?

“Samuel!” Glancing up, he saw Isaac walking his way, clearly fighting back laughter. “You made it.” Coming up beside the still bowing librarian, he helped her up. “Thank you, Charlotte. I’ll take it from here.”

“As you say, sir.” She bowed her head towards Samuel once more, then hurried off into the stacks. But he swore he could still feel the weight of her gaze upon him.

“Thank you for your help,” he said quietly, and Isaac grinned. “But what the hells was that?”

“Come on, Samuel.” Isaac rolled his eyes. “You’re practically royalty. Such a reaction shouldn’t surprise you.”

Maybe it shouldn’t. But it definitely disturbed him. “I’m just the same as she is,” he muttered, “except for a small matter of blood.”

“We both know that’s not true. You are so much more than that.”

Samuel shot him a sidelong glance, wondering what precisely he was referring to, but Isaac was already walking away, slipping deeper into the library. Once they were past the opening, it became so silent that Samuel felt his very breath would disturb it. Isaac, too, seemed to have the same reverence, and led him past the tables and stacks in a companionable quiet.

They rounded the last corner, coming upon what looked like a small study built right into the corner of the library. There were tables, oversized chairs with plush cushions, even a damned couch shoved up against the wall. It was out of place and homey at the same time, and Samuel turned to Isaac with a frown.

“It’s the King’s private corner,” Isaac explained, “and the closest thing I have to my own space here.” He dragged the toe of his boot across the floor, and Samuel glanced down to see what looked like an inlay of blood sketching a border around it, a thin line of glass built into the floor itself. “If he requires privacy, he can activate this ward here, protecting those inside from eavesdroppers.”

“That’s impressive,” Samuel said, unable to stop himself from being awed by it. Blood Working was both great and terrible in equal measure.

“It is, isn’t it?” There was a hungry look in Isaac’s eye, and Samuel recognized it. He had seen it in himself, after all—the thirst for knowledge. It was part of why he was drawn to books in the first place, and he supposed that even the most powerful of Blood Workers felt the same.

“Anyway,” Isaac said, clapping his hands together. “I know what His Majesty wants us to discuss, and we’ll get to that. But I believe I promised you a tour of the library?”

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Samuel flushed a little at the memory. It was sweet of him to offer, but— “That’s not necessary.”