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“No, it’s stupid. This is fine.” With the bed to her back, Alora nervously sat on the edge and gripped the blankets, tracing the soft stitching with her thumb.

“Nothing about you is stupid.” He stepped forward.

With a deep sigh and a shake of her head, she eventually added, “A window… At the manor, before it was boarded up, I would sit beside a north-facing window. It was the only one I felt comfortable by. I’d read, write songs, gaze at the stars. I’d like to do that again.”

Delight filled his eyes as he smiled once more. “Of course.” Garrik slowly waved his hand across the canvas near the door. A trail of Smokeshadows crawled along the wall, dancing as they carved out a floor-length, blackened, twisting frame fit for a royal bedchamber. Swirls of black wood entwined as if they were waves. As the Smokeshadows faded away, Garrik stepped back to observe it. “No one can see inside. Touch the window and my shadows can change the view to whatever you wish. They are yours to command.”

Speechless was an understatement.

After warning her about giving powers away …

He … is giving me Smokeshadows?

Much to her surprise, shadows again escaped his hands, only this time, the tendrils settled beside the window and faded away to reveal a large emerald reading chair, plump with buttons and a black frame swirled with the same waves as the window. Gold accents like the night sky were laced within, its width large enough to fit twice her size.

Shadows misted away from either side of the window next, revealing a wall of black swirling bookshelves stocked full of tomes and texts. To the left of the chair, a notepad and pencil sat on a small black side table.

But he wasn’t finished. Garrik outstretched his arms to his sides, fingers spread wide as he glanced over his shoulder at her, and she swore she could see the night sky in his eyes.

The tent erupted in a funnel storm. Ash and clouds and shadow swirled on a hurricane wind. The High Prince glided his hands through the air as tendrils of Smokeshadows escaped the swarm.

Alora’s eyes widened in marvel.

Her simple bed transformed before her eyes. Two black wood posts jutted from either side to the ceiling, where long panels of amethyst, emerald, teal, and onyx curtains draped down the headboard. Gold specs resembling stars glistened across the panels, shimmering glitter-like specs across the cream canvas walls.

Smokeshadows misted away from the ceiling and left behind hanging stars, white flames dancing inside each.

The floor beneath them shifted, and she was no longer standing on dirt. A fine rug of deep teal and golden sky accents expanded across wooden floorboards of stained oak. Much like her bookshelves, dressers and chests lined the shimmering, curtained walls.

And at the bedside, a matching set to the dressers and bookshelves appeared. A small bedside table held herBlazebloom and an emerald vase filled with a dozen waved pearl-petal flowers—pearlseas.

The entire space was as enchanting as the night sky. She couldn’t stop gaping at the bookshelves, though.

Alora stood to her feet and, like a faeling on Winter Solstice morning, skipped to the shelf full of books that carried a familiar scent—leather and metal. Gently tracing her hands over the shelves, reading the spines. The corner of her eye caught Garrik’s smile, as if the act of giving her this gift meant more to him than receiving one himself.

“These were all mine.”

She twirled to him as he spoke.

“Now, they are yours. Being High Prince does not allow me the time I wish to read. Perhaps one day when this is all over.”

“Would you like to stay and read one with me?” She meant it, hoping he’d accept her invitation. “It’s your birthday. I’m sure one night can be spared to do something you used to love?”

Garrik paced beside the shelf, plucking out a red book from within a series. He flipped it over and read the back before pulling out the green.

“Humans write such … fascinating books about our kind. Start with these two. Try not to fall in love with the main character. He is a fool. But in this one”—lifting the green, he flipped through its pages—“another Lord of Darkness … well, once you reach chapter forty-eight … I think you would find it rather enjoyable to recreate that chapter, and I would be more than happy to assist.” He smirked.

Alora surveyed the covers, slowly tracing her finger over the black embellishments.

“Try not to stay up too late reading. We leave for Alynthia in the morning.”

Alora scoffed—he should have just told her to breathe underwater—but smiled and said, “Thank you.”

Garrik brushed a finger down her wrist, hovering his eyes on the book in her hand. And for a moment, she almost asked him again to stay, but Garrik stepped back. “I will be unreachable tonight but will find you in the morning. Goodnight, Alora.”

She stepped forward, not entirely sure why. “Wait!”

He was ducking out the door but pivoted back, hand on his sore ribs.