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“It’s an honor to meet you, Alora.” Thalon’s voice was comforting, soft. Like smooth fur in the freezing weather. “From one Mystic to another, I’m glad you’re here. You’re safe with us.” His tattooed palm gripped the top of hers before he let go completely.

Aiden dramatically bent at his torso and bowed, arms out at his sides. Then, the two walked off behind them toward the hitching posts.

She whipped her head to the High Prince, eyes widened. “How did you?—”

“Come with me.” He gave her little regard as he turned and walked toward his tent, as if he expected her to follow. Like any royal would.

But Alora stood firm on her feet, fists balled at her sides. “Not until you tell me how you know who I am.”

Garrik stopped mid-stride.

His deep voice shook with frustration. “Come. Now.”

Garrik escorted her through a maze of tents and shadows with unsettling silence.

High Prince or not, no one held the power to know who someone was without a name being spoken to them.

And she would never grant him that kind of power over her. Never.

Their intended route brought them to the front of a massive tent, much larger than any other in camp. Not even Garrik’s compared to its size. Seven steep peaks topped the long, draped, black canvas, and open windows fluttered in the morning breeze, allowing a glow of dim light to escape the inside.

It was dark—very dark. The image of such a blackened structure among the white sea was so out of place, Alora’s feet protested the path ahead. Her heavy steps scuffed the dirt and grass, beholding it as they walked to the doors.

A strong scent of aged vanillin wood hovered in the air. The grass outside the door completely trampled from heavy traffic.

Garrik held open the tent entrance for her, gesturing for her to walk inside. “Go in.”

“What is this, your traveling throne room? Your golden crown awaits.” Alora pulled the opposite flap open, scowled at him as she passed, and ducked inside.

Not an ounce of sunlight touched the space, save for the small rays peeking through four open glass windows, one on each wall. It was like she’d stepped into a great hall.

How was that possible? Alora’s eyes widened, raking them over an unbelievable room. Instead of canvas walls and an open breeze, she was greeted with glass lanterns spread across the ceiling, hanging from a two-story, open-concept?—

No. Surely she was dreaming. There was no other explanation.

A library.

Even the libraries in Telldaira were nothing compared to the beauty and the ancient smell this place held. Tomes upon tomes and leather-bound texts of every color and shade were wedged tight. Thousands of books lined every corner of the shelves in the spectacular room.

On the floor level, hiding under the left mezzanine that stretched around the entire room, sat a small cot fit for one,and even that appeared layered with open texts, parchment, and quills.

In the center, atop wooden floorboards and a gold-lined crimson rug, a polished, long rectangular desk waited. It too overflowing with mounds of open texts and one lonely lantern dancing its soothing glow. Seven polished coffee-colored pillars jutted to a ceiling that beheld a dancing clouded sky, yet its light didn’t touch the dim library. Wrapped around the center-most pole, a winding wooden staircase pierced through the top to where she believed she could see a rooftop terrace.

A pile of books toppled to the ground to her left.

“Well, actually, it's mine.” A short, lean-built, brown-eyed High Fae male with curly, auburn hair poked his head around a book pile much taller than him. He leaned down and picked up the tomes that had fallen, wrinkling his nose to adjust round-rimmed glasses. “Not a throne room, but much better.” He paused, fumbling with a book to reach his palm out to her. “Nice to finally meet you! I’m Eldacar.”

Garrik speared him with a stern glare.

“How is this possible?” Alora questioned, eyes so wide the whites glowed.

“Forgive her manners, this is Alora.” Shadows whirled in the High Prince’s hand, disappearing on a phantom wind before revealing a small, red leather-bound book. He stretched out his arm and handed it down to the redhead, who graciously accepted it.

Brown eyes practically gleaming in excitement, Eldacar nodded a sheepish bow and mouthed a quiet, ‘Thank you.’

Turning to her, Garrik explained, “Eldacar is one of my most trusted advisers and friends. He and his library accompany us wherever my legion moves.”

His short size, and even the appearance of his high-collared, brown leather jacket, made Eldacar appear out of place. Noarmor, just as the rest. No weapons that she could see. The lack of muscles, not useful in a fight. Crunching her eyebrows in confusion, Alora questioned, “So you’re a soldier, then?”