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V ivienne had no idea why she’d expected the Chancellor’s office to be anything like Johanna’s warm and inviting bakery.

This space was the opposite.

The room felt cramped despite its high ceilings, the weight of self-importance pressing in from all sides. Overstuffed bookshelves loomed, crammed with thick tomes, their haphazard stacks threatening to collapse. Whatever walls remained visible were covered with heavy, blood-red curtains absorbing what little light the candles provided. The air carried the faint scent of wax and something acrid, like ink left too long to dry.

In the center of the room sat an absurdly large desk, dominating the space. How did they even get that thing through the door? she wondered, eyeing the bulky monstrosity. Two plain wooden chairs were crammed in front of it, a stark contrast to the gilded imposition of a chair resting on the other side.

Then there was the portrait.

Vivienne’s lips parted slightly in disbelief. The painting leaned against the back wall, its oversized frame nearly reaching the ceiling, leaving little doubt as to who it depicted. A thin, almost skeletal man with a sharp nose, thin, dark mustache, and eyes that seemed far too beady for such a grandiose setting. It was as if the Chancellor had commissioned an artist to capture every ounce of his arrogance and enlarge it to an absurd degree.

"Be with you in a moment!" A high, reedy voice called from somewhere unseen.

Vivienne frowned. Where ? —

A section of curtain twitched.

With a dramatic sweep, the fabric parted, and a strange man shuffled through.

The Chancellor was even smaller in person than in his exaggerated portrait. His thin frame was wrapped in layers of fabric, each more elaborate than the last, as though attempting to compensate for his lack of physical presence. His hair, faded gray and thinning at the crown, was pulled back tightly, slicked to his scalp with an unnatural sheen. The style only served to emphasize the sharp angles of his face, his widow’s peak exaggerated by whatever greasy concoction held it in place.

His lips stretched into something that might have been a smile, but the effect was unsettling against the backdrop of his oversized teeth.

His dark eyes flicked between Vivienne and Lewis. "Good afternoon," he said, his voice higher-pitched than she had expected. "I am Chancellor Montaghue."

Vivienne forced a polite nod. "Hello, I’m Vivienne Banner, and this is Lewis Blume."

"Nice to meet you, Chancellor," Lewis added.

"Quite." Montaghue shuffled toward his chair, shimmying around the absurdly large desk before settling into his throne-like seat.

Vivienne and Lewis took their places in the plain wooden chairs, careful not to bump the shelves nestled behind them. From this angle, the massive portrait seemed even more ridiculous, comically dwarfing the real Montaghue.

The Chancellor flipped through a massive ledger, running a spindly finger down the page. He barely looked up when he spoke again. "Banner," he mused before pausing in a way that felt too rehearsed. His face took on a mask of forced sympathy. "My deepest condolences for the loss of your parents. May they rest well in the Eternal Glade."

Vivienne’s teeth clenched. Not a loss.

"They're not gone," she said firmly. "That’s why I’m here. I’d like an audience with the King to discuss my parents and what needs to happen next."

Montaghue didn’t bother to acknowledge the request. "Your parents were Official Court Antiquaries, correct?"

"Yes," Vivienne responded, her eyes narrowing.

"Yet you remain only an apprentice at the Library of Metis?" Though phrased as a question, his tone was full of judgment.

Vivienne’s jaw tightened. Stay calm. She forced a smile, though it felt more like baring her teeth. "That’s correct."

Montaghue let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, flipping to another ledger, somehow even larger than the first. His lips pursed as he scanned the page, and then, with an air of detached bureaucracy, he said, "Not to worry, you’ll be given a full thirty days to relocate."

Vivienne’s brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Lewis straightened. "What do you mean relocate ?"

Montaghue’s beady eyes darted between them as though confused by their reaction. "The house is owned by the Crown and designated as living quarters for official Crown specialists. As Miss Banner is only an apprentice ," he enunciated with barely concealed disdain, "she cannot remain in the residence."

Vivienne and Lewis exchanged identical looks of stunned disbelief. Vivienne’s pulse thundered in her ears. My parents go missing, and you have the audacity to kick us out of our home?

Her fingers curled into her lap, wrinkling the purple linen of her dress as she fought the rising fury in her chest. "I’ve lived in that house my entire life. My cousin and I— You can’t ?—"

"Oh yes," Montaghue interrupted with a dismissive wave of his bony hand. "Speaking of your cousin, Miss Briar Robertson, your parents named you as her legal guardian in the event of a prolonged absence or their passing."

The words slammed into her. Legal guardian. She barely registered the sharp intake of breath from Lewis beside her. I’m responsible for Briar. Not just today, not just until my parents return… but for the rest of my life.

Her anger warred with the shock, but anger won.

"You’re making me a parent to a pre-teen when I’m not yet twenty-five—and still taking our home away?" Her voice rose as the heat in her chest threatened to consume her. "When I only make an apprentice’s salary? Where exactly do you expect us to go, you sniveling piece of? — "

A firm hand on her knee stopped her mid-sentence. Lewis. A strategic interruption.

"Your Excellency," Lewis cut in smoothly, his tone all politeness, though his grip on her knee remained steady. "Surely there’s another solution?"

Montaghue inhaled sharply, his oversized teeth glinting as he shuffled a few papers for show. "You are welcome to appeal these decisions with the King," he said with a theatrical sigh.

"I imagine that appeal would happen during an audience with the King?" Lewis prompted, his tone pleasant but pointed.

The Chancellor gave a sharp nod.

Lewis turned to Vivienne. She was still simmering, barely containing the words she really wanted to say. He knew her well enough to recognize when it was best for him to manage a conversation.

"We’d like to add our names to the list," Lewis said, waving at the enormous ledgers.

Montaghue flipped between pages, tapping a finger against a schedule. "We have availability in six weeks… or… tomorrow."

Lewis leaned toward Vivienne. "What’s better for you?"

She inhaled slowly. They’ve already been missing for too long. Six weeks is out of the question. By then, Briar and I won’t have anywhere to live.

"Tomorrow," she said, the word leaden on her tongue.

Montaghue didn’t look up as he scribbled their names into the ledger. "Tomorrow it is. Report to Eirenden Keep at one o’clock sharp." He handed Vivienne a parchment scroll. His nose wrinkled slightly as he scanned her. "And do put more care into your appearance for tomorrow."

Vivienne opened her mouth, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove his parchment scroll, but Lewis stepped in.

"I will," he said brightly, flashing a grin. Before she could throttle the man, he guided her out of the office.

* * *

“That went well," Lewis drawled, his voice baked in sarcasm as they wound their way down the narrow street, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the Chancellor’s office.

Vivienne let out a scoff, running a hand over her braid. "This might be the strangest and worst twenty-four hours of my life." Her voice teetered on the edge of disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it more real. "Yesterday, I had a family, a career path, and a home. Today, all of those things are hanging by a thread… and I’m somehow supposed to take care of Briar."

Lewis nodded, a teasing lilt slipping into his voice. "Well, today you also got to add ‘cool scroll of parchment’ and ‘vendetta against the Chancellor’ to the list. So that’s something."

Vivienne threw her arms up. "Oh, right! Can’t forget those two sparkling additions."

They walked in silence for a few steps, the city sounds filling the space between them.

Lewis’ voice was careful when he spoke again. "You still have a family. And a career. And we’ll figure out the home thing. If your parents don’t come back?—"

Vivienne cut him off, her voice sharp. "You mean when they come back."

His jaw flexed. A barely-there nod. "Sure. When ."

She wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or choosing to let it go.

"You still have Johanna," he continued, "Briar, the library…" He inhaled, hands disappearing into his pockets as his gaze flicked anywhere but at her. "And… me."

Vivienne blinked at him, surprised by his sudden shift in tone. His voice was steady, but that hesitation— why did he hesitate?

She smiled, shoving the thought away. "I know that," she said, bumping his shoulder with her own. "You know that. But sometimes I need a reminder. Thank you."

Lewis glanced sideways at her. He smiled, small and lopsided. "Don’t mention it."

They fell into step again.

Vivienne exhaled, her shoulders loosening just a little. "You know," she mused, half to herself, "sometimes I wonder why you still put up with me after all these years."

Lewis took two more steps. Then stopped.

Vivienne skidded to a halt inches away from running into him. "What the?—"

He turned, eyes locked onto hers, his expression unreadable. "Do you want me to tell you the truth?" His voice was lower now, quieter.

Vivienne’s breath hitched. She studied his face, searching for some kind of clue, something to make sense of the sudden shift in the air around them. "...Of course I do."

He reached for her hands, his touch firm and warm. Vivienne sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the sensation.

His golden-brown eyes searched hers. "After spending almost twenty-five years with you," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "the real reason I’m still around, the reason I put up with you…"

Vivienne’s pulse pounded, loud enough she was sure he could hear it.

"... is all of the free pastries."

She gaped at him. "Oh my gods, Lewis!"

Ripping her hands free from his, she smacked his shoulder, rolling her eyes as laughter bubbled out of her. "I thought you were going to make some grand confession!"

Lewis rocked back on his heels, an odd tightness around his smile. "Yeah… that would be weird, right?"

Vivienne laughed again, but there was something off about the way he said it. Something just beneath the surface.

"Yeah. Weird," she echoed, watching him.

He nodded quickly, clearing his throat. "Anyway, if you’re not completely stuffed from your singular piece of bread , we should probably go eat something."

Vivienne smirked, shaking her head as they started walking again. But a thought lingered at the edges of her mind, nagging at her. Something had just happened. And for the first time in all the years she’d known Lewis Blume, she wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

* * *

The Pelican Tavern stood near the docks, its weathered beams and stone walls bearing the scars of countless coastal storms. A battered sign creaked overhead, swinging with the salty breeze, depicting a pelican in a sailor’s hat balancing a frothy mug of ale in its beak.

Vivienne and Lewis stepped inside, and the scent of ale, roasted meat, and brine from the Phythean Sea wrapped around them like a thick, familiar cloak. The tavern was dimly lit by dripping candles in wrought-iron chandeliers hanging low from the rafters, their golden glow barely cutting through the haze of old smoke and sea air.

The hearth, dormant for the summer, sat surrounded by well-worn armchairs with cracked leather, their cushions sunken from years of weary sailors taking refuge. The bar stretched the length of one wall, its heavy wooden planks stained from decades of spilled drinks and raucous toasts. Shelves behind it were lined with bottles of all shapes and sizes, filled with local and imported spirits in amber, emerald, and deep sapphire hues.

At this hour, The Pelican was quiet, save for the few men who never seemed to leave or run out of coin. The absence of music made the room feel strangely hollow, the silence broken only by the clink of mugs and the scrape of utensils against plates.

Lewis gestured toward the bar. “Grab a table, I’ll get food.”

Vivienne wandered between rough-hewn tables, their surfaces marred with knife marks and stained rings from hundreds of mugs, before pausing by the far wall. A sailor’s compass, a rusted anchor, and the skull of a monstrous fish hung alongside tattered maps of Fendwyr’s coastline, with time-faded ink.

She traced a finger over one of the maps, the cartographer’s delicate script still legible in the right light.

Lewis’ voice sounded behind her. “Are you working right now?”

She smirked. “Hah, no. But after cataloging maps for almost a year, sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Show-off.”

They took a seat as Lewis set down two pints of ale and two plates of roast beef with potatoes.

Vivienne prodded her beef with her fork. It was cooked through but had cooled to room temperature. She frowned.

Lewis caught her expression. “It was this or the mystery stew,” he said matter-of-factly.

Vivienne gave an approving nod. Never trust the mystery stew.

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started eating. As she shoveled potatoes onto her fork, she made a mental note to eat proper meals instead of grazing like she always had. Her mother used to call her ‘hummingbird’—never eating much at a time, always flitting from one thing to the next. It had been an endearing nickname, or an indictment, depending on her mother’s mood. Her stomach no longer a hollow pit, her thoughts returned to the real issue at hand.

“You don’t think Montaghue would actually evict Briar and me, do you?”

Lewis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Technically, they’d be within their rights.” His frown deepened. “Whether they would … that’s harder to say.”

Vivienne tapped her fork absently against her plate. “With my salary, I can’t afford more than a hovel.”

Lewis took a slow sip of ale. “Before you start looking for real estate, let’s see how the audience with the King goes tomorrow.”

“Ugh, tomorrow ,” she groaned, slumping over and burying her face in her hands. “I still can’t believe our options were tomorrow or six weeks from now.”

A voice, smooth as polished glass, cut through the air. “Options for what?”

Vivienne didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Bianca Kopfkino. Vivienne lifted her mug to her lips, pretending to drink to avoid speaking.

Bianca looked wildly out of place in The Pelican. With porcelain skin, a lace parasol, and impossibly arranged chocolate-brown curls, she looked more suited for an art salon than a dockside tavern. Her mint-green dress, tailored to perfection, made her green eyes gleam like gemstones—eyes currently fixed on Lewis.

Lewis looked like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards. He cleared his throat. “Uh… options for when I’m going to the barber.”

Bianca ran a delicate hand through his hair, her lace glove catching on a stray tendril. “I think it looks great ,” she purred.

Vivienne nearly spit out her ale.

Lewis locked up, his entire body going rigid. “Hah… thanks,” he said, his laugh forced and too high-pitched.

Bianca, oblivious to—or enjoying—his discomfort, continued. “I heard about your promotion to Assistant Royal Botanist. Congratulations!”

Lewis gave a tight-lipped smile. “Yes. Several years ago. But… thank you.”

“I’ve been an Assistant Art Steward for a little over a year,” Bianca chirped. “Followed in my parents’ footsteps—legacy and all. You understand, Banner . ”

Vivienne took another long sip.

“I’ve been working on the most exquisite portrait restoration project?—”

Vivienne set down her mug with a clunk. “Oh? So you actually do your own work now?”

Lewis kicked her under the table.

Vivienne winced. Worth it.

Bianca pretended not to hear. “It’s a tableau on the Isle of the Gods of Velorien stripping Malcari of his physical form and banishing him to the Everdark.” She sighed, dreamy. “Once it’s finished, you must come see it, Lewis.”

“Sure…” Lewis took the reins of the conversation and changed direction. “So, what brings you into The Pelican?”

“Well,” Bianca batted her impossibly long lashes, “I was hoping to run into you.”

His voice cracked. “Me?”

“Of course.” Her smile was all sugar. “I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go to the Harvest Moon Festival together.”

Lewis panicked. “I… I think Viv and I are going together.”

Bianca’s smile vanished. She cut a glare toward Vivienne, green eyes flashing with thinly veiled contempt. “Oh, I see.”

Lewis sputtered, trying to course-correct. “I mean—not together-together —friends together.”

“What great news,” Bianca giggled, her lace-covered hand brushing his shoulder.

Vivienne had seen enough. Who does Bianca think she is? Something hot and unfamiliar surged in her chest. She clenched her mug, forcing herself to smile derisively instead of snarling outright.

“Is there something we can help you with, Bianca?”

Bianca waved a delicate hand. “Oh, don’t be jealous, Banner.”

Vivienne nearly choked. Jealous?

Bianca twirled a loose curl around her finger. “If you two are just friends , then surely you wouldn’t object to Lewis saving a dance for me?”

Heat crept up Vivienne’s neck. I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she snapped.

Lewis flinched.

She regretted it immediately. I shouldn't have said it like that, she tried to convey to him with apology in her eyes.

Bianca’s smirk widened. “How lucky for me, then.” She dragged her lace-gloved fingers along Lewis’ cheek, making his entire face turn maroon. “I’ll see you in two days.”

Vivienne nearly dropped her mug as her jaw fell open.

Bianca sauntered toward the exit, hips swaying with intentional movement. The layers of her dress rustled as she vanished into the street.

When the door closed behind Bianca, Vivienne spoke first. “What in the names of the gods did I just witness?”

Lewis groaned, setting down his spectacles to rub his eyes. “She’s been hinting that she’s interested in me for months.”

This has been going on for months? Vivienne scrunched up her nose. Interested in him? She found it difficult to picture her childhood friend attracting such a particular flavor of interest. "Hinted?" She quipped. "It's obvious to me in one interaction." She rested her chin on her hand. "I mean, the way she looked at you..."

"You mean the way a black widow looks at her mate before she kills and eats him?"

Vivienne pressed her lips together in a hard line to keep from bursting out laughing.

"It's flattering, sure," he admitted. "She's made her intentions for starting a relationship crystal clear."

Vivienne narrowed her eyes, studying him. “Are you interested in starting a relationship?”

Lewis blinked several times and looked away. The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.

She kept her tone light, but something about the way his shoulders stiffened made her wonder if she had wandered into dangerous territory. Lewis and Vivienne had both dated over the years, flirtations, short-lived romances, partners who never lasted long. Their deeper friendship had always been an issue with their romantic partners. People rarely understood it.

Vivienne knew, in the back of her mind, that eventually, one of them would have to make a choice. Someone serious would come along, and their friendship would have to shift. She had faced that reality once before, during her brief engagement. But once she had ended things, everything between her and Lewis snapped back into place, as if nothing had ever threatened to change at all.

Lewis exhaled, shifting his weight. “I mean… if I found the right person, sure.” He avoided Vivienne’s gaze.

He cleared his throat, stretching his arms out, as if the movement might shake off whatever had just crossed his mind. “But I’m in no hurry,” he added, too quickly. “And I’ve never done or said anything to encourage her.”

Vivienne closed her eyes, needing a moment to catch up. “To encourage Bianca?”

Lewis nodded, exasperation flickering across his face. “The last time I spoke to her, I talked about soil types and seedlings.”

She smirked, pressing a hand to her chest. “Soil and seedlings ? ” She fanned herself for effect. “My goodness, Mr. Blume, you sure can charm a lady.”

Lewis let out a long-suffering sigh, giving her a dry, unimpressed look. “If you're done making fun of me, I have some work to finish in the gardens.”

Vivienne grinned, squinting at him like she was trying to see through him. “I don’t know… are you actually going to work, or are you just trying to escape this conversation?”

Lewis exhaled through his nose. “I do actually have a job and work I have to keep up with.” He flicked a glance toward her, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, you should get some rest. We talk to the King tomorrow.”

Vivienne groaned, dropping her head onto the table with a soft thud. Lewis chuckled, already stepping back toward the door.

She lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “I’m adding ‘Lewis Blume abandoning me’ to my growing list of problems.”

“I’m honored,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the exit.

Vivienne watched him go, the lightness in their banter already fading. Her fingers curled against the wooden table. She didn’t know why she had asked the relationship question in the first place. But now, she wasn’t sure she liked the answer.