The library of the palace was a quiet fortress of its own. Tall shelves rising like trees in a sacred forest, everything cloaked in the stillness of paper and dust.
It was early. Too early for most wolves. The kind of quiet Elinore needed.
She sat at the far end of the hall, a table piled with ledgers, sealed letters, and maps. A pot of black tea steamed beside her, untouched.
A list lay open in front of her. Names of the southern village elders, most of them human, all of them requesting more autonomy, more protection, more visibility. She couldn't blame them. The Council barely pretended to care about those regions.
But that wasn't why her hand had paused mid-signature.
It was the presence.
She didn't hear him enter, she just felt it. That shift in the air, like a drop in pressure before a storm.
"I thought Lycans preferred sparring yards to books."
"I thought humans preferred sleeping in."
Randall's voice was casual, but it always carried weight. She heard it more in the way he moved, not like a man invading space, but like he already owned it.
She marked her place in the ledger, finally glancing up.
"Do you need something, Your Highness?"
Randall ignored the sarcasm and walked to the shelf beside her table.
"I was informed you'd be here."
"Did Alec tell you that?"
He gave her a sideways look. "Should I be worried that your advisor talks more than you do?"
"He knows better than to waste my time."
Randall pulled a book at random from the shelf and flipped it open without reading it.
"And yet you're here, working through letters from farmers and forgotten towns. That's not exactly regal."
"Neither is running away," she said without missing a beat.
That earned her a grin, sharp and shameless. "Touché."
He circled the table slowly, eyes flicking across the maps and pages.
"You really do all this yourself?"
"Surprised?" She leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap.
"Yes."
His honesty disarmed her for a breath. She'd expected a jab, not the truth.
"I assumed there were people who do this for you. I thought… I don't know. You'd delegate."
"You thought I just issued commands and waited to be adored?"
"I thought you'd at least act like you're above it."
Elinore gave him a slow, tight smile. "I'm not above anything. I'm a human sitting in a Lycan's seat. I don't have the luxury of pride."
Randall didn't reply right away. He walked to the other end of the table and picked up a scroll, unrolling it without asking. She didn't stop him.
"You're planning border expansions."
"Yes."
"You want to redraw the boundaries of Lycan territory."
"No," she said firmly. "I want to enforce them, officially. So the Council stops letting their packs bleed into human-owned farmlands and pretend it's a misunderstanding."
Randall hummed, gaze still on the map. "That'll make some Alphas very unhappy."
"I'm aware."
He looked up. "And you're doing it anyway."
"Of course."
He set the scroll down and moved closer again. "You're either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid."
"I've been called both."
There was no table between them now. Just air.
And tension.
Elinore's voice remained calm, but her pulse was quickening. She hated that he always stood like that. Too casual, too close. Like he was testing how much space she'd let him have.
But the truth was, she wasn't sure where she'd draw that line.
He tilted his head. "You don't flinch. Not even when I do this."
He reached out, not touching her, but grazing the edge of her sleeve, his fingers brushing the fabric.
She didn't move, but her breath caught.
"I've spent a hundred years watching people lie with every word they say," he murmured. "But you... you lie with silence."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what lie do you think I'm telling right now?"
"That you don't feel this."
Elinore felt heat rise in her chest, not from embarrassment. From fury.
"Be careful," she said softly. "You may be a prince, but I am not yours to bait."
Randall's gaze dropped to her lips again. "What if I'm not baiting?"
Elinore took a deliberate step back. Just one, enough to clear the air between them.
"You mistake interest for power," she said. "And attraction for control. If you think I'll play that game with you, Randall, then you've learned nothing."
He didn't follow, but his smile remained.
Faint. Dangerous. And not entirely defeated.
"Lesson noted," he said. "But if you think this kingdom is the only thing pulling us together, Regent… you're the one who hasn't learned."
He turned, heading for the door. This time, she let him leave without a word.
Her hand hovered over her teacup once he was gone, but she didn't drink.
Her fingers were shaking. Just a little.
She pulled them away from the cup like it had burned her.
No!
She would not let him get under her skin. Not like that.
Elinore drew in a breath, deep and even, and forced her hands to still. She picked up her pen again, dipping it in ink with the calm precision of someone who hadn't just been cornered by a Lycan prince.
But her mind refused to fall back into her work.
"That you don't feel this."
Arrogant. Presumptuous. Absolutely maddening!
And yet...
There was something about the way he'd said it. Not a boast, not a threat. Almost like a confession.
She hated how close he had gotten. How closely he watched her. Like he wasn't just looking at her. He was listening to her quiet, to the parts of her she tried not to show anyone.
And worse, he wasn't entirely wrong.
Her eyes flicked to the map again, to the stretch of southern farmland they'd been discussing, but the lines blurred.
She stood abruptly.
The quiet of the library was too loud. The echo of his presence still lingered in the shelves, in the air, in her skin.
She needed to move. To think.
Elinore swept the scrolls back into her satchel, stacked her ledgers with care, and made for the exit without looking back.
The halls were mostly empty at this hour. Guards stationed in shadowed alcoves, servants moving silently with lowered eyes. She didn't stop until she reached the outer balcony, high above the eastern wing.
Wind whipped her hair loose from its pins, and she let it. The night stretched out below her, Vareldis cloaked in silver moonlight, sharp and beautiful and haunted.
A kingdom carved by blood.
And still, they expected her to hold it together.
"You're here to survive."
She closed her eyes, his words echoing louder than they should.
Because he was right. That's what she'd been doing for so long.
Surviving.
Navigating wolves who wanted her silenced. Holding ground that was never meant to be hers. Pretending her heart was armor and not just a thing she kept hidden because it had never been safe to show.
And now he was here.
A prince she didn't trust. A man she didn't want to understand.
But she felt the pull, even now.
Not romantic, not soft. But elemental. Like something in her had recognized something in him long before they'd spoken.
She opened her eyes to the moonlight.
The year had only just begun. And already, it was unraveling faster than she could hold it.