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The elf’s gaze was frosty, a mixture of impatience and disbelief. It was evident the librarian found her presence in the sacred sanctuary of knowledge nothing short of an insult.
“Perhaps it would be best if you left the library to those who are more capable of utilizing its resources.”
Anthea looked down to her table, unable to meet that icy gaze, fingers picking on its smooth wood. She felt judged, deemed unworthy of the library’s treasures, too foolish and inept to be trusted with them.
“I will speak with Prince Endreth,” the elf continued. “I will tell him not to send you here again.” The librarian’s gaze swept over Anthea one last time, lingering on the disheveled pile of books in front of her. “I do not want to see you here anymore,” she stated with finality. “Stick to the things you are capable of.” With that, she turned on her heel, her silken robe swishing against the polished floor as she walked away.
For a moment, Anthea just sat there, her hands trembling as she fought to hold back tears. The silence of the library seemed to mock her now, the very walls whispering of her inadequacy.
As the bustling noise of the elven servants filled the communal dining room, Anthea’s fingers idly twirled her fork around the vibrant leafy greens on her plate. She had practically fled the library, overwhelmed by a sense of failure that seemed to define her existence in this place.
Again and again, she had failed.
Stupid. Ignorant. A failure.
That was all she was here.
Alyra entered through the arched stone doorway. With a brief wave, Anthea gestured for the elf to join her. She needed a distraction, and maybe, just maybe, she would still get the information she was after.
“Anthea,” Alyra greeted, her eyes warm, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she took the seat across from her. “I’ve heard you’re now granted access to the library. How did that come about?” The elf’s eyes glittered with curiosity. “Did your duties to the prince change?”
Anthea shifted uncomfortably in her chair, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She did not want to talk about the library.
“Prince Endreth found other uses for my talents.”
“Talents?” Alyra’s voice lilted with intrigue. “And which might those be?”
“You know . . . reading,” Anthea shrugged lightly, hoping to steer the conversation away from this topic.
“Ah, so Prince Endreth is using you as his assistant.” The elf leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “What does he have you researching?”
“I shouldn’t really share that. I don’t want to anger him.”
“Of course. My apologies for prying.”
Taking a deep breath, Anthea tried to shake off her unease. She needed to take control of the conversation. “Actually, Alyra. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Alyra leaned back in her chair, one slender hand stretched forward, playing with the edge of the table. “And what is that?”
Anthea traced the rim of her glass before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I was curious, when exactly did you come to the Crimson court?” she asked.
The elf’s brows furrowed, hand pausing its movements, her gaze thoughtful as she considered the question. “Oh, it was a long time ago,” she finally replied, her voice noncommittal. “Why do you ask?” Her smile was encouraging, but the intensity of her pale eyes bore into Anthea, sparking a sudden flash of unease. Anthea shrugged it off, her mind quickly crafting an acceptable response.
“No reason.” Her smile mirrored Alyra’s. “There was a party between the elven nobles—the Nephrite court’s princes were there. I was just wondering . . .” Alyra didn’t say anything, waiting for Anthea to continue. The intensity of her gaze caused a knot of unease to form in her stomach, and she suddenly found herself unable to meet the elven female’s stare?—
“N-nevermind,” Anthea uncrossed her arms, leaning forward, she looked down at her plate again. Picking up her fork, she twirled it around her food, pushing the leafy greens away from the cooked vegetables. “They were . . . just beautiful, is all.” She kept her eyes on her plate, hoping her deflection was convincing enough.
Alyra let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, Anthea, are the princes of the Nephrite court so enchanting you’re already forgetting about our own Prince Endreth? What would the Crimson prince say if he knew you were already looking at other males?”
Anthea’s fork clattered against her plate as she looked up sharply. For a moment, she was at a loss for words. The last time they had talked about Endreth, Alyra had expressed her sorrow at the prince’s abuse against her. Now this?
Alyra quickly leaned forward, reaching across the table, placing her hand over Anthea’s. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft. “I shouldn’t tease. But as far as I know, the Nephrite princes never took a human slave, so . . .” she trailed off, removing her hand, a hint of a smirk on her lips.
Was the elf insinuating she wanted to be in this position? Anthea’s confusion turned to anger as she looked at Alyra, really looked at her. It was as if she was waiting for something, waiting for Anthea to react. So she did?—
“What do you mean by if Prince Endreth knew? Are you planning on relaying our conversations to him?” she demanded, using a tone she had used in many tough negotiations with clients—a tone that expected answers.
The elven maiden blinked, her lips twitching for a fraction of a second. Then, with a sigh, she lowered her gaze. “No, I would never do that,” she assured her. “I would never betray your trust.”
