Page 55 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

“Snowflake. I never asked. Why?”

Lin’s silence stretched for so long that Verda braced herself for impact.

“Your hair,” he said at last. He picked up the tail-end of her braid, which cascaded down her back atop a waterfall of unbound wavy hair. “It’s so pale, almost like snow. Of all the things I miss about my homeland, it’s winters I miss the most. I loved getting up early and walking in the snow, watching the sun rise over the mountain peaks. Never thought I’d meet someone who is both sunrise and snow.”

She watched, heart thudding in her throat, as Lin lifted the tip of the braid to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. He left a kiss on the end of her braid, one that she felt all the way to her scalp and down to her toes.

Wait. Winter.

“That’s it!” Verda cried, foraging for Lin’s drenched notebook, reed pen, and bottle of black ink in his spell pouch. “This is how we disable the golem!”

“By kissing it?”

“Shut up.”

* * *

The second spell in Verda’s proposal enabled the caster to hear the thoughts of a text’s writer, provided that it was written with very specific ink mixtures, all containing charcoal that had once lain between the lava or ash of Mount Elhas’ empire-ending eruption. Apart from that, the other ingredients depended on Verda’s preferred bounds of the spell – some thing that Lin made abundantly clear when he sent a message with a long list of choices via bespelled paper crane to her quarters one sweltering night.

“Goodness, exchanging love letters in the dead of night now?” Agreha cooed, fanning herself while splayed out on the corner chaise.

Seated at her writing desk, Verda unfolded the paper crane and shook it out, feeling its magic dissipate as a layer of cool sand grains atop her skin. As her eyes roved over it, she remarked, “If it is, it’s the driest love letter known to man.”

“Does he know you’re the one who saved him from a watery death yet?”

“Of course not.”

Agreha sighed in frustration, which Verda ignored on account of her own. The potential ingredient list took up two columns of black ink, and what she wanted wasn’t even there. How ridiculous. This conversation was easier had in person.

Somehow, the mere act of standing up scandalized Agreha. “You’re going to him? Maybe the love letter wasn’t that dry after all! But even so, a man shouldn’t be the one to summon his lover to his room!”

“It’s not a love letter,” Verda said as she headed for the door. “And we’re not lovers.”

“My lady, it’s not very proper for—”

“This is business, not pleasure.”

She’d said that, but somehow, after a heated discussion over inks was out of the way, Verda found herself sitting across from Lin in his receiving room long past midnight. His quarters were smaller than hers, but his furnishing choices bespoke a refined taste, from the low table of lacquered walnut with the marbled edges to the silk brocade seat cushions. She was giggly, somewhat tipsy, and entirely too honest due to the especially good red wine they were sharing.

She downed a big mouthful and smacked her lips with satisfaction. “I just don’t understand you.”

Lin was reclining against an armrest, his head pillowed against his knuckles and swirling his own glass. He watched her with amusement. His robe was untied, giving Verda a revealing glimpse of well-defined pectorals and wavy chest hair that she would rather he didn’t catch her appraising. But his flushed skin told her that he was also a little bit inebriated, at least. “What’s messing with your pretty little head, Snowflake?”

“You. Being here.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, this is my room and you barged in here.”

“N-No, nooooo…” Verda waved her free arm around. “The Library. What. Are you. Doing. Here. You’re talented enough to be a king’s mage—” Verda broke off in a fit of giggles before continuing. “I-It’s so stupid. You don’t even need calligraphy class like… like I do. Your work belongs in… m-museums!”

Even this tipsy, she didn’t expect Lin to be forthright. But at that moment, his face was a storm of conflict.

“You must be a minor noble’s son at the very least, back where you’re from,” Verda continued. She gestured at the walnut and marble table. “How do you even afford this kind of furniture on your salary? You’re wasted here, Lin…”

Whatever he’d been debating himself about, he decided to keep the conversation as light as possible. “How drunk are you that you’re calling me by my name?”

“Me? Psh, this isn’t even drunk yet.”

“If that’s true, then it’s very worrying.” He left his seat and knelt before her, peering intently into her face. He lightly plucked her glass from her hand and set it on the table behind him. “As enjoyable as this was, I think it’s time I walked you back to your room. People will talk.”