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“Thank you, sire,” I said, still surprised. “Though I’m not sure I will have much time for reading on my journey. Or if it will help.”
Killian nodded, biting the inside of his check. “I haven’t seen much of war or conflict for myself. Elverath’s battles were won long before I was born, but I have made a point to learn about the wars of men—and Elves. Understanding one’s enemy is key to defeating them. Perhaps it will help you defeat the Shadow.”
I opened the book at its middle. An image of a Fae holding two babes at her breast was sketched into the paper. My fingers traced over her voluminous curls and strong chin. Her eyes were molten gold.
She was a Light Fae.
“Is that the key to preventing wars, then?” I said, my eyes still focused on the sketch. “Use knowledge of your enemy to defeat them before the battle even begins?”
Killian’s lips twitched to one side as our eyes met. “That is one advantage,” he said softly.
“And the other?” I asked, snapping the book shut.
“It can also help you realize if an enemy is truly your enemy at all,” he said. His eyes bore into mine without blinking. I raised a brow, but he did not say anything else.
“How long do you plan to stay?” I asked, breaking our stare to place the book in the bag under my cloak.
Killian cleared his throat. “I leave for Volcar the day after tomorrow. I only returned at my father’s request.” He rubbed his neck, and I spotted a small ink stain on his sleeve. Killian was always in the library when at home. Reading most of the day, writing for the rest.
“I have stolen too much of your time already,” he said with a small duck of his head. “I will let you get back to your work.” He peered down at the wheelbarrow, a smile playing at his lips as he raised a brow back at me. It was amazing how similar his strong features were to his brother’s yet the princes looked nothing alike.
“I’m fetching some sand,” I said, gesturing to the wheelbarrow, feeling the need to explain myself.
“Sand?” He chewed his lip, but there was a lightness in his eyes that eased my shoulders.
“Yes.” I nodded, unsure if I should elaborate.
The prince stepped back toward the library with a short laugh.
“We’re all entitled to our secrets, Keera,” he called over his shoulder, disappearing between the stacks of books and scrolls.
I had just finished the surprise when Gwyn walked in.
“What did you do?” she squealed, her hands covering her mouth as she danced back and forth on her tiptoes. She had done the same when she was a small child anytime I brought her something from my travels.
My entire bedchamber was lined with sand from the beach. I pushed the dresser into the bath, so nothing blocked the view of the sea along the long glass wall. Two towels were placed in front of it with a basket and pitcher of water.
“We’re having a picnic on the beach,” I said, unable to contain my smile. My chest was always lighter trying to bring some cheer to Gwyn’s day.
Her eyes were wide as she stepped out of her slippers. She walked toward the makeshift beach, stopping at its edge. She held her foot out for a moment, suspended over the sand, slowly lowering her toes onto the beach. A giggle broke from her lips, and she scrunched her feet into the sand, swinging her hips back and forth.
“It feels glorious!” she said before running across the room and jumping on top of me. I almost fell onto the basket before I could steady myself. “Thank you so much, Keera.” She laughed as I twirled her around. I would bring barrows of sand to her every day if it meant her laughs would never dwindle.
“I’m glad you like it,” I said, sitting down on one of the towels. Gwyn continued to walk along the room, twirling and playing in the sand. It reminded me of when she’d followed her mother around the castle as she did her chores, dancing and laughing from dawn to dusk.
“Look under your pillow,” I told her when she finally sat down on her towel.
She pulled out a parcel sealed with a fine ribbon. The outline of two crossed sheaves of wheat was pressed into the wax, the symbol of the House of Harvest.
“What is it?” she asked in her usual way.
I raised a brow and shook my head. “You have to open it, Gwyn,” I said, refusing to let our script drop.
She giggled as she pulled off the seal and opened the box. Inside was a glass bottle of perfume. The flute was made of gold and encrusted with a small ruby on top. The red reminded me of her hair.
“I love it,” she said, studying the blue liquid swirling in the glass. “But what is it?”
I laughed. “Perfume,” I said, “the fancy kind that ladies wear. I bought it because I thought it smelled like Volcar when it snows.”
