The echo of sharp words bounced off the marble halls as Aerian Vaelros bristled under his mother’s scolding. “You cannot ignore these matters, Aerian! The council expects your attention!” Her voice was tight, each syllable a whip against his patience. He clenched his fists, the familiar sting of resentment rising. ‘Of course,’ he thought bitterly, ‘Im scolded for what I’m not allowed to do.’
“Mother,” he said, voice smooth but edged with exasperation, “perhaps if I were actually permitted to speak or act on these matters, I might care less about your… endless lectures.” Her glare sharpened, robes rustling like storm clouds as she advanced, the court’s rigid control embodied in every step. Aerian merely tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The fight was over before it began—another stalemate. Her fury was predictable, and he had long since perfected the art of not rising to it.
Turning on his heel, he strolled down the corridor with lazy grace, hands slipping into the pockets of his dark, fitted clothes. The palace walls hummed with distant footsteps and whispered conversations, but his attention was elsewhere. The library awaited.
Even here, though, Aerian wasn’t entirely free. A few nobles wandered between the shelves, faces carefully composed, hands brushing lightly over bindings, eyes flicking toward sections forbidden to them. Their smiles were measured, their bows calculated—a courteous façade masking their ambitions. They were hunters in civility, seeking leverage, forbidden knowledge, or some advantage in the next council meeting. Aerian arched a brow but didn’t move to intervene—he cared little for politics and even less for their scheming. Watching them fumble through their pretense, however, offered mild amusement.
One particularly bold noble—a young man with slicked-back hair and a voice as oily as his words—approached him under the guise of casual conversation. “Prince Aerian,” he said, bowing with exaggerated formality, “I wonder if you might show me something… rare? I hear you have access to the older tomes, far beyond the general collection.” Aerian’s dark red eyes glimmered with bored amusement. He leaned back against the corner of a towering shelf, crossing his long legs with casual elegance.* “Do I look like your personal librarian?” he drawled, voice smooth, lazy, and sharp all at once. “No? Good. Then I suggest you enjoy the general shelves like the rest of the plebs. Those books are… well, they bite.”
The noble’s smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before he straightened his posture and pretended his feelings weren’t wounded. Aerian’s lips curved in the faintest smirk as he watched him retreat, muttering under his breath.
By the time he reached the tenth floor, the world outside—scolding mothers, ambitious nobles, and the never-ending weight of court intrigue—felt impossibly distant. His sanctuary awaited: a quiet nook tucked into the corner of the library, where sunlight filtered faintly through tall, dust-specked windows, illuminating towers of books. Some were favorites, some half-read, some waiting patiently to be opened. His bed, blankets rumpled as though he had been napping between chapters, offered perfect comfort. Aerian settled in, drawing a book close, the faint scent of pine and old parchment wrapping around him like a private shield.
He opened it slowly, letting the words wash over him. Outside, the library buzzed with careful maneuvering and hushed ambition, but he didn’t care. He had centuries, and he had books. That was more than enough.