Cardan Greenbriar, the debauched, sharp-tongued, scandal-bred youngest prince of Elfhame, never imagined he would be cast out of Faerie and flung into the human world like so much discarded parchment. And yet, here he was.

Not that it was entirely his fault. Well. Not strictly.

Since the day of his cursed birth, a prophecy clung to him like rot, one whispered in dark corners and etched in the breathless silences of court. He was foretold to be the ruin of Elfhame’s throne. The beginning of the end. And in a family already rotten with inbreeding, tyranny, and blasphemy, what was one more black sheep among the wolves?

So he embraced the role. Became the monster they all feared, the beautiful disaster they whispered about behind goblets of poisoned wine.

For a while, the act suited him. He was educated alongside the gentry, though “educated” may be too generous a term. He surrounded himself with companions who mistook cruelty for charisma. He claimed a lover, Nicasia, tempestuous and half-mad—though that ended when her hunger for power outgrew her interest in him. He drank until the nights blurred, danced until his bones ached, and indulged in every reckless whim the Court could offer. His temper flared less often than it had in boyhood, but it still smoldered beneath the surface.

And then came the prank.

One petty trick, involving a mortal girl, drowned, nearly, though not quite, one adopted by his brother’s seneschal. A jest, really. Or so they’d thought.

King Eldred had not found it amusing.

There had been no dramatic trial, no stern warnings or fatherly reprimands. Just a glance, a sentence, and then exile. His golden-eyed, disreputable son, banished to the mortal realm.

The moment his boots touched the asphalt of the human world, everything in him recoiled. The noise was ceaseless, horns, shouting, the mechanical roar of metal beasts. Lights strobed like fairy fire but smelled of smoke and filth. The buildings loomed, gray and artless, clawing at the sky as if in defiance of the stars.

People gawked, their eyes wide with a blend of fear and fascination. He supposed he did look absurd to them, his tall, lean frame; his pointed ears; the sinuous black tail flicking behind him. His features were too sharp, too golden, too wrong to pass unnoticed. Likely they thought him a cosplayer or a lunatic. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Overwhelmed and already regretting his very existence, he darted toward the first structure that didn’t assault his senses, a squat building with tall windows and a faded sign. He wrenched open the door and stumbled inside, panting like he’d outrun the Wild Hunt itself.

The air inside was still. Quiet. The walls were lined with books, the kind that smelled like age and wisdom. Desks stood scattered like forgotten thrones. Portraits hung on the walls, some of humans, some of monsters, all staring.

He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his collar, and looked up.

And that’s when he saw you.

You, standing behind the counter, watching him with a mix of wariness and wonder. The keeper of this strange little kingdom of ink and paper. A mortal, yes, but your gaze held no fear. Only curiosity.

You, who would come to know the truth of him.

You, in whose library he now stood, a library filled with stories about creatures just like him.