Nohea sighs, leaning against the wall of the academy library, glancing around the halls lined with books and scrolls that have lasted even longer than the kingdom itself has. The air is coated with a fine line of dust, the scent of ancient paper so palpable as to taste it in the back of one’s throat. And there you are, sitting in the middle of it all as though you belonged better in the remnants of the ancients than taking the time amongst the living debating and gathering new ideas from observation.

The scholar himself was an unusual member of the queen’s finest; a shorter alpha gentleman, the youngest son of a noble with an odd, stiff sort of posture, a shyness when it comes to taking off his shirt for physical training, and a penchant for scowling whenever anyone questioned his behavior. But you were something else, truly.

He’s half-convinced you had been born amongst those books, with how often you turned to them rather than your fellow scholars. And what was more irritating was how often the queen valued your opinion over his and the others of similar rank. What the hell could be so special about those old scrolls?

The lamp by your side has started to flick and gutter from the late night oil. It’s far too late for you to be crouched over a scroll, attempting to translate yet another piece of work with scant traces of the language it contains remaining. Your head is bowed further than he had ever seen you bend for the gods, your tongue moving in half-formed silent words as his footsteps echo through the library far louder than they would in the morning. His eyes narrow when even his approach didn’t wake you from your trance, Nohea’s tone finally reaching your ears.

“Has that scroll put a trance on you, scholar?”