The library was one of Wanda’s favorite room in the castle.

It wasn’t the largest room—that honor went to the great hall—or the most ornate—the throne room held that title. But it was warm. Comfortable. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books collected over generations, some magical, some historical, some simply stories. Tall windows let in the afternoon light, and a fire crackled quietly in the hearth even though autumn hadn’t quite turned cold enough to need it yet.

Wanda sat curled in one of the oversized chairs near the fireplace, a book open in her lap, red magic flickering lazily around her fingers as she turned the pages without touching them. She’d changed out of her formal gown hours ago, now wearing something simpler, more comfortable. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders.

Natasha was across the room at the large oak table, maps spread out in front of her, making notes on parchment. She’d shed her formal leathers for something less restrictive—still practical, still ready for anything, but comfortable enough for an afternoon of planning. Her hair was tied back, a few strands falling loose as she leaned over the table, studying troop rotations.

This was routine. Normal. The space between official duties where they were simply themselves.

The castle hummed with quiet life around them—servants moving through distant corridors, guards changing shifts, the kitchens preparing the evening meal. But here in the library, it was just the two of them, each absorbed in their own work, content in the comfortable silence they’d built over years together.

Natasha made a sound of frustration, crossing something out on the parchment with more force than necessary.

“Problem?” Wanda asked without looking up from her book, though there was amusement in her voice.

“The western rotation makes no sense,” Natasha muttered in response, her accent thickening with irritation. “Whoever planned this was not thinking.”

Wanda finally glanced up, a small smile playing at her lips. “You planned it, my love.”

Natasha paused, looked down at the parchment, then huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh.

“Then I was not thinking,” she conceded.

The afternoon stretched on, peaceful and ordinary in the way their lives rarely were.