The library was never truly silent.

Most people believed it was. Though most people stepped inside and heard nothing beyond the turning of pages and the occasional crackle of a fireplace.

They were wrong.

Books settled on shelves. Wood expanded with changes in temperature. The old clock above the western alcove ticked steadily. Rain tapped softly against stained glass. Every library possessed a language of its own.

Most simply never learned how to listen.

I turned another page. The candle beside me flickered. Shadows shifted across the table. Outside, evening had settled over the palace. The world beyond the tall windows had dissolved into shades of blue and silver.

Rain drifted lazily against the glass. A pleasant sound. Comforting. Familiar.

My eyes moved across the text before me. Then stopped. Then moved backward. I reread the same sentence. Once. Twice. Three times. Not because it was complicated. Because I hadn't absorbed a single word.

A quiet sigh escaped me. The book closed. The sound echoed softly through the nearly empty library. So much for concentrating.

The problem wasn't the book. The problem was that for six months now, concentration had become increasingly difficult.

Three months remained. The thought appeared uninvited. As it always did. The king's announcement had transformed the palace into something restless. Not chaotic. Not openly. But restless. Like the air before a storm.

Everyone felt it. Everyone pretended they didn't. The court whispered. The servants speculated. The nobles placed bets they thought nobody knew about.

I knew about them. Most of the staff knew about them. One particularly ambitious lord had apparently lost a substantial amount of money wagering on Rian. The memory almost made me smile.

Almost.

The smile faded quickly. My gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked windows. Four years ago, none of this would have mattered. The future had seemed obvious then. The sort of certainty only youth can produce.

Then a horse stumbled. A life ended. And suddenly the future belonged to no one.

The ache arrived quietly. It always did. Not sharp anymore. Not like before. Just familiar. A scar beneath the skin.

I reached toward the shelf beside my desk and carefully withdrew an old book. The leather cover had faded with age. The corners showed wear. The pages inside contained notes written in a familiar hand.

Ellian's.

I opened to a random page. A ridiculous sketch stared back at me. A constellation. Or rather, Ellian's interpretation of one. The stars had been labeled: "Very Large Goat."

A chuckle escaped before I could stop it. Gods. The man had been impossible. The astronomers of my homeland would have fainted.

The memory lingered.

Six children sprawled across blankets atop a castle tower. A sky overflowing with stars. Ellian insisting every constellation needed a better name. The princess laughing so hard she nearly fell over. Rian arguing. Marek claiming they were all idiots. Alder attempting, unsuccessfully, to restore order.

The memory softened something inside me. Then sharpened it. Because those nights felt impossibly distant now.

Not gone. Never gone. Just... Further away.

Soon the princess would choose. The realization should not have affected me. For years I had convinced myself it didn't. For years I had accepted reality exactly as it was.

First Ellian. Then whoever she wished. The answer had never included me. Not once. Not seriously. I had made peace with that. Or so I told myself.

A humorless smile touched my lips. Funny how easily people could lie to themselves. The truth was embarrassingly simple. Painfully simple. I loved her. Had for years. Perhaps longer than I cared to admit.

The problem was that hope is a dangerous thing.

And six months ago, someone had accidentally handed it back to me.

A floorboard creaked somewhere beyond the shelves. My attention lifted automatically. Not alarmed. Not surprised. Just aware.