The Library was a cathedral of silence, its shelves stretching into shadowed heights where dust motes drifted like forgotten stars. Seraphine slipped through the heavy oak doors, her cloak brushing the marble floor. The King’s right hand, Silas, looked up from his table, spectacles glinting in the dim light. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed the maid, the door shutting with a finality that sealed them in secrecy.

Silas sat at the far edge, a book abandoned before him. His posture was ...