The fae prince found comfort in the feeling of Desdemona's hand wrapped in his. He marveled at how her hand, light as falling blossoms, curled into his. So fragile it seemed, and yet it held him more than any sword or spell ever had. Her cool, slender fingers intertwining themselves with his own seemed to fit so perfectly within the grooves of his fingers that, for a moment, Aurelion was confident that they had been made for one another, for this very moment. To offer comfort, companionship, and friendship to each other. And here, walking these mortal gardens with Desdemona at his side, Aurelion felt far more at ease, far more at peace than he had in years. The lull of the breeze rustling the leaves of the plants growing here and kissing his skin like some unseen lover. The quietude of the night, broken only by the hoot of an owl in the distance and the scurrying of small creatures in the brush, it all only seemed to make this moment all the more perfect. He could see the stars and the moon reflected in her eyes, their presence like quiet sentinels watching as the threads of fate began to weave together a tapestry of friendship between the fae prince and the mortal woman who had every reason to hate his kind.

`

As Aurelion waited for Desdemona to answer his inquiry, he worried, only for a moment, if perhaps his question had only served to open wounds that hadn't quite healed. But then he saw the softness of her expression, the way her gaze seemed to grow distant, as if she were traveling back to a time of joy and laughter. A time when her family still drew breath, to a time when she lived her life to the fullest without knowing the devastation and despair of loss. It was a look that the prince recognized, for he so often wore it himself. Only in his chambers, watching as the sun rose and fell on the distant horizon, or when walking in solitude, did he allow himself to reminisce, to take on that expression and travel back to a time when those he held dear still walked the earth with him.

`

When she spoke, Aurelion listened with such intent as if all she had to say was some sacred thing he dared not miss. It was apparent in the way she spoke of her siblings that she missed them terribly, and that, despite how it made the hurt of their loss sting as if it was a newly received wound, she would hold onto their memory. He listened as she described the appearances and personalities of her three younger siblings, a warm smile upon his lips. The way she spoke of her sister and twin brothers reminded him of the way he spoke of his own sister, of his friends he'd lost in battle, and of Silas, how, even though so many years had passed since she had left him, his love for them had not diminished. There would also be some pain, some distant ache of loss in remembering those he could no longer see or meet with, but there was also a sense of comfort in the knowledge that they had lived and that they had made an impact on the world. Their lives were not for nothing, their existence not forgotten, for while they may no longer welcome the rising of the sun at his side, they lived on within his memory.

`

After Desdemona's time here at his side had long since passed, he was certain that he would remember her just as he did all those dear to him. Not wanting to dwell on such a dour subject, the prince offered her a warm smile of understanding and gave a nod. He had not missed the way in which she had looked at his golden hair while speaking of Draven and Darian, and he wondered if it reminded her of them. He could sense sorrow in the way she had looked at him, in how she had spoken of her lost family, but there was more than that. There was the joy of reminiscing, of remembering those she had loved so deeply. "It sounds like they were a lively bunch." He said, his tone warm and affectionate as he tried to picture them. Diana, the lovely younger sister who loved to read and weave together chains of flowers. Draven and Darian, who were rambunctious brothers, full of life. "But very dear to you nonetheless." He said warmly as he let his gaze rest on the woman walking at his side.

Desdemona often reminisced of the days where her siblings were alive. More often than not, she saw their little faces in the children of the court, their features exactly as she remembered them years ago. She could not remember a time when the three were anything but happy, their faces always smiling or glinting with mischievousness. She longed for the days where she chased her brothers through those very gardens, pretending to be some monster in need of slaying. For the days where she'd catch glimpses of Diana singing while picking the perfect blooms for her crafts. She had such a wonderful little voice... Desdemona often wondered what would have became of them if they had gotten to grow up. Would Diana have married her Prince of a man? Would the twins have followed in their father's footsteps to fight as Lord Commander or galant knights? Would the three still resemble their mother, or would they grow to bear the distinctive features of their father, of house Therrow, as Desdemona had? She could not say for certain, but thinking of what could have been hardly ever failed to bring a smile to her face. Though their life ended tragically, she never dared to think of her precious siblings in a darker light. She only wished that she could have taken their places...

-

Walking with Aurelion that evening reminded her of them more than ever. Those golden strands of hair had struck something in her the first moment she had laid eyes on him, truth be told. Perhaps it was just her memory serving the boys in a better light, but she had never met someone with golden hair that shown as brightly as her precious brothers' had. Never until she saw him. Perhaps that was part of the reason she took so much joy and interest in watching Aurelion. Not only was he an ethereal beauty to marvel at, but he was something she dearly missed and reveled in seeing. "Indeed they were. Not a day goes by were I do not think of them," she replied warmly, her stormy orbs not quite as tumultuous as they once were as she met his gaze. Speaking of them had brought them to life again, if only for a moment. It was a wonderful feeling, and once again she was thankful that Aurelion was not afraid of her like the others. Unafraid to ask the questions that other might fear thanks to her past. It was refreshing, as if the burden of her sorrows could be lifted all thanks to one man.

-

After a moment of gazing into his crystalline eyes, she spoke again with fondness still lacing her tone. "The children were quite taken with you as well.." she pointed out, allowing the sweet scent of jasmine to further ease her pliant body. "Did you have any siblings to grow up with?" She asked, wondering if having children for fae was like that of mortals. She understood they grew and aged differently, but she wasn't sure if fae had children close together as mortals did, or if they even chose to have multiple children at all. Regrettably, there wasn't much that Desdemona knew about the fae. She only knew what she had been taught, and the extent of those malicious teachings had already been disproved within a couple of hours spent with one man. Of course, not every fae may be like Aurelion, but he gave her hope where she needed it most. Her father was probably rolling in his grave, but he'd simply have to understand that he couldn't get in the way of fate.

-

The night was a truly beautiful thing. The air was still perfect, delivering only the occasional chilled breeze to bring them closer together now and again. Fireflies danced across the air before them, creating intricate trails of green and yellow glow in their wake. The nightlife was so peaceful, yet so alive. Crickets created ambient music that soothed the soul, lulling the twin flames of their hearts closer and closer together. It was just so easy to be there, even though it was something that should have been impossibly complicated. Though she did not speak this vow to her newly betrothed, she had promised herself that from then on out she would begin the pursuit of knowledge. Desdemona wanted to learn all that she could about not just Aurelion, but about his people and beliefs, just as he was asking about her. Deep down she hoped that getting to see the brighter side of the fae would bring her much needed closure to her hate. Or, that just perhaps her new bond with Aurelion would be enough to cease the need for grieving as a whole. She could only hope that would be the case, that he truly would be the answer to all of her prayers and wishes.

Loss was not unknown to the fae, nor was remembering. Rather, they knew and felt both deeply, and they would continue to do so until the time of the fae had come to an end and they existed no more. It was perhaps because of this that Aurelion could understand and relate to all that Desdemona was experiencing as she spoke of and reminisced about her loved and lost family. He knew of the joy and of the sorrows that came with memories, and while he had closed off his heart to the world, he had not let himself stop feeling for those whose lives continued to live on only in his mind.

`

Silently, the fae prince watched as the mortal woman's expression softened as she recalled her memories of the three siblings she had adored. Gone was the hardness of her expression and the steel in her gaze that had been ever present since he'd first laid eyes on her. She appeared softer, more the woman she would have been had her family not been taken from her, and more the girl she likely once had been. It was like getting a glimpse into her past, and Aurelion dared not look away. And when she spoke, her voice soft and laced with the warmth of memory, the fae prince listened, enraptured by every word that fell past her lips. Understandable. He had once remembered the people he had known, felt their absence each second that ticked by in every day that had passed since they had gone from this world. That feeling had never gone away, but there were times he startled himself with the realization that he hadn't truly thought of them for a moment, hadn't conjured their names, their faces, or brought their memories to mind. With that realization came a torrential wave of guilt, and as if to correct this egregious mistake, he would sit at the window of his rooms, or out in the gardens, and he would draw. He would draw all that he remembered of them, not daring to release his pencil from his grasp until he had captured their images in their entirety.

`

When the question that he had given her was returned to him, Aurelion's gaze softened, and he smiled faintly. "I was one of a set of twins." He spoke with a small nod. His voice was smooth, soft as the breeze that blew in the garden around them. Turning his eyes from her then, Aurelion looked down the cobbled path that they were walking along. Taking a moment of silence, he listened to the quiet symphony of the nocturnal creatures and the echo of the wind that accompanied it. "Aerindel was very different from me. If I were the sun, she was the moon." He recalled her small face still round, her eyes bright, her smile pure. Her hair had glowed with the radiance of the moon, and her eyes had gleamed like starlight dancing upon water. "She was always frail, her strength as fleeting as the morning mist, but when the days were kind and her energy returned to her, she'd run through the fields of flowers that edged our home, laughing as though nothing in the world could touch her. She loved the feeling of the sun on her face, the sound of stories read aloud beneath the old trees, the feel of the wind tugging at her sleeves. And stars above, she had the most dangerous sweet tooth." He chuckled at the memory. "Honeyed fruits, spiced cakes, frost-kissed pastries, there wasn't any dessert or sweet treat she didn't like. She'd hoard them like treasure, and woe to anyone foolish enough to try and deny her them." He recalled, picturing the younger sister who did not live past the age of six. He could almost hear her laughter echoing down the flower-lined paths that he currently walked down. She would have loved it here, with the light of the lanterns and the whisper of the flora.

`

Losing her had been devastating, and it had been the first of the many losses that the prince would have to experience. He could still recall that day, recall the very moment he'd learned of her passing. It had felt, for all intents and purposes, as if the world had frozen over. He had not initially understood the concept of death, had not understood why she was gone or where she had gone to, only that she was no longer there beside him. They had been inseparable, always together, whether she was ill or in fine health. So, her absence had been felt, had been noticed in everything he did, in every second of every day. And when they had sealed her away in her tomb... He could still recall the horror of the boy he had once been upon seeing her small body lying there on soft bedding and silken sheets. They had told him that she was sleeping. And being as young as he had been, he had believed them. She looked as she always had. Pale and lovely, her silver lashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks, hands folded like she was pretending to be some princess from one of the stories she so dearly loved. The crystal casing around her shimmered with preserving runes he could not yet read. It allowed the light to pool on her skin like a second veil. She didn't look dead; she looked exactly as the servants... as his mother had said, asleep, and as if she might wake up at any moment. So, when they moved to seal the tomb and her inside, when he heard the priestess whispering that it was time, something had broken inside of him. All confusion and hesitation left him. He had rushed forward from his mother's side, crying out for them to wait. No-no wait! She's just sleeping! You said she was just sleeping! He had cried and wailed. Had made a scene trying to get to her, to get past the crystal surrounding her resting form. He had begged to be let in, to be allowed to wake her up, for surely she would wake up for him. Magic had sparked faintly beneath his skin, wild and untrained, but desperate enough to lash out as he tried to get to Aerindel. The guards had moved to stop him, but his mother's voice had frozen them in place. She had stood silent, gaze unreadable as she watched her son weep like the world was ending.

`

He had been so angry there, so hurt and confused. He felt so lied to, and he hadn't been afraid to yell it out. His eyes had never left his little sister, lying upon her eternal bed, unmoving and unbreathing. It was then that he realized... no... it was that he was forced to acknowledge the fact that she was gone, for he had known already. They had always been able to feel one another, to sense each other's presence even when not in the same room. He had always been able to feel her, to sense her, whether she was ill or not, always. It had been as though their souls were woven together, linking them to one another beyond the blood they shared. But, sometime during her last bout of illness, when the doctors, the servants, and his mother had not allowed him to see her, that connection, that link had broken. It left behind an absence so powerful he'd felt it the moment she was gone, though he had refused to believe it until then.

`

Shaking the memory from his mind, and instead drew forth one of her running through the fields, or laughing behind her tiny hands as they waited to steal one of the cook's newly made cookies. That was how he wanted to remember her, how he chose to whenever he thought of her. And with these more joyous conjurings of memory, the ache in his chest seemed to ease. At last, he turned to look at Desdemona once again. "I had an older sister as well, though I was never fortunate enough to meet her." He added. There was no need to speak of Nyssara's death, no point in explaining that she had been killed during the burning of Thalasgrove all those years ago. And there was no reason to make clear that Aerindel had long since left him as well. He did not want pity, which is what he often found when he spoke of either one of his sisters.

Though there were many times when Aurelion lingered in silence, enjoying the quietude that allowed him to think and to remember, he also enjoyed conversation. He loved how words could shape the air into something softer, something altogether more gentle than the weight that so often pressed upon his shoulders. With Desdemona's hand curled around his own, he found the hush to be not only bearable but also welcome. She did not pity him, not for Aerindel, not for all the centuries he'd buried his dead beneath flowering trees and marble tombs. The fae prince wondered if she knew how rare a mercy that was, for so many who glimpsed even a sliver of his grief were so eager to smooth it over with platitudes that only soured on his tongue. But Desdemona did not fill the silence with empty sorrow; she honored the memory instead, like a candle held aloft in a darkened chapel.

`

Aurelion's thumb traced along her knuckles, idle, as if he could memorize the curve of her bones and the warmth of her pulse beneath his touch. How curious, how reckless, that this mortal woman with her storm-tossed heart had begun to awake something he thought long dulled by time: that same reckless spark of wanting, not merely out of duty, but for himself. For the two of them and the future that would now be theirs to walk through together. "I did.... You remind me of her a little." He confessed, his voice softer than it had been even moments before. "And, she would have liked you, I think." He said with a soft chuckle, trying to imagine Aerindel at his side during this monumental occasion. No doubt she'd still have that child-like air about her, carefree and untamable. He could almost picture her all grown, and yet still willing to braid flowers into her hair and his own.

`

Again, Aurelion let the silence settle between them, companionable, as if they were cocooned in it rather than weighed down as he had felt he was back inside and under the scrutiny of the mortal court. Hearing her question, he turned his glacier blue eyes to her and then looked toward the castle, as if he could see through its stone walls and into the revelry inside. "Oh, I'm sure they'll drink until dawn and drown themselves in gossip, spinning tales of what we might become. But I'm content to let them. Mortals have feasted on speculation for centuries, and I'm quite certain my mother won't complain if she is granted a few more hours of entertainment." He said, an amused smile on his lips. "Truthfully, I'd rather they wonder where we've gone than follow us with prying eyes. Let them whisper of us amongst the music and the feasting, and let us have this small freedom while it lasts." He said.

`

He did not wish to return, though he'd made that clear. To be able to relax, to enjoy himself, was something he did not want to relinquish. Nor did he wish to pass up the opportunity to know more about Desdemona. To speak with her and to learn all he could until she was ready to depart from him for the night. "I would like to know more about you, Desdemona." He said at last, after several minutes of walking through the lantern-lit gardens and enjoying the tranquility of the night and the warmth of her company. "What did you dream of before this duty was laid at your feet? What did you wish for when the world was still your own to wander?" He asked, and then fell quiet to allow the question to settle like dust between them. It was an invitation to continue conversing, not a demand. If she wished not to tell him, he would not pry. The fae prince and the mortal girl, both bound in rion promises neither had truly chosen, yet here beneath the hush of these mortal gardens, he found himself hungry for the pieces of her that no contract or sense of duty could claim.

The fae prince's steps slowed as they reached the shadowed edge of the rose arbor, where the moonlight tangled itself in the white blossoms, their petals as pale as milk. The hush of the human realms garden, so carefully manicured and yet so stubbornly alive in its secret ways, reminded him achingly of the wild glades of his mother's court. Of ancient oaks that hummed with old magic, of laughter drifting through dusk as the fireflies began their dance across the boundless meadows. Of a small hand clutching his, sticky with caramelized sugar and the sweetness of honey, his sister's voice bright with stories that lived inside her like hidden lanterns waiting to be set alight. She would have loved it here, in this human garden that breathed under the tender guard of mortal hands. She would have chased the fireflies beneath these hedges as she once had in the deep woods of the Seelie lands. Her hair a streaming banner of silver and dusk, eyes wide and silver-bright, collecting every secret she could coax from the night. She would have laughed at the painted roses, coaxed the petals open with whispered promises and an adoring grin. And then, flushed with delight and breathless from the chase, she would have dragged him by the hand to the banquet hall they had left behind, greedy for the mortal sweets piled in careful pyramids on silver platters.

`

He could almost see her now, ghosting ahead of him down these moonlit paths, the child she had been, the young woman she would never become. Platinum hair combed and braided back to crown her head as befitted a daughter of the Seelie Queen. Silver eyes wide with wonder despite the centuries they might have weathered. He could almost hear her laughter echo against the stone walls, weaving itself into the hush of the mortal night, a sound so bright it banished the gathering dark in his mind for one stolen heartbeat.

`

Aurelion's free hand lifted, brushing a pale bloom beside his shoulder. It trembled delicately beneath his touch, its petals cool with dew. How many times had he touched her hair just like this? Brushing out the tangles after she slipped away from her maids, hair ribbons trailing behind her like banners in a secret war only she knew she was waging. A child of moonlight and honey and secrets, and gone now, nothing left of her but the fragile echo of memory. She would have loved Desdemona, that much he knew in the marrow of his very being. His sister had always been bold where he was measured, curious where he was cautious. She would have pressed close to this mortal woman with questions and laughter, fearless in crossing boundaries he himself had learned to test with great caution. Perhaps she would have coaxed him closer to, would have bridged that gulf of iron duty and bone-deep caution he carried like a blade hidden behind his ribs. If she had lived past her young years, maybe he would not have grown so careful, so distant, so... resigned. Perhaps.... Always perhaps. Aurelion refused to follow that path of thought too far. It ended only in rooms grown cold with loss, corridors echoing with silence where her voice should have been. Better instead to listen, to the rustle of Desdemona's gown brushing the gravel, to the soft cadence of her voice threading through the garden shadows around him. Better to be here, in the present, than lost within the past.

`

As they drifted deeper into the gardens, traversing one path and then another, he watched her from the corner of his eye. The tilt of her head as she spoke, there was a grace to her that was wholly human, unstudied, unarmored. How easily she offered up pieces of herself. How willingly she let him see the raw shape of what had been lost to her, the dream she had once carried of warm ovens and flour-dusted sleeves, of bread shared with strangers until they were no longer strangers at all. His thumb traced gentle, unhurried circles over the knuckles of her hand where it rested in his, an anchor for them both. There was no mockery in his smile when she spoke of that old dream. No flicker of cruel amusement at the idea of a noble daughter dusting her skirts in a kitchen fragrant with sugar and spice. Instead, he let himself picture it in vivid, impossible detail: Desdemona, hair pinned up carelessly, a smudge of flour on her cheek, hands deft and sure as she folded dough and shaped sweetness from the simplest of things. He wondered if she would hum to herself as she worked. He wondered if, in another life, he might have lingered in the doorway just to watch her, unnoticed, content to stand in the warmth she spun so effortlessly around her.

`

His thumb paused when her words brushed against something deeper, the hope for a family of her own, for laughter and small footsteps and the bright chaos of children. He felt the thought lodge in his chest like a thorn. He had been so certain this union would be an iron chain, a bitter duty borne for the sake of two realms. He had prepared himself to be his future wife's warden, a man she came to hate for being what she might feel was a cold guardian against a world grown hungry for her sacrifice. He had not thought, had not allowed himself to think, of children. Of futures stitched together by more than oaths and secrets and desperate treaties.

`

Aurelion kept his silence; he would not cheapen that tender dream of hers with promises he could not swear to keep, nor dare to kindle a hope that might have no place in the shape of the life waiting for them both. He would not lay claim to a dream so gentle when the path ahead offered no certainty of intimate warmth, no guarantee of closeness, or children, or the simple human happiness she so clearly longed for. Some dreams, he thought, deserved the dignity of remaining untouched, left whole and unbroken. So instead, Aurelion gently steered them back to safer ground, to flower and sugar, to the warmth of ovens and the hush of pastry brushed with honey. To a world where sweetness was something simple, and not the thing he feared might one day slip like sand through his bloodstained hands. "I would very much like to taste one of your pastries someday." He said, his voice soft but certain. The words were small things, so painfully small in the vast tangle of his thoughts, but they were true.

Children were not particularly a topic that Aurelion had given much thought to, he'd admit, even before this arrangement between himself and Desdemona had been made. That was not to say he didn't adore them, didn't cherish their innocence and their free spirits, because he did. But he had not thought about having children of his own all that much. There had been a few times over the long centuries that he had lived, but as far as fae went, he was still so young and had an eternity to give thought to the idea of, to plan, and to have children. But while the arms of time stretched for him, the same could not be said for Desdemona. Her time walking this earth would be less than a tenth of his own time here, should he not fall during one of the battles he was often called to. There was beauty in that, in her short life, but also a moment of sorrow, the same kind which he felt whenever considering how fleeting human life was. They shone brilliantly, bloomed splendidly, like flowers in full bloom. But like flowers, they only existed for a short season before returning to the earth from whence they came. If Desdemona wanted children, if it was something that she truly desired, then he was certain something could be done, even if love was not an equation in their relationship. He let his thoughts linger on that for a moment longer before shoving it aside. There would be plenty of time to think on such things after their wedding, after the resealing of the accord, and after they had come to know one another better. For now, he wanted to focus solely on the woman at his side, wanted to learn all he could about her before their wedding, and the grand ceremony of resealing the accord.

`

The prince's glacier gaze rested on the grey hues and dark hair of the woman at his side as they continued to walk. The fragrant scent of flowers in bloom filled the air and was accompanied by the heady scent of soil and pine, as well as the faintest traces of the feast in the dining hall. He did not look toward the night sky, though he knew the stars and the moon stood watch, like distant sentinels, gazing upon the interaction between mortal woman and fae prince. Instead, his eyes fell on the cobbled path they were treading down, on leaves and petals, on the beautiful and vibrant purple of the wisteria that grew on the right side of the path. He watched then as Desdemona reached out a hand to brush her fingers against the silken blooms. And then his eyes were returning to her. "I shall look forward to it then." He said, his voice warm and sweet like honey. His desire to taste what she made him was genuine, and though there was no promise that he would feast on such delicacies any time soon, he would look forward to the day that she did prepare something for him.

`

A small smile rested on his lips as he watched the tender way in which she touched the wisteria petals, as if she feared they were made of glass and would shatter under her touch. But his gaze did not linger long before he found it drawn to her own eyes once again. He listened then as she made a request of him, to his own interests and dreams. For a fraction of a second, his brow rose in surprise. How long had it been since anyone outside of his mother's court, shown and desired to know such things about him? A hundred years? Two hundred years? But as quickly as it came, it disappeared, and his expression returned to that gentle and friendly one it had been only moments before.

`

His interests and dreams.... He loved magic, adored it a great deal. But perhaps that was because it was a part of him, etched into his very being. Would that be something she would be interested in learning about him? Or perhaps he could share how he had a passion for the arts: music, painting, drawing. He had dabbled in each, fallen in love with each, though one of his fondest pastimes was sketching, drawing out things and images that captured his interest or existed solely in his memory. He quite enjoyed reading as well, and at one time had adored learning the way of the sword, though that passion and interest had long died out. He had mastered the art of killing, of dirtying his blade with the blood of his enemies, and he had come to despise it.

`

As far as dreams went... Aurelion did not have many. At one time, perhaps, he'd had more than the small handful he had now, though if he did, he could not remember them. His desire for peace and unity between his people and the humans still existed within him. His dream of a prosperous relationship, where one race did not fear the other, still echoed in his mind. It had seemed so close, as though it were within arm's reach when Silas walked at his side, as Desdemona did now. But things had not gone quite as he or Silas had expected. Just as human lives were short, so too was human memory, and what was once something celebrated and cherished was now feared and unwanted. To marry a fae, five hundred years ago, to aid in resealing the accord, had been an honor and something that had many young women volunteering for. Now, the very idea of a mortal girl being selected was something to fear and wish away, it would seem, if the reactions of the court during the announcement had been any indication. In the course of a mere few hundred years, the highest of honors had become the greatest of sacrifices. And with that knowledge, with seeing the steady decline in how the mortal world viewed fae, that dream that he and Silas had once had seemed as far away as it had been from fruition during the aftermath of The Sundering War.

`

With a start, the fae prince realized he'd been quiet for far longer than he should have been. That he had put off answering her inquiry for an unwarranted amount of time, clearing his throat, he looked forward, a gentle breeze picking up and brushing against the warmth of his skin. It blew back a few strands of his hair, lifting them to catch the light of the moon and shine as if they were threads of starspun gold. Not wishing for her to think that he did not, and would not answer her question, he parted his lips. "Reading. While not as adventurous as baking, it is something I quite enjoy." He answered. "When I am free to enjoy time of leisure, I often find myself drawn to the library back home." He added, speaking softly as they continued to walk. The library of his mother's court, of the royal Seelie family, was a magnificent thing, large and beautifully designed. It was a place that housed hundreds of thousands of books, spanning back thousands of years. Ancient texts from before the Sundering war to more present and modernly written books. Over the course of his life, he'd hardly made a dent in all the knowledge that the royal family had to offer, though he hoped one day to have read every book within the grand and ever-growing walls of the royal library.