Halfeti had never seen so many books in one place before. She couldn't even say she had seen so many books at all.
The library had a distinct smell— mahogany bookshelves melding with the scent she always got when she buried her face into an old tome. In the smallest of ways, it reminded her of home.
She hadn't quite meant to wander the Academy, but she'd had nothing else to do. Being a commoner, her mandatory classes were not only vastly different from those in the nobility, but they also began later. And, to her knowledge, none of the electives had started either.
In fact, none of the other commoners who had passed the entrance exam had arrived yet. Halfeti was several days too early. She had insisted on this arrangement, wanting to settle in and better grasp the layout of the halls before others arrived. In the two hours she had been here, she had already scouted most of the dormitory, as well as the assembly hall (the chandelier there was simply massive).
She hadn't planned on entering the other side of the building today— the side that was littered with the foul stench of the nobility. But the library, apparently, connected both halves of the Academy, and Halfeti found herself surrounded by blue-cloaked youth scattered around the tables.
She could ignore them for the time being, so long as they ignored her, too. Still, just in case, Halfeti made sure to stay in sight of the door leading to the commoners' quarters. Hopefully, she could run out if anyone attempted to make conversation. She doubted they'd follow her.
That aside, the collection housed here was nothing short of fascinating. Books were rare in the Garden, and the children were seldom allowed near them. Halfeti had been one of the few who were granted access to the Sister's meagre stock, and she had devoured those until she remembered every word.
What the inside of a library— a real library— looked like had always been a subject of wonder. None of their few field trips featured them, though there was one fairly nearby. She hadn't questioned it, of course, but once, she had passed by the old, run-down building nursing hundreds of thousands of words under its roof, and for a brief moment, she had been tempted to disobey the Sister.
Without realizing, Halfeti had gotten close to one of the shelves. She reached out, running her fingers along the smooth paperback spines. What did these pages hold? What would they teach her?
"Excuse me."
Halfeti startled at the sudden voice. She turned around to face the speaker and found a boy not much older than her. He was clothed in the same uniform as her, but the accents were blue where hers were brown, marking him as a noble. Familiar white hair framed his face, running down his shoulders. He was someone important, someone Halfeti was supposed to know. But who?
Halfeti looked back at the doorway and took note of the route she'd need to get there the quickest.
The boy cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, may I ask you to step aside? I need to arrange that shelf."
Hm. That wasn't as bad as she had assumed. Halfeti nodded and stepped aside, moving onto some other shelf. From the corner of her eye, she saw the boy pull out books and put them back at record speed. Was he trained in this task? But why would a noble be trained at such a mundane task?
And really, who was he? Halfeti had definitely seen him before, or at least someone similar. She berated her memory. What if she encountered this lack of recall at an important moment?
A piece of paper slipped out of the boy's pocket. Halfeti waited to see if he would notice it fluttering to the floor, and sighed when he didn't. Nobles really needed to be more mindful of their belongings. They made the easiest prey to pickpockets solely because of their lack of awareness. So confident in their status that they never notice anyone swiping their precious little trinkets.
"You dropped this," Halfeti said, picking up the piece of paper and holding it out.
The boy stared at it blankly for a second before letting out a soft, "Shit."
That surprised Halfeti. She hadn't heard the usage of vulgarity in a long, long time. The elders at the Garden tended to punish whoever spoke in such terms, so everyone had learned, at a young age, to avoid them altogether. (Ausmas and Ausgold had been the biggest offenders on this front. Halfeti had snuck them food many a time during their respective punishments.)
"Thanks," the boy said, accepting the piece of paper. They lapsed into silence again, Halfeti peering at various titles while the boy rearranged them. It was an...odd silence, to say the least. She wondered if she should say something to fill it, but then again, the boy didn't seem bothered, so perhaps not?
Perhaps she should just leave now. That seemed like the best option. She could always come back later, in the evening, when the noble children would be home.
As she stepped aside to leave, she caught a glimpse of the crest embroidered on the back of the boy's vest. It was sewn in silver, boasting delicate threadwork. Halfeti wasn't able to look at it for more than, say, a second, but in that second, she noticed the intricacies, each individual detail etched onto the crest by an expert, precise hand.
The excellent display of sewmanship was lost on a school uniform, really, but that wasn't Halfeti's concern. She recognized that symbol. It was ever-present, in every street she walked and on every flag raised high. Townsfolk revered it. Children were struck with awe at its sight. The elders of the Garden burned it to a crisp and declared it responsible for most of the wrongs they stood to make right.
A gyrkin— the royal sigil.
Royal.
So he was one of the seven princes. That was unexpected; Halfeti hadn't known any of the royal offspring were young enough to attend the Academy with her.
Halfeti mentally ran through a list of every action she had taken in front of this boy so far. Had she done anything that could potentially land her in trouble? No, she didn't think so. She had remained quiet for the most part...but what if the princeling took that as an offense? Nobles were volatile— and royals even more so. One never knew what little thing would offend someone.
Would she be executed for rudeness? She hoped not. She had no idea how to escape a dungeon yet. She couldn't be locked up already— She had goals to accomplish. She needed to see things through to the end.
She couldn't believe she had failed to recognize him. Stupid, useless brain.
"Kindly stop staring," the boy (prince) said, moving on to another shelf. Great, she'd been spotted. That definitely counted as an offense. The door was in sight— should she make a run for it?
No, it might be an even worse insult to run away without responding.
"Sorry, Your Highness," she said, willing her feet not to bolt.
The prince sighed. "It's okay."
He didn't sound offended, Halfeti had to admit. Still, she would rather not be in his presence any longer. Would it be fine to leave, now that she had responded? Or was she expected to announce her departure?
The prince turned around, fixing her with an odd look. His green eyes were narrowed, as if in recognition. Halfeti's heart stopped for the briefest of seconds, before speeding up. Had she been found out? Would she be executed? Extorted? Tortured?
"What's your name?"
It took Halfeti half a second to realize that she had been asked a question, then another to force her real name off of her tongue.
"Marilla," she said instead. "Marilla Strix Roselyn."
It was...less jarring than she'd expected it to be, to give someone a fake name as fluidly as if it were real. But then again, that was why she had chosen that name in the first place. She had been Marilla the longest before she became Halfeti, after all.
The prince frowned. "Roselyn?"
"A family name." It wasn't a real family name, not really. That would, hopefully, go unnoticed.
"Huh," the prince said, voice laced with scrutiny. Had he noticed? Would he demand to see paperwork? Proof of her citizenship? She had left it all in her suitcase; was she supposed to start carrying those around with her?
Finally, the prince nodded to himself and went back to arranging the shelves.
Halfeti decided it was time to leave. She couldn't deal with this anymore. She really should stick to her plans.
"I'm Damien," the prince said, almost as an afterthought. "Damien Oziah."
There was something odd about the way he said it, but Halfeti didn't want to stick around to find out exactly what. Damien Oziah was a name she recognized. In hindsight, the green eyes should have given it away. The one they called the bastard prince was said to have the eyes of neither the king nor the queen.
"Yes, Your Highness," Halfeti said, before turning on her heel and leaving. She refused to be in this situation any longer. Besides, she had other things to do.