The memory of the wolf under the twin moons was a ghost that haunted Elara's every waking moment. It lingered in the silence of the library, a presence more tangible than the books. She could still feel the vibration of that mournful howl in her bones, could still see the piercing amber eyes that had held hers across the vast, cold distance. The King was no longer just a terrifyingly powerful man; he was a creature of profound, ancient sorrow. And that made him infinitely more dangerous.
Lyra arrived the next morning with a breakfast tray and a new gown, this one a deep blue that reminded Elara of a twilight sky. The Fae woman's sharp eyes missed nothing.
"You saw him," Lyra stated, her tone flat. It wasn't a question.
Elara's head snapped up. "How did you know?"
A faint, knowing smile touched Lyra's lips. "The air tastes different after. Sharper. And you have the look." She set the tray down. "Those who hear the Primordial Cry are never the same. It… changes things."
"What does it mean?" Elara asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"It means he was reminding himself what he is," Lyra said cryptically. "And perhaps, reminding you." She didn't elaborate further, leaving Elara to drown in the ambiguity.
The day passed with a tense, expectant slowness. Elara tried to read, but the words blurred before her eyes. Every faint sound from the corridor made her heart stutter, half-expecting the clack of Lord Valerius's boots or the silent, looming presence of the King. But neither came. The library was a gilded limbo.
As the larger moon began its ascent, painting the library in silver, a new sound echoed down the hall. Not the confident stride of Valerius, nor the predatory silence of Kaelen. This was a light, almost skittering set of footsteps, accompanied by the soft, melodic clinking of glass and metal.
A young Fae woman appeared in the doorway. She was smaller than Lyra, with wide, anxious eyes the color of spring leaves and hair the texture of spun silver. She carried a small basket filled with bottles of various colored oils and polishing cloths. Her gaze darted around the room before landing on Elara, and she offered a quick, nervous bow.
"M-my lady," the girl stammered, her voice like wind chimes. "I am to tend to the… the non-glowing texts on the upper shelves. With your permission?" She looked genuinely terrified, as if expecting Elara to deny her.
"Of course," Elara said, gesturing vaguely. "Please, don't mind me."
The girl bobbed another quick bow and scurried to a ladder, climbing with a practiced ease. The soft clink of her bottles and the gentle shuff of her cloth as she worked filled the quiet space. Elara tried to return to her book, but she could feel the girl's nervous energy filling the room.
After a few minutes, the sounds stopped. Elara looked up. The Fae girl was frozen on the ladder, her head tilted as if listening. Her eyes were wide with fear.
Then, the girl moved. With a startling, silent swiftness, she descended the ladder and scurried over to Elara's table. She placed a bottle of clear oil and a soft cloth on the table with a definitive clink.
"For the wood," the girl whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes were locked on Elara's, pleading and terrified. "It keeps the dryness out."
Before Elara could respond, the girl's hand darted out. Her fingers, cold and quick, closed around Elara's wrist. The touch was a shock.
"He knows you are here," the girl breathed, the words a frantic, desperate rush. "The Wolf-King's pet."
Elara tried to pull her hand back, but the girl's grip was surprisingly strong.
"Listen to me," the girl insisted, her green eyes burning with intensity. "You are a key. But not for the lock he thinks. You are a danger to us all. Your presence here, it weakens the old magic. It makes us vulnerable."
Elara's blood ran cold. A key. A danger. The words from the traitor's book echoed in her mind.
"What are you talking about?" Elara whispered back.
"The King is a bastion," the girl said, her voice trembling. "But he is also a barrier. He would let this world crumble to dust before he would bend, before he would pay the price to save it. He is too proud. Too ancient. Too set in his ways." Her gaze darted toward the door again, paranoid. "There are those who see a… different path. A path that requires a new kind of strength."
Lord Valerius's face flashed in Elara's mind. A more pragmatic ruler.
"He wants to help you," the girl whispered, her voice dropping even lower. "He can get you home. Back to your world. Away from this gilded cage, away from a king who sees you only as a fascinating insect under glass. All he asks is for a… a show of good faith."
The offer hung in the air, seductive and poisonous. Home. The word was a hook in her heart. Images of her quiet library, her small apartment, the familiar sun, flooded her mind. A chance to escape the terrifying politics, the oppressive weight of Kaelen's presence, the constant fear.
"What kind of show of faith?" Elara asked, her mouth dry.
The girl's eyes gleamed. "A small thing. A token. The King keeps his most private thoughts elsewhere. Not in this library. There is a study, a private solar, west of the royal chambers. It is warded, but your human essence… it is a void. The wards may not see you as a threat. If you were to bring Lord Valerius a single page. Anything. A map. A journal entry. It would prove your desire to help us save this realm. It would prove you are not his creature."
The plan was insane. Suicide. To steal from Kaelen? The very thought made her soul shrivel with fear.
But… home.
The girl must have seen the conflict on her face. She pressed a small, smooth stone into Elara's palm. It was cold and black.
"Keep this hidden. If you decide to help, if you find something, hold it and think of home. It will find its way to us. You will have your passage back."
The sound of heavy, familiar footsteps echoed down the hall—the rhythmic CLANG of a Lycan guard on patrol.
The Fae girl's eyes widened in pure panic. In an instant, she was back across the room, scrambling up the ladder, her polishing cloth moving in frantic circles over a shelf, her previous nervous demeanor back in place.
A new Lycan guard, this one with a nasty scar across his muzzle, appeared in the doorway. His grey eyes scanned the room, lingering on Elara for a moment before moving to the Fae girl. He gave a low grunt of acknowledgment and continued his patrol.
The library fell silent again, save for the frantic thumping of Elara's heart. She slowly uncurled her fingers. The small black stone lay in her palm, innocuous and deadly. A ticket home. A act of ultimate betrayal.
She looked at the Fae girl, who was now diligently polishing the same spot on the shelf, her shoulders tense with fear.
The viper hadn't returned himself. He had sent a frightened, beautiful mouse to do his work. And he had offered her the one thing she wanted most in the world.
The cage door had just been unlocked from the outside. The only question was, did she have the courage to walk through it? And what would be waiting for her on the other side?