Chapter 2: A midnight encounter in the library
Sleep was a traitor. It danced at the edges of Carmela’s mind but refused to settle. The phantom scent of cold stone and ancient paper from Cassian’s description had seeped into the very fabric of her room, making the familiar feel foreign and stifling. After an hour of staring at the canopy, she pushed back the covers. The manor was asleep, a beast of stone and timber holding its breath. The only medicine was the library.
She padded through the corridors in bare feet, her nightgown whispering against the floorboards. A sliver of amber light spilled from beneath the library’s double doors. She stopped, her hand hovering over the cool brass handle. Someone was inside. A servant, perhaps, tending the fires. But servants didn’t read by oil lamp.
She pushed the door open just enough to slip through.
The library was a cathedral of shadows and soft, golden light. The air was still, thick with the smell of books and beeswax. And there, in her usual nook under the skylight, was Prince Cassian. He’d shed his formal coat. He sat in a worn leather armchair, one leg hooked over the armrest, a heavy volume open in his lap. A single candle on the small table beside him guttered, painting his sharp features in moving light and deep shadow. He looked younger like this, and utterly absorbed.
He didn’t look up. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
His voice, low and unsurprised, sent a jolt through her. She froze, one hand still on the door frame. “I… I didn’t mean to disturb you, Your Highness.”
“You’re not.” He turned a page, the sound like a dry leaf cracking. “Disturbing me would involve chatter about the weather or the merits of imported lace. Silence and a shared appreciation for stolen quiet hours is not a disturbance.” Finally, he lifted his yellow eyes. They caught the candlelight, looking almost like molten gold. “Is there a particular section you were hoping to raid?”
She should leave. This was a line she’d never crossed, being alone with a man, let alone a prince. Her father would have an apoplexy. But the pull of the shelves was stronger than fear. “The histories. The far wall.”
“Ah.” He marked his place with a finger and stood in one fluid motion. He was taller without the bustle of a crowd around him. He moved to the shelf she’d indicated, his fingers trailing over the spines. “The Ardainian Consolidation? The Merchant Wars? What’s your poison?”
The casual question, the specific knowledge, undid her caution. “The personal journals of Alaric the Navigator. If they’re here. They’re mostly unedited. The published versions are… sanitized.”
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It wasn’t the charming one from dinner. This was different, quieter, like finding a shared secret. “Second shelf from the top. The ugly brown binding with the broken clasp. My brother calls them ‘tedious maritime accounts.’ I think he misses the point entirely.”
She fetched the small wooden step-stool, the one she always used. She could feel his eyes on her as she climbed, her nightgown brushing her calves. She pulled the heavy, unassuming volume free, the leather soft with age.
“You asked me a question at dinner,” he said, his voice closer now. He hadn’t moved back to his chair. He was leaning against the shelves, watching her descend. “A real one. And then you vanished. Shut yourself down so completely I half-wondered if I’d imagined it.”
Carmela clutched the book to her chest like a shield. “It wasn’t my place to interrupt.”
“Bullshit.”
The crude, unexpected word hung in the quiet air. It was utterly devoid of princely decorum. It was just a flat, tired statement.
“Your sister’s questions about riding aren’t more valid than yours about libraries,” he continued, his voice low and intense. “They’re just more predictable. More convenient. So you make yourself small. You stand in the back. You let them paint you into the wallpaper.” He pushed off from the shelves and took a step toward her. The candlelight threw his long shadow over her. “Why?”
Her heart was a frantic drum against the old book. She took a step back, her shoulders brushing against the shelves. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand performance. I live it. Every day. The charming prince, the attentive guest, the dutiful brother.” He took another step. The air between them crackled, charged with a strange, frustrated energy. “What I don’t understand is someone who has a chance to be real, for one second, and then actively chooses to hide again. It’s a fucking waste.”
“It’s not a choice!” The words burst from her, sharper than she intended. “It’s survival. You walk into a room and it parts for you. I walk into a room and I’m an afterthought. A discrepancy. So I stay where I’m put. It’s easier. It’s quieter. It doesn’t make my father look at me like I’ve tracked mud on a new rug.”
“Easier for who?” He was right in front of her now, close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the flicker of real anger in his eyes. He wasn’t intimidating her physically; he was cornering her with the truth. “For him? For them? What about for you, Carmela?”
He said her name. Not “Lady Carmela,” not “my lady.” Just her name. It sounded raw in his mouth.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“I know you asked about the silence in that library. You didn’t ask about the architecture or the prestige. You asked what it was like. No one else at that table would have even thought to ask that.” His hand came up, not to touch her, but to brace against the bookshelf by her head, caging her in. The scent of him—horse, leather, candle smoke—filled her senses. “I’m so tired of people who only see the surface of things. And you… you clearly see the depth, and you insist on pretending you don’t. It’s infuriating.”
Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. She was pinned, not by his body, but by his gaze, by the stark, unvarnished frustration in it. This wasn’t flirtation. This was an argument. A real, messy, human confrontation. She had never been so seen, and it felt like being flayed alive.
“What do you want from me?” The question was a plea.
“For you to stop hiding!” The words were a low, forceful growl. “Just for a minute. With me. Here. Where no one else is watching. Be the person who wanted to know about the smell of the books. That’s all. Is that so impossible?”
For a long moment, they just stared at each other in the dancing light. The weight of the journal in her arms was solid, real. The heat from his body so close to hers was a tangible force. The entire pretense of the evening, of her life, felt like a thin sheet of glass between them, and it had just shattered.
The entire pretense of the evening, of her life, felt like a thin sheet of glass between them, and it had just shattered. His question hung there, sharp and unavoidable. The silence that followed was not the profound, ancient quiet of his library, but something alive and screaming, filled with the rapid sound of her own heartbeat in her ears and the warm, dangerous scent of him.
He approached Carmela until their faces were almost touching. Her breathing quickened, each inhale a shaky effort. He murmured, “Just show me your true self.”
He kissed her. It wasn't gentle or questioning; it was a claiming, a demand for the honesty he’d just begged for. Carmela, inexperienced, tried to match his rhythm, her lips moving awkwardly beneath his before instinct took over. Cassian pressed her against the shelves, the worn edges of book spines digging into her shoulder blades through the thin nightgown. She felt his hand grab her ass firmly, pulling her against his body, and the hard, undeniable ridge of his cock pressed against her belly.
A soft moan escaped her lips, swallowed by his mouth. Without breaking the kiss, Cassian slipped his hand under her skirt, his fingers skating up the outside of her thigh. The cool air and then the shocking heat of his touch on her bare skin made her jolt. He palmed her through the simple cotton of her drawers, a rough, possessive caress that tore another sound from her throat.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathed against her mouth, but his hand was already pushing the fabric aside. “Say it.”
She couldn’t. Words were lost, burned away by the slow, deliberate circle his thumb made on her clit. She shook her head, her curls tangling against the books. Then he slid a finger inside her. She was wet, unnaturally so, her body betraying every strict lesson with a slick, welcoming heat. He fucked her with that one finger, a slow, relentless penetration that stretched her and mapped her inner walls.
He pulled back slightly to watch her face, never stopping his movements. His yellow eyes were dark, absorbing every flinch, every gasp. “This is it,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “This feeling. This is real. Not the fucking dinner, not the curtsies. This.”
A second finger joined the first, stretching her further, and a bolt of pure, sharp pleasure-pain lanced through her. Her hips bucked against his hand of their own accord. He curved his fingers, finding a spot inside her that made her vision blur. The rhythm became punishing, perfect. He watched her come undone, his gaze relentless, as the tension coiled and snapped.
When he felt she was close, he kissed her again to muffle her small cry. It was messy, their teeth clacking, as her climax ripped through her, a silent, shuddering wave that clenched tight around his fingers. He gentled his touch, working her through it until she was limp against the shelves, panting into his shoulder.
While she tried to catch her breath, he whispered that he would come to her room once everything was dark. His lips moved against the sweat-damp skin of her neck. “Leave your door unlatched.”
Carmela nodded, a feeble, jerky movement. Her mind was white noise. Cassian slowly withdrew his fingers from her, from the soaked, sensitive flesh between her legs. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked them clean, his eyes locked on hers, watching her watch him taste her. He gave her one last kiss, softer now, a strange seal on their pact.
And left, leaving her dizzy with her head spinning, alone in the pool of candlelight with the smell of sex and old books thick in the air.