Charlotte opened the door with a whoosh, and grinned at Regis as he stepped into the royal library for the first time. She walked beside him, not taking her eyes from his face, which Regis couldn’t help but notice even while his attention was mostly captured by the dark-wood bookcases lining the walls, every one of them crammed with books of all shapes, sizes, and ages.

She seemed to like watching him look so amazed by the grandeur of her life, and now her home. Everything around her was expensive and refined, and Regis at first constantly felt countrified as he couldn’t always help but stare. He’d gotten better about things like how many servants attended her or how huge and well-dressed the horses were or when she said the buttons on her riding coat were diamonds, but as soon as they got to Palace Town he was knocked right back to square one. He’d been there before, yes, but it had been several years, and otherwise he lived in a province full of crop fields where houses—usually small—were scattered much farther from each other than you could see. There was a town outside of the Setan estate, but it too was small, with maybe a thousand people, most running small businesses.

Palace Town was a thickly built city, most buildings in the main city crammed together and at least three stories tall—built that way over generations in a futile effort to keep the city surrounding the seat of power from extending beyond the encircling fifty-foot walls. The side streets he caught sight of were all ten feet across at most, but the main thoroughfares were at least four times that wide, and flowing with people until it looked like a river, especially from the vantage point of the horse Charlotte had lent him for the trip. The entire thing—both the city that extended onto the Lower Plain and the main city—took an hour for the princess to get through, even though she didn’t hesitate to use her status to get people to make way.

Then there was the palace—a huge, sprawling structure of white-grey stone rising several stories beyond the city, and the four towers—one at each corner—rose higher still. He’d been there before, even stayed there, but it was still intimidating.

At least he was pretty sure he didn’t embarrass himself from lack of etiquette as some of her courtiers welcomed their princess home, and she swept into the palace with a stride that said she belonged there—no, he decided as he followed her at the respectful distance, she strode in like it was hers.

Every inch was magnificent enough Regis felt self-conscious just stepping on the almost shining wood floor, or walking under gilded doorways, or following in the princess’s steps across the floor of the central hall with its inlay of a dragon, the obsidian scales edged with serrated silver he was almost afraid to step on despite knowing it was just a picture, and silver eyes glittering above the ruby fire-breath—and Charlotte walked right over it like it was a normal floor.

He was separated from Charlotte briefly—with a promise that she’d come find him soon—when she went to her rooms to freshen up from her journey and visit her mother, and Regis was given over to the care of the chief housekeeper, who repeated what Charlotte had told him earlier that day—she had sent word he was coming, but had left several decisions to him so he could set up in the way he’d be most comfortable. Things like what kind of noble-level guest room he’d like or how many servants he’d like attending him. He asked for the smallest set of rooms fit for a noble—he knew he wouldn’t know what to do with more—and no more than sparse help. He was pretty sure the housekeeper was surprised, but she hid it well, and soon he had exactly the sort of place he wanted: a set of three rooms, not sumptuously decorated, and exactly one servant who really just ended up showing him around and offering to help him unpack. Regis politely declined, because he knew unpacking would help him calm down. Besides, he didn’t have much to unpack. At least he had enough to change out of his travel clothes into something nicer before a quick knock sounded on his door, and Charlotte—now on her own except for two guards tailing her from several feet back—dragged him away to see the royal library.

At least, he thought in the back of his mind as he stared around, he’d started to get used to her excited look, so he wasn’t quite as self-conscious about her seeing him look countrified. Besides, the look made her eyes almost sparkle.

It didn’t look like a show library—though it was of course as magnificent as the rest of the palace. It was a circular room, five stories high, open so even from the door you could see up to the stained glass ceiling—supposedly made by Jasmine the Great herself. And almost every inch of each of those five stories was lined with bookcases. There was an encircling walkway for each floor, about five feet wide, with railings barely higher than the average person’s waist that looked far too delicate for the various heights they hypothetically protected their visitors from. An open spiral staircase was the only way he could see to get up and down from the other stories.

The only place not lined with bookcases was nearly hidden from his current view by a grouping of upholstered chairs and small, circular tables—a fireplace, and the surrounding several feet of marble. He wondered if that meant the rumor wasn’t true, that the entire room was dripping with magic, some of which prevented fire from catching anything outside the fireplace but candle wicks. Then again, he knew the library had existed here, in one form or another, for around fifteen hundred years, so it was quite possible that it had been built with the extra stone as a safety measure and the magic was added later.

The idea made him pause, though, because awe at the magnificence was giving way to awe for the history. The marble surrounding the fireplace might well have been there since King Regis Charles built the palace. Some of these books might be as old as the palace itself, too. The steps he took were following generations of monarchs, including some of the greatest people he’d ever read about. Alexrandra of Unifier, Regis James the Peacekeeper, Ethel the Mystic, Jasmine the Great, the Ice Sorceress Irene Iasafraal . . . . The palace itself was a piece of living history, but this library, where those heroes were educated, where they worked, where their writings undoubtedly were kept . . . .

The feeling was helped by how little it looked like a show-library. It looked more like someone had recently pulled out every book to read and then carefully wedged it back into place. A lot of the books looked old, too. He spotted one or two with bindings frayed until you could see the leaflets. He could all-too-easily imagine any number of royals with their scarlet hair stained by the colored sunlight and ice blue eyes perusing any book here.

Charlotte was still waiting, and eventually he found his voice.

“I have never seen so many books in one place,” he said, and then blushed, because that was the most countrified thing he’d said yet.

“This isn’t even all of it,” she said. “Come on.” She pulled him to one side of the room, to a bookcase with an inconspicuous handhold cut into the inside of a shelf. When she pulled, it swung open like a door, revealing a much smaller room, wedge-shaped with the door at the point, but also open up several stories—four in this case, not the five of the main room. Here there was no stained glass ceiling, just wood and a simple chandelier with enough candles to light the whole room. An open spiral staircase spun up one side, just like in the main library, though this one spiraled up beyond the ceiling, presumably to the fifth floor. And also just like the main room, every inch was bookcase—though some of these shelves looked less disordered.

“How many of these are there?” he asked almost blankly—because he already had an inkling. The wedge shape was curved at the back, like it was actually a sectioned off piece of a larger circle.

“Eight,” she said cheerfully. “They wanted to keep the circle shape. Actually, the top is slightly different—come on.”

She grabbed his hand again and pulled him up four flights of the circular stairs, and past the wooden ceiling.

It came out in another wedge-shaped room, but this one wasn’t sectioned off from the main library, and there was a small, empty fireplace next to a comfortable-looking couch—blessedly unadorned in comparison to the rest of the palace.

Charlotte pulled him over to the railing of the fifth floor walkway—giving him a view of the library from high up. Also a much closer view of the stained glass ceiling.

“Up here it’s just as tidily built,” she said. “This area, and that one,” she gestured to the similar area directly across the room from them, “are reading rooms. To our right and left, though you of course cannot see because they’re hidden by disguised doors, are larger study rooms. I’ll show you how to get to them.” She pulled him along the walkway exactly ninety degrees around the circle and showed him the carefully disguised door handle. Inside was a room that was, shockingly, not entirely lined by bookcases. Instead it was only mostly lined with bookcases, with desks in various places around the edge of room, and some of the bookcases, instead of books, held blank paper, boxes of quills, ink wells, bookmarks—everything you’d need for studying.

Regis wasn’t entirely surprised by that, but what did surprise him, and surprised him in retrospect about all of the sparse furniture was how unadorned and simple the seating and furniture was. It was all plain, no-nonsense-cut wood and unembroidered, hefty fabric meant to last. It was also all small and light enough to move around relatively easily.

It was as if no one felt the need to be fancy here, and instead could relax, arrange everything to their exact liking, and focus on what they were there for.

Now he liked the library even more.

“You look a little overwhelmed,” Charlotte said kindly, closing that door and pulling him back to the railing, her eyes moving up to the stained glass ceiling. Swirls of colors shone vividly through the glass beneath the midday sun—and yet there was no sense that the heat of the sun was reaching past the glass. Maybe warmth, but not heat, nor did the vivid colors seem blinding at any angle.

“Where did you get so many books?” Regis asked, but immediately realized that was a silly question. He’d just barely been thinking about how long this library had existed. For fifteen hundred years of accumulation this number was probably actually quite tame.

“They’re usually gifts,” she said. “If they’re useless or copies we wait a few generations and donate them. Last year I was able to donate thousands of books to public libraries all around the country. I’d worry about overcrowding them with the useless books, but everything’s interesting to someone.”

“I didn’t hear about that,” he said.

“We don’t have to do everything publicly,” she said. “Especially when we’re getting rid of people’s grandparent’s gifts to us.”

“What if they recognize them somewhere?” Regis asked.

“We keep the recognizable ones,” she said. “We have an entire room dedicated to fairly useless but ancient books. Eventually they’re moved over into the era’s history section. There are quite a few that give good insight to how things were back then. I’ve run across one book detailing how old leather was disposed of around Regis 600. It’s useless, and fascinating. But most of them are useful. We have at least a shelf dedicated to almost every necessary subject, according to various scholars throughout the ages. I love it.” Then she fell silent, and when he glanced at her she looked sad.

“It’s nothing,” she said when she caught his look. “I’m only missing my mother—that is, as she used to be. Sickness sometimes changes people. She’s still wise and kind, just not . . . . The thing is, we’d spend hours here, talking about books and ideas.” She pointed to the reading room they’d come from. From where they were they could see part of the area, including the fireplace. “Over there. She’d sit in that blue chair with a blanket over her lap, tilting the book down so she could read by the firelight—she didn’t like candles—and read to me. Then when her eyes got tired she’d close it, set it on that little table next to the chair, and we’d talk.” She pulled back from the railing and turned her back to the rest of the library. “Anyway, she can’t leave her room now.”

“Don’t you still talk?” he asked. He’d been wondering, actually, why she apparently hadn’t taken more than a few minutes to say hello to her mother after weeks away at a once-a-year event, especially when this time she’d brought home a stray noble.

Charlotte paused, and seemed to take a moment to form the words. “I talk to her, but these days she doesn’t say much back. When she does . . . she doesn’t say anything new. Still, that’s not bad, since she’s the wisest person I’ve ever known.” The topic made her melancholy, of course, and Regis was aware that she was likely already confiding in him more than she might others. He took it as the gift that it was, and didn’t push it farther.

“So,” she said, turning away from the window, to him, “while I’m busy you can spend as much time here as you’d like—and probably plenty when I’m not busy, because I love it here. What do you want to read about? I know the library forward and backward.”

Regis gave that a moment more thought than he otherwise might. Access to this kind of library was not something to be taken lightly—in any way he could think of. He considered, and then smiled a little.

“Architecture and agriculture,” he said, a little ruefully. “Nem’s worried part of her designs won’t work. Unless I’m not allowed to take notes.”

“Of course you are,” she said. “There’s another writing room, actually, on the ground floor, and it’s a little cozier than the study rooms up here, especially when it starts getting colder. There’s usually someone there, but don’t mind her. She’s abridging the collective histories we have into one long history of my family. She’s not a boring writer, either, so it should come out nicely. She won’t let me read it yet.” But a mischievous smile gave her away.

“You’ve read parts of it,” he said.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t tell her or she might get self-conscious and stop.” Then, with fun in her eyes, she took off toward the spiral staircase, pulling Regis along with her.

The next day, Regis was so busy taking notes that when his extra paper disappeared it took him a second to notice. Then he looked up into Charlotte’s smiling face, and couldn’t help but freeze.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t much,” he said, thawing. “I thought you weren’t free until later?”

“Well,” she said, sitting next to him at the table he’d chosen, in one of the study rooms on the fifth floor, “weather’s held up my lady Terin, so I have a few minutes. Apparently a road washed out somewhere and she doesn’t want to walk.”

“I suppose it’s wet,” Regis said. Rain had been humming pleasantly on the stained glass ceiling for hours.

“There’s such a thing as rain-boots and umbrellas,” Charlotte said. “Serono—my main secretary—is quite put out. He’s moving her meeting back until ten o’clock tonight, which is a punishment for her, but apparently he doesn’t think about me—not that I usually care as long as I meet with everyone I need to, but ten is a little late, especially for business.”

“Why don’t you ask him not to put it then?” Regis asked.

“I would have, if he asked me before he decided on it,” she said. “As it is, it would make him go out of his way.”

“It couldn’t be much,” Regis said, hoping she wouldn’t say what he was almost sure she would.

“No,” she said, “but he’s already stressed as is. He hates people being late for appointments.”

“So you’re just being kind,” Regis said, his hopes of that part of the illusion being, well, an illusion quite squashed.

“I suppose,” she said. “Last week I had to make him change something, and I swear he took an hour to painstakingly lay out the rest of the day. I wish I could copy his work-ethic. He’s working all day every day. He’s also the one who transcribes whatever meetings I have. Then, for no other reason than because he knows it’s useful to me, he goes out of his way to critique how I did—and he always makes sure it’s kind as well as constructive, which is a bonus. I’ve tried to pay him an advisor’s wage for it but he won’t let me. After that he goes home and deals with trouble-seeking children. Like I said, I want his work ethic.”

“You work all day, too,” Regis said.

“Yes, but not like that. Besides, I have free time. As far as I can tell he doesn’t.”

“Then Nem wants his work ethic, too.”

Charlotte grinned. “How has your research been going?”

“I think well,” he said. “I won’t really know until Nem looks it over. I wish she were here—she’d love it.”

“It’s funny,” Charlotte said, “but anyone who’s in the palace can come into the library. No one does.”

“It is the royal library. Maybe they assume they can’t.”

“Or maybe they’re afraid of meeting me in a casual setting.” Charlotte sighed. “A princess doesn’t have to be on a pedestal to only be looked at. She can, in fact, be talked to. She’s as human as anyone else.”

“I’m not sure that’s the point of naming someone a princess.”

Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe I am that, too, but if that’s true that’s not all I am. I don’t know if anyone can only be a person who looks at morally grey decisions all day.”

“Is it always grey?”

“Always,” she said. “Even when I ran down to the victims of the floods, I was shirking dinners with ambassadors and meetings with officials from different provinces and dukedoms about how to help exactly the same victims by providing them with food and manpower for cleanup. That and when I snuck off and rode ahead Geo might have had a small heart attack. I knew he would panic, and that I wouldn’t get there much faster, but I was so worried about all of the people in danger that I put aside danger of the people around me. Poor Geo. So you see, everything is grey.”

“But other people met with the officials,” Regis said, “didn’t they? And the ambassadors had to have understood.”

“Well, the Madanian one didn’t like it much, but they’re used to thinking we’re strange. Yes, other officials met with them, but I need to keep up on the situation.”

“Still,” Regis said.

After a moment, Charlotte slowly smiled at him. “I suppose that one might not have been too grey. I’ve been told it was. And riding ahead of poor Geo was probably a bad idea. Though otherwise I wouldn’t have got there in time to save this one little girl’s life. Precious. But so thin.” She shook her head hard, as if to dispel the image.

Regis couldn’t help thinking that since her captain hadn’t died it didn’t seem that grey.

“Geo lectured me for an hour and gave me the proper treatment for weeks.”

Regis studied her, thinking. It didn’t fit with what else she’d said to agree with Geo about that much safety, not when there were other lives in danger. “He cares about security a lot.”

“Yes.” That decisive word was all Charlotte said. “If you weren’t studying for Nem, what would you be reading?”

Regis looked up at the bookshelves around him. He wasn’t entirely sure. “History or fighting technique manuals—if you have them.” With Irene’s gift no one in the royal family would need them.

“We have a floor in one of the side rooms dedicated to it,” she said. “Well, it’s partially the overflow from the floor below, on strategy, but most of it is technique. History of what?”

“Anything,” he said. “I’ve never been able to study it much, beyond a general overview. And Alexandra’s war. Everyone talks about Alexandra’s war.”

“If I wanted examples of morally grey choices . . . I suppose it’s because it’s so fascinating.”

“There are few enough civil wars anyway, and Aresariis Na Sarthatos going bad is always shocking. I think that’s why Irene’s war is almost as talked about.”

“Prince Niles,” Charlotte said. “One of the greatest stories I’ve ever read is about his brother.”

“Please tell me there’s more about him than that he disappeared.”

“You don’t—” Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “How could any history book have missed that? He went over to Loken, renamed himself Itri Horatius, became a bodyguard for a Great Astrologer and was so good at it he was the chosen general when the war with Norln broke out.”

“But Pearlessagate fought for them in that war,” Regis said. “He’d have been—”

“Recognized? He was. He worked side-by-side with Pearlessagate’s general—”

“Tanelya Candor,” Regis said. “Is there more on her and her sister?”

“So much more,” she said. “Her sister Tanaya married a dragon-turned-human.”

Regis gaped at her. “What?”

“I’ll be right back,” she said, jumping up. “We have several copies of Irene’s written record, so I can in good conscience give one to you to keep.” She disappeared before he could protest that she didn’t have to, and came back barely fifteen seconds later with a leather-bound volume in her hand.

“The best part, I think,” she said as she handed it to him, “is that after the war Itri Horatius—with the newly reclaimed surname of Aresariis Na Sarthato—married Tanelya Candor.”

“Didn’t she fight him in Irene’s war?”

“Exactly,” Charlotte said. “He was being controlled by Niles—oh good, at least you know that. So it wasn’t his fault he fought. And she understood that completely.”

“That’s . . . actually a beautiful end to their story,” Regis said.

“Exactly,” Charlotte said again. “And there were rumors for years after they left Pearlessagate that they didn’t age a day beyond thirty.”

“You don’t think they’re still alive?” Regis asked.

“I hope so,” she said, “because that would be amazing. It’s almost a proven fact that Tanaya Candor still is—she’s an Ice Sorceress, and I pity you for not knowing what that means beyond nice magic—though confusingly enough, despite how I can use Ice Sorceress magic I am not an Ice Sorceress. Irene explains the distinction.” They were grinning at each other for a minute, and then she jumped and looked at the clock on the wall. “Oh no, I’m about to be late. Will you read at least a chapter around your research?”

“I don’t think I could help it,” he said, and with another grin she was off—her first steps light, then as she reached the walkway, they became strides. Girl to princess, he thought as he watched her. How light she seemed without her mantle, but how well she wore it.

He also thought about what she’d said about the captain of her guard. Either he was overprotective and she cared enough about him to weigh a possible heart attack against a little girl’s life when the princess’s retinue certainly had healers around who could prevent heart attacks from doing too much damage—and it was true that she might care about him a lot, since they seemed close anyway and her father had died before she would remember—but there was the other possibility. The possibility that Geo’s worry was justified—that she was in enough danger that riding alone for what he guessed was a few hours was far more dangerous than it would be for any other girl. Maybe even any other princess.