Realization struck Floria with the force of a physical blow. This was no mere aristocrat, no high-ranking vampire whose ego she had bruised—this was the Sovereign of their realm, Liam Atkinson. She had been bandying words with the King himself, a lapse in judgment that could be officially branded as treason.
"Long live Your Majesty. I beg you to pardon my snseless words," she murmured, her voice tight with a sudden, sharp anxiety. She sank into a deep, graceful bow, her fingers trembling slightly as they caught the silken folds of her cherry-black gown, lifting them in a formal gesture of greeting.
Liam's expression remained unreadable, though a single brow arched in faint amusement. "Pardon?" He stretched the word as if tasting its weight, letting it hang in the air for a heavy moment. "Care to state for what, exactly, you require it?" His voice was thick with a strange, foreign curiosity, his gaze never wavering from her bent form.
"For speaking to you in such a manner. Your subject pleads forgiveness, My Lord," she answered, her words a frantic effort to mend the bridge she had so carelessly tried to burn. Only now did the weight of his presence make sense; the man was cunning, his intellect far sharper and more dangerous than any rumor could convey.
His eyes remained fixed on her for several long minutes, intense and scrutinizing, before his lips finally parted. "And there it is. Miss Floria Saipon, I presume?" He took a single step forward, the distance between them evaporating until only a sliver of space remained. "I had supposed the lady was wise enough to know one should always measure their words before their company."
His gaze didn't just take in her attire; it felt as though he were peering into the very architecture of her soul.
He retreated a step, his posture an unspoken invitation for her to walk with him. "The High Crystal Hall does not welcome everyone," Liam said, the silence between them breaking under the weight of his observation.
"Indeed, it does not. It took me nearly two years to gain entry," she replied, regaining her composure as they began to move. "I came only to return this volume to the High Crystal."
They looked ahead, though Liam's scrutiny never truly left her; it was merely veiled behind a mask of indifference. "Lady Salvatore is a remarkably strict woman when it comes to those she allows to associate with the Hall. Not everyone is permitted to set foot upon this ground."
It was a cold truth. The High Hall was a fortress of knowledge that barred even the elite; for someone of Floria's modest stature to walk these glass floors was a feat of sheer persistence. She had poured endless effort into reaching this place, though she had never intended for that path to lead her directly into the the King.
"I sent numerous letters to the Crystal, pleading to borrow the text. It is the last copy in existence," Floria admitted, a faint flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "They demanded I present myself here for interrogation before they would entrust the book to my care."
Liam looked at her then, and for a fleeting second, the hard lines of his face softened. He remembered her clearly from the ball—the way he had teased her about her perfume, a memory that carried the weight of a hidden truth.
He stopped and turned fully toward her, his face setting into a mask of absolute authority. "As for your apology, it is granted. However, the royal archives currently lack a librarian. You shall be the fit for the position."
Floria stood rooted to the spot, her mind reeling. "But Your Majesty, I—"
She attempted to retort, to find the logic in such a sudden appointment, but Liam's voice cut through her protest. "Miss Floria, you will present yourself at the palace this coming Monday." His words were iron, delivered with a stoic finality that left no room for denial.
At that moment, a figure emerged from the entrance of the Hall. It was a vampire who had clearly just finished a heavy feeding; the scent of copper lingered about him, and his victim likely clung to life by a thread. His boots clicked sharply against the glass as he approached. As a scion of pureblood lineage, his senses were too keen to miss the pair standing in the garden.
He drifted toward them, a smirk playing on his lips as he recognized the blonde woman and his brother. "My, my... look who we have here. My dear brother and Miss Floria."
Floria, still reeling from her appointment, turned to see a young man dressed in rich maroon standing a few paces away.
"Good afternoon to the Prince," Floria greeted him, her courtesy and careful, desperate not to offend another member of the royal bloodline.
"Afternoon, Miss Floria—or should I say, our new Librarian?" His voice was sweet, almost chirping, as he returned a slight, mocking bow. Floria felt a chill of wonder, exactly how much of their conversation had the Prince overheard?
Liam, standing between his brother and Floria, spoke with a tone that warned the younger man to cease his prodding. "You seem remarkably free to eavesdrop on the conversations of others, Rory. Perhaps the Lee case is not demanding enough of your time?"
Rory let out a low, melodic hum, his eyes dancing between Liam's rigid posture and Floria's stunned expression. He seemed entirely unbothered by his brother's warning, leaning against a marble pillar with a casual grace that made the gravity of the wing seem like a mere suggestion.
"Oh, the Lee case is a dreadfully tedious affair, brother," Rory sighed, waving a hand as if flicking away a stray moth. "It's all ledgers, dusty lies, and people crying over spilled blood—literally. Hardly as captivating as stumbling upon the sudden coronation of a new librarian."
He turned his gaze back to Floria, his smile widening to reveal a flash of teeth that looked a little too sharp to be purely decorative.
"Monday, then, Miss Floria. Do try to be on time," he chirped, his tone dripping with mock-seriousness. "My brother views punctuality as a sacrament, and he's notoriously short on penance for those who linger. Though, if you are late, do bring a good story. He hates being bored even more than he hates being ignored."
"I shall be there, Your Highness," Floria managed to say, her voice regaining its steady edge despite the drumming of her heart. She offered a final, measured bow before turning to make her exit.
As her boots clinked rhythmically across the blue glass, heading back toward her carriage, she could feel Liam's gaze burning into her back. It was a heavy, silent weight, broken only by Rory's voice trailing off behind her.
"Really, Liam," she heard Rory muse, his voice light with amusement. "A librarian? How come i never knew you had such a fantasies- not truly bad though."