The library annex smelled faintly of aged parchment and polished oak, its towering shelves heavy with scrolls and tomes of mana theory. Few nobles ventured here—the lure of swordplay and spectacle usually outweighed the silence of study.
Alex drifted along the aisles, fingertips brushing over the leather spines. He liked the quiet here. It was a place where thought breathed freely, where judgment was absent.
A low hum broke the silence. Someone was speaking softly, almost to himself. Alex turned the corner and saw him.
Riven.
Black and silver hair caught the lantern light, shifting like steel against silk. He leaned lazily against a ladder, one book in hand, his nails painted the striking sheen of obsidian-purple. A quiet elegance wrapped him, but so did an energy that made the air seem restless, alive.
When his eyes lifted, a grin curved his lips. "Ah… Snowflake. Or do you prefer Cupcake today?"
Alex raised a brow, suppressing the twitch of a smile. "Neither. And what are you doing here?"
Riven hopped down from the ladder, landing with feline ease. "Reading, obviously. I'd ask the same of you, but you don't strike me as the type to hide from sword practice unless you're avoiding someone."
Alex let the jab pass, turning his gaze back to the rows of books. "I hear your name often enough in noble circles."
"Oh?" Riven tilted his head, feigning innocence. "And what do they whisper of me?"
Alex allowed himself a quiet smile, almost amused. "That your strength rivals the crown prince's. That he sees you as a threat. That your… aesthetic"—his eyes flicked briefly to the painted nails—"doesn't go unnoticed."
For a moment, silence lingered. Then Riven laughed—a low, warm sound that echoed between the shelves. "Cupcake, do you really think I'd care about their chatter? Let them talk. Fear dresses itself as rumor."
Alex met his gaze steadily. "You don't deny it."
"I don't waste time denying the truth," Riven said smoothly, stepping closer. "Besides, power isn't something you beg acceptance for. It's something you make impossible to ignore."
His tone was sharp, but his grin softened as he reached out, gently brushing invisible dust from Alex's sleeve. "But you—graceful, precise, unshaken—you make them nervous too, don't you? A Snowflake with the bite of frost."
Alex tilted his head slightly. "That nickname won't stick."
"Oh, it already has," Riven teased, stepping back. "Snowflake suits you. Fragile to some, but in reality—cutting, brilliant, and impossible to melt."
Alex allowed the faintest smile, though he turned away quickly, hiding it among the books. "You talk too much."
"Only when I find someone worth the words," Riven replied, his voice lighter now, almost playful. "Don't worry, Cupcake. I'll keep your secrets. Even the ones you haven't spoken yet."
The hush of the library settled once more, but between the laughter, the teasing, and the whispers of gossip, an unspoken thread connected them—delicate, but undeniable.
Author's Note: Riven's confidence is absolutely killing me. The sheer effrontery—calling Alex a "snowflake" 😲? I can't. I just can't.