Page 71 of The Awakening of Essensia

The few times she’d used her power had been out of her control. What if the Royal Librarian looked at her and saw a scared girl not worth his time, or someone too out of control to risk teaching?

She stood there a long moment, fingers still resting on the knob. Her pulse thudded in her ears. It would be easier to stay, to pretend she’d never received the letter. To pretend this was something she could do without help.

Outside the door came the faint sound of laughter, jolting her from her thoughts.

You survived a demon. Twice. You didn’t come here to hide.

Vaelira gritted her teeth, turned the knob, and stepped into the hall.

The courtyard was half shadowed in the late afternoon light. The clatter of plates and footsteps echoed against the stone as recruits drifted towards dinner. She blended into the flow, her boots light against the worn stone. No one questioned why she was moving away from the refectory, but her stomach twisted tighter with each step.

In Old Town, she kept her head down. Every sound seemed louder than it should’ve been. Her hand brushed the moonstone inside her pouch and the memory of the cavern flickered in her mind. The stone had seemed to call to her in those depths, woken her from the slow drowning and brought her to the surface. It would have felt like fate, if she believed in such things.

Vaelira stopped outside a shop, looking past the row of iced cakes and pastries to her reflection in the glass. She looked like a girl, so small compared to the figures that passed behind her. What if Galfri didn’t want to help her? What if he didn’t think she was worth the risk?

Tension coiled in her chest, and she curled her hand into a fist. “You came here for answers,” she said under her breath. “So go get them.” The words steadied her.

If Galfri turned her away, so be it. She’d find someone else. Maybe Fang would take her to his parent’s bookshop and she’d find answers there, or maybe she would figure it out alone. Either way, she wouldn’t quit before she’d even tried.

By the time she climbed the tavern steps, the sun had sunk behind the wall, casting everything in warm shadow. Vaelira pushed her shoulders back and swung the door open.

Elijah was easy to spot. Vaelira stalked over, placing her hands on the back of a chair, and leaning towards him. “You know, you draw more attention like that than if you just showed your face,” she said, eyeing his hood. “How many people actually know what you look like anyway?”

He chuckled deep, the sound stirring something in her core. He drew back his hood, and as he did, she saw his knuckles were red and cracked, faint bruising darkening his skin. Her own knuckles looked like that on occasion, but she hadn’t expected a prince to train so hard. She leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “Where is he?”

Elijah cocked his head. “Who?”

Vaelira sighed and looked over her shoulder, scanning the tavern for anyone that resembled a librarian.

“He’s not here,” he said, standing and gesturing for her to follow.

They took the stairs at the back of the room, heading up and into a dim hallway. Several doors down, Elijah stopped, turned a key in a lock, and pushed open the door. The room was empty.

“Is this some sort of trick?” she said, turning in a slow circle. She crossed her arms and pressed her palms down hard. No magic rose, but the gesture had become a habit, anchoring her when anger stirred.

Elijah crossed the room to a small wardrobe and pulled it open, the hinges creaking. A mound of green silk spilled out. He pulled the dress free, holding it up for her to see. “What do you think?”

She expected a grin, or some smug comment. Instead, his expression was cautious, almost hopeful. Like he was scared she’d hate it. Her arms dropped, and she stepped closer.

The dress was unlike anything she’d seen. Dark emerald silk rippled in layered waves, the fabric shifting like lights on water, catching the candlelight one moment and vanishing the next. Fine gold embroidery coiled along the hem and bodice, delicate ivy woven in thread. The bodice was sharply cut, cinched in at the waist where the skirts swept to the floor, growing deeper in shade with each layer, until the bottom layer was almost black. Even the gold stitching looked expensive, each thread precise and beautiful.

It made the Dorevanne sister’s dresses look like children’s costumes, bright frilly things designed to draw attention.

Vaelira didn’t know much about dresses, but this one looked like it cost more coin than she could make in a lifetime. It stole the air from her lungs. “It’s beautiful.” She reached out, fingers gliding over the cool fabric. “What’s it for?”

“For you,” he said, his voice somehow deeper than before.

“I think the other recruits would stare if I showed up to drills in that.”

He lay the dress carefully on the bed and turned back to the wardrobe, pulling out matching slippers.

“I had to guess your size,” he said, crouching in front of her to place them at her feet.

“Elijah,” she said.

He looked up, dark eyes locking with hers, stealing her next words from her. Then he stood, suddenly much closer. He towered over her, his breath ragged. “Say that again.”

She obeyed. “Elijah.”