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E
The corridor receives her in silence.
Light filters through the tall windows above, settling against the dark paneled walls. Candles burn in their holders at measured intervals, their glow steady and dignified. The long carpet softens her approach, absorbing the rhythm of her footsteps. Her skirt follows in a restrained sweep, her dark hair falling down her back as she makes her way toward the library.
Her thoughts remain anchored to the unfinished house in Raeverband, the memory of the laid foundation still fresh in her mind. Only hours ago, she had watched Cael focus on the measurements required to protect a child he had never met. It feels impossible to reconcile that protective prince with the cold manipulator the kingdom now claims he is.
It twists something beneath her ribs, driving her to seek answers behind the heavy wooden doors ahead.
The library door stands ajar. She presses it open and steps inside, the comforting scent of paper, leather, and age surrounding her. Elias sits at one of the tables, a thick volume opened in his hands, his posture upright under the amber light of the lamps.
At the sound of the door, he looks up. Upon seeing her, he closes the book and rises, offering a respectful bow. “Good afternoon, Your Highness,” he greets with a warm smile. “Have you returned to resume your reading?”
Elara nods her head. “Yes, and I wish to learn a language.”
His expression brightens with scholarly interest. “Indeed. We have the southern scripts, the ancient texts of Veyrenn, the classical court dialects, and—”
“The Common Sign,” she replies with a gentle, determined smile.
Elias stops mid-sentence, his mouth still parted around the unfinished word. He lowers the volume he had been holding onto the table, the movement slower than before, as though granting himself a moment to ensure he had heard her correctly.
She had made the decision on the walk here, somewhere between the second landing and the top of the staircase, while watching her fingers trail along the banister and thinking of the way Cael’s hands moved when he spoke. Her own hands merely steadied her. He conveyed entire sentences, entire emotions, without the need for a single sound.
The memory of their breathtaking closeness inside her bedchamber flashes through her mind, the warmth of his fingers pulling her hair over her shoulders making her chest tighten. She cannot remain outside his world any longer.
The silence stretches long enough for unease to settle within her. Has she overstepped? Touched on something far more significant than she intended? At last, Elias folds his hands over the closed book. “Yes,” he answers softly, a profound respect shining in his eyes. “I will find the perfect text for you.”
He turns and walks toward the upper shelves, his fingers trailing along the leather spines as he searches. Elara takes her seat across from the place where he had been sitting. The library feels different now, carrying a solemnity that borders on reverence.
Footsteps descend the wooden staircase. Elias returns carrying a thick volume, its spine worn with frequent use. He places the book upon the table before her. The letters on its cover read The Visual Language of the Realm in firm, elegant print.
He smiles, though there is something reflective in it. “Cael learned the hand structures from this very book,” he says. “I remember the hours we spent together over these pages, and the many mistakes he made. With each error, he would laugh rather than grow discouraged.”
Warmth gathers behind Elara’s ribs. She pictures a young boy, small enough that his feet would not reach the floor, his grey eyes serious with concentration, ink already smudged across the back of one hand from the morning’s earlier work. She imagines him seated upon a chair too large for his small frame, straining to reach the table despite the height. She sees him peering over the edge, concentrating with determination before breaking into silent laughter at his own mistakes. As the image unfolds in her mind, she finds herself smiling.
Elias’s smile widens, his pride undisguised. “He grew up with a great passion for writing and reading. He would spend hours lost in books. Especially romantic novels.”
The recollection draws an immediate image to Elara’s mind. She remembers the last time she saw him with a book in hand, the absorption upon his face, the quiet concentration in his eyes as he turned each page. That it had been a romantic tale renders the memory unexpectedly tender.
A laugh escapes her. “That is surprising.” Curiosity stirs afterward, impossible to suppress. She leans forward, resting one hand against the edge of the dark wood. “What novels did he read?”
“Oh, many,” Elias replies, settling more comfortably into his chair. “The first was The Star-Crossed Lovers of Vaelen. He returned to it often, as though studying its sorrow anew each time he read it. There was another, a tale about two lovers separated by an ancient vow. I confess many of the titles escape me now, but I remember my own delight in observing his interest in such bittersweet love stories.”
It is difficult to reconcile the unyielding prince she observes during tense council meetings with a quiet boy seeking out stories of tragic devotion. Elara thinks of the day in the library when Elias had handed him that same red volume, and the way she had found it endearing then, only to dismiss the feeling afterward. Lowering her gaze to the book resting between them, her fingers brush across its worn cover. “You sound very fond of him,” she says softly.
Elias scratches his cheek and chuckles. “I watched him grow from a determined little boy into the man he is now. It would be difficult not to be.”
Something stills within Elara. She glances down at the thick book once more, tracing the embossed letters upon the cover with her thumb. The volume suddenly feels less like a lesson and more like a bridge, one that finally allows her to step into a part of Cael’s world she has only ever observed from afar.
Elara opens the volume before her, her fingertips skimming the thick, rough parchment. She fixes her gaze on the orderly rows of black text and reads the gray lettering of the title.
SIGN LANGUAGE GUIDE: PART ONE.
“How did he learn?”
Elias folds his hands upon the table. “He began with the fundamentals. In the language of the hands, clarity and brevity are essential. One does not replicate every spoken word. Meaning is conveyed more directly. A sentence becomes shorter, stripped of unnecessary ornamentation to preserve the core truth of the thought.”
Elara inclines her head, absorbing each word. Though the same instruction appears within the opening pages before her, she receives it now with greater gravity. She turns several pages and pauses. An illustration of a hand greets her, its position drawn by precise guidance beneath it. Hello.
