Boring

Hours.

That's how long it had been since Lyra left to go "take care of the pirates." In those hours, I'd managed to review half a shelf of dusty histories, reject two ancient poetry collections, and, in a fit of desperation, read the first chapter of an old romance novel.

It wasn't that the library wasn't impressive. The southern queens clearly valued books—row upon row lined the sunlit shelves, volumes bound in leather, linen, even gold leaf. No, the problem was me.

There wasn't a single thing in these pages I hadn't already read, and none of it could distract me from the fact that I was bored out of my mind.

Maybe I should have gone with Lyra, I thought darkly as I thumbed through a treatise on southern trade routes.

Fighting pirates sounded infinitely preferable to withering away in a silk armchair, surrounded by the scent of lavender and old paper. 

I definitely didn't think about last night, or the way she'd felt wrapped around me, or the mortifying possibility that I'd actually slept better with her there.

No. Absolutely not. I was here to be safe, respectable, and bored. I was doing a spectacular job at all three.

A rustle at the door drew my attention. One of the southern queens—Queen Thalia, the one with the gentle eyes and hair like a waterfall—swept in, a tea tray balanced expertly in her hands.

She smiled as if we were old friends, rather than near-strangers sharing a roof out of royal obligation.

"I thought you might like some tea," she said, setting the tray on the low table beside my chair. "You looked a bit… restless."

I straightened, schooling my face into its most intimidating blankness. "Thank you, Your Majesty, but I'm quite all right."

She poured anyway, the steam curling up in fragrant ribbons. "I know the feeling. When Marena is off chasing problems, I always find the palace too quiet. I imagine it's worse for you—being a guest and all."

"I manage," I said curtly, ignoring the way the teacup felt warm and comforting between my hands.

She sat down in the armchair opposite, tucking her legs beneath her like a schoolgirl, utterly unbothered by my iciness. "You know, you're not as cold as everyone says."

I nearly dropped the cup. "Excuse me?"

Her eyes twinkled with a kind mischief. "You act like you're carved from ice, but I can see the little cracks. Especially when you talk about your family. Or, lately, your bodyguard."

My face burned. "I assure you, I am exactly as cold as I seem."

She laughed—a warm, honest sound that made it impossible to stay annoyed. "Of course you are, darling. Just like I'm a master of politics and never forget a birthday."

I sipped my tea, trying to look offended and succeeding only in scalding my tongue. "What do you want, exactly?"

She leaned forward, conspiratorial. "A little conversation. And maybe… a little gossip? I confess, I miss it. Marena is always busy with affairs of state, and my court here is too proper. Tell me—what's it like being you? What's your greatest secret?"

I stared at her, willing her to be intimidated. She just smiled wider, so I surrendered with a sigh. "My greatest secret is that I despise romance. All of it. Love is trash."

She gasped, hand over her heart in mock outrage. "Surely not! Have you never been in love?"

"Never," I said flatly.

"I've never had a lover, never kissed anyone, never even held hands except with my mother or sister when I was little. If you're expecting tales of wild affairs and broken hearts, you'll be sorely disappointed."

She shook her head, not the least bit discouraged. "But surely you've wanted to?"

I hesitated, thinking of last night, of Lyra's arms around me, her lips on my skin. I pushed the memory aside, shoving it into the darkest, dustiest corner of my mind. "No," I lied, perhaps too quickly. "Absolutely not."

She eyed me over the rim of her teacup. "Not even a little curiosity?"

"None," I insisted. "Love makes people ridiculous. They write bad poetry, do foolish things, give up power for the sake of someone else's smile. It's a waste of time. I'd rather fight pirates or run a kingdom or—literally anything else."

She laughed again, delighted. "My poor dear, you really do believe it. But let me tell you something: love is not always like the stories. It can be sharp, and difficult, and messy. But it's also the only thing that ever makes all the rest of it worth enduring."

"I'd rather endure boredom, thank you," I grumbled, pouring more tea in the hope it would drown out my thoughts.

She grinned. "I said the same, once. Until I met Marena. She was impossible—rude, arrogant, always telling me what to do. Now I can't imagine a day without her."

I snorted. "Sounds awful."

"Oh, it is," Thalia agreed, her smile softening. "And wonderful. The best things usually are."

I glanced away, fixing my gaze on a shelf of old law books. "I prefer not to need anyone. It's easier."

She reached over, patting my hand. "Perhaps. But you'd be surprised how much you can gain, if you let someone close."

I bit back an answer, cheeks hot, hoping she couldn't see the war inside my head. I wanted to argue—to say that nothing was worth that risk, that I was better off cold and alone.

But the memory of last night kept sneaking in, unwelcome and persistent: the feeling of safety, of being wanted, of warmth I'd never known before.

Thalia gave my hand a gentle squeeze, then let go, rising with a practiced grace. "If you ever change your mind, you'll find love can be… very interesting. And worth every bit of trouble it brings."

She gathered her tea things, pausing at the door. "And, Isolde? Don't erase the good memories, even if they scare you. Sometimes that's where life starts."

I stared after her as she left, heart pounding, brain whirling with irritation, confusion, and something that felt dangerously like hope.

As soon as she was gone, I slumped back in my chair, face in my hands.

Love is trash. Love is dangerous. Love is not for me.

But the warmth lingering on my skin—the memory of being held, just for a night wouldn't go away.

And I wasn't sure if I wanted it to.