Somewhere around the fifth sharp turn, the palace corridors officially declared war on Cherion’s sense of direction. Every archway sparkled with gold leaf, every ceiling displayed yet another long-dead king who looked far too pleased with himself, and every hallway was practically a copy of the last. Either the architects had run out of ideas, or they genuinely believed getting lost built character.
Cherion stopped at a grand four-way intersection, squinting up at a pair of massive stone pillars that looked way too familiar. He let out a quiet huff before suddenly flicking his hand through the air in annoyance. Then he rubbed his palm hard against his trousers, trying his best to get rid of the lingering feeling of Yerel’s grip.
His wrist still felt like Yerel was holding it. Cherion rubbed at it again, flexed his fingers, then frowned when the creepy sensation refused to get the hint and disappear.
"Cherion," Marielle said, stopping a step behind him. She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot against the floor, already looking suspicious. "Don’t tell me we’re lost again. I thought you used to live here."
Cherion rolled his eyes and turned to her with an offended little pout. "Oh, please. Just because I lived here doesn’t mean I ever went to the library. Why would I?"
Marielle sighed, though the protective look she’d been wearing softened into amusement. "Clearly. Because if I am not mistaken, we have passed that exact statue of the third king three times now."
"He has a very generic face," Cherion muttered, turning his head to look down the left wing. He cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation away from his terrible sense of direction. "Anyway... what do you think Zarius and Flio are doing right now?"
Marielle shook her head. A brief look of seriousness crossed her face before she brushed it aside. "Your guess is as good as mine. They’re probably discussing something important. She paused. "Or gossiping. Ah, don’t worry about them."
"Should I go looking for them?" Cherion asked, tilting his head. "They’ve been gone for a while, and if we’re going to pull this off, we need everyone on the same page."
"No need," Marielle replied confidently, gesturing toward the corridor directly ahead of them. "They will go straight to the library once they are finished. Let’s just make sure we actually find the doors before they do, or my brother will never let you hear the end of it."
With a determined nod, Cherion took the lead again, thankfully making the correct turn this time. A few minutes later, the corridor ended at a pair of towering dark doors that seemed determined to remind every visitor they were about to enter somewhere important.
As Cherion pushed the heavy doors open, the scent of old parchment, dried leather, and centuries of dust washed over them. The imperial library was breathtakingly vast, stretching up three stories with spiral wrought-iron staircases leading to endless rows of tightly packed bookshelves.
The silence was almost unsettling. Compared to the main palace, where every corridor had at least three conversations and five rumors floating through it, this place felt abandoned.
Marielle stepped inside, stopping dead in her tracks as she stared up at the endless walls of books. A look of genuine dread washed over her face.
"Oh, heavens," she whispered, sounded genuinely offended on behalf of the entire kingdom. "I never expected I would ever have to go back to a place like this after my academy days. Just looking at this many pages makes my head ache."
Cherion chuckled at her reaction as he wandered between the shelves. "Oh, come on. Books aren’t really that scary, Marielle. They don’t bite."
"They possessed other, far more effective ways of tormenting a soul," she groaned, reluctantly following him deeper into the maze of shelves. She stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles as though preparing for battle. "Listen, I will do all the heavy lifting. Just point to whichever book you need, and I’ll carry it for you. But promise me right now, don’t make me read more than ten pages. One must have standards."
"Deal," Cherion chuckled. Somehow, Marielle always made it difficult to hold on to his worries.
He led her past shelves of history and philosophy before making his way to the quieter back corner of the first floor, where the botanical and medical collections were kept. Even the sunlight seemed to tread more carefully here, slipping between shelves packed with hefty leather-bound books. Cherion scanned the titles quickly, his fingers tracing the spines until he found what he was looking for.
He pulled out a heavy, dusty volume on rare eastern flora and handed it to Marielle. She let out a dramatic, heavy sigh but immediately opened it, resting it against her arm as her eyes scanned the text.
Cherion pulled down two more thick journals regarding imperial court history and toxicology, setting them on a nearby wooden reading desk. He pulled up a chair and began flipping through the pages, his eyes darting across lines of text, searching for anything specific.
Marielle leaned against the edge of the desk, flipping a page with a frown. "What exactly are we trying to find again? You’re looking through these like your life depends on it."
"A high-lethal poison," Cherion said softly, not breaking his gaze from the page. He turned over a leaf, tracing a diagram of a hooded mushroom. "Something that might go completely undetected by standard. It needs to be odorless, tasteless, seamless, anything that isn’t a usual, common poison. If our target is smart enough to pull off a strike right under the King’s nose, they aren’t going to use standard poison."
"A delayed poison, then," Marielle murmured, her sharp mind instantly picking up on the strategic angle. "Something given hours in advance so the culprit has a flawless alibi when the symptoms finally strike."
"Something like that," Cherion muttered, turning another page.
Peace lasted exactly as long as it took for the front doors to open again. The footsteps that followed were so perfectly synchronized they sounded as though someone had trained them personally.
Cherion looked up just as Zarius and Flio appeared at the end of the row.
Zarius’s eyes went straight to Cherion, performing what looked suspiciously like a silent inspection for missing limbs. Beside him, Flio was every inch the perfect aide, back straight, expression composed, not a hair out of place.
"Did you get the permission?" Zarius asked as he stopped beside the desk
Marielle tossed her head back, a proud smile playing on her lips as she closed her book with a soft thud. "Please. There is nothing your sister and your little omega can’t do. His Majesty agreed without a single complaint."
Zarius looked from his sister to Cherion, a faint smile touching his face before it disappeared again. Flio acknowledged the news with a polite nod and stepped quietly beside Zarius.
Cherion stood up from his chair, closing the heavy book in front of him. He looked at Zarius, then at Flio, a bright, determined spark igniting in his eyes as he clapped his hands together.
"Are you two done with your business?
"Yes," Flio replied. "Everything is perfectly aligned on our end."
"Good," Cherion pointed at the mountain of books waiting for them. "All right, come on. Let’s start the real work, boys."