Page 70 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Chapter Eighteen

Thorn Hall had a spectacular and cavernous library.

And it was a disaster.

An absolute disaster.

“You—” she choked out. “This.”

He smirked. King or not, Lachlan took his own life in his hands and smirked down at a Librarian in his disaster of a library.

“Criminal,” she ground out, her fingertips burning, her iron cuff biting at her. She took a deep breath, another. It was not enough.

“I thought you’d enjoy a library,” he said, amused.

“This is not a library.” She poked him in the chest, heedless of propriety and personal safety. “This is an admission of your greatest sin.”

He leaned a little closer, still smirking, deep voice deepening further. “Not even close, wisp.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

It did not last. The urge to scream and scold was simply too great.

There were books everywhere, teetering in great piles, stacked upside down, tossed into a giant willow basket. Scrolls were stuffed haphazardly into old water jugs, a crystal vase, a chipped, abandoned butter churn. Some were stitched from vellum, or pressed papyrus. Others were made with the finest petal paper, available only in Elphame, as it disintegrated the moment it passed into the mortal world.

It would take days to sort it out. Weeks. A proper cataloguing system might take months.

Excitement lanced through the horror.

Lachlan knew her better than she had assumed. A library would always be a welcome distraction. But a library that needed sorting would calm her like nothing else could. It was so much easier to focus on alphabetizing second-century Celtic triads than it was to ruminate on how one might solve a magical labyrinth while being chased by any number of creatures eager to kill her. Possibly with her hair on fire.

The cup of tea Lachlan brought her, tinged with bergamot and vanilla, also helped. Oh, she was in very great danger. Never mind the Tithe or the attempted murder by Redcap goblin.

There was no one and nothing more dangerous than Lachlan Thorn.

Which was not to say that she had any intention of forgiving him for his crimes. “That is the only edition of that particular book left!”

Possibly ever. She might not be a Librarian of Hallow any longer, but she was still a Librarian. She was still Pippa. That was worth remembering.

“Yes, I had a devil of a time wrestling it off a basilisk,” Lachlan said.

Pippa pinched the bridge of her nose and took another deep breath, wrestling with her own demons. “You wrestled a basilisk?”

His mouth quirked with amusement. “Don’t worry, love. Takes more than that to do me in.”

She met his otherworldly eyes squarely. Her voice was exquisitely even: mild as warm milk, soft as feathers. A trick learned by fire and the contempt of certain Head Librarians. “Do you have any idea what basilisk saliva is capable of?”

He tilted his head. “Can’t say that I do.”

“You took a great risk.”

“He didn’t even nick me.”

“Not for you!” she nearly screeched. Warm milk, she had to remind herself. Soft feathers. Cool, calm waters. “For the book! You risked the book!”

Lachlan’s expression was a combination of amused, offended, and charmed. Her iron cuff nipped at her with teeth of fire. She dropped her arm quickly and stepped back. “I should not be in here.”

His gaze dragged over her, searching. “This is exactly where you should be.”