Struggling for patience, I tried to count to ten. I made it to three. “Your secrets are the exact opposite of alluring. If there was an anti-allure potion, it would be exactly that.”

“Damn,” he murmured, eyes gleaming.

“Are you expected to become King upon your return?” I demanded. “Is that what’s expected of you?”

The amusement faded from his eyes. “One of them. A King and Queen can only rule Atlantia for four hundred years. It’s designed that way so change can occur. If a child of theirs doesn’t assume the throne, then anyone can come forward and challenge for it. My parents’ reign has extended beyond the timeframe. And because they don’t believe Malik will return, they feel it is time for me to take on the role.”

“Has anyone challenged the throne?”

“As far as I know, no.”

But how would he know since he hadn’t been home in years? “Did you not think it would be a good idea to tell me?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, my gods,” I started.

“Mainly because I knew it would freak you out,” he added.

“Like right now,” Kieran murmured.

“No one asked for your two cents,” I snapped, and the wolven chuckled. I turned my glare back on Casteel. “Whether or not it would freak me out, I needed to know that—”

“It changes nothing,” he cut in. “Just because my parents believe it is time for me to take the throne doesn’t mean I have to or will. They cannot force me. My brother is the true heir to the Atlantian throne. Not me. And he will take his seat once I free him.”

Pressing my lips together, I glanced at Kieran to gauge his reaction to what Casteel had said, but he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. I doubted my senses would tell me anything more, but I knew that Casteel fully intended to save his brother. He didn’t want to be King, even if it was past the time for a new one to be crowned. With that said, becoming Queen was not something I had to worry about. I started to stand.

Casteel’s arm tightened. “Where are you going? I was so very comfortable with you in my lap.”

“I’m sure you were, but there’s no audience.”

“What about me?” Kieran asked. “I’m still here.”

“You don’t count.”

“Ouch,” he murmured.

“But we’re not in private, Princess. Wasn’t that the deal you made? In public, you wouldn’t fight me?”

My eyes narrowed. “There is no one else in this room. The doors are closed, and the deal we made didn’t include sitting in your lap.”

“I know.” He sucked his plump lower lip between his teeth, exposing the edges of his fangs. “But I really enjoy it.”

Muscles curled low in my stomach, and I really didn’t care for how my body responded to his heated stare, and the glimpse of those fangs. It answered with a heady flush that I could only hope wasn’t as visible as it felt. It also called forth a sharp, intense throbbing that settled in an area that made me want to squeeze my legs together. And I really hated the knowledge that he knew exactly how I responded to him. I let go of his wrist. “I don’t care if you enjoy it.”

“Lies,” he murmured, tucking back my hair. “You enjoyed it, too.”

“But do you know what I enjoyed more?” I leaned in, seeing the surprise flare in his eyes that quickly gave way to heat.

That lazy, half-hooded gaze returned. “I have a few ideas.”

“I enjoyed throwing the knife at you and making you bleed,” I said, jerking my head back from his touch. This time when I stood, he didn’t stop me.

Casteel laughed, lowering his hand to the arm of the chair. “That was one of my ideas.”

“You two are more convincing now than you were during the whole time with Alastir,” Kieran commented. “And if you can’t convince Alastir that you’re so in love with each other that he’s forgotten his decades-long search for his brother, and you have forgiven his plans to ransom you, then there is no way you’ll convince the King. And especially not your mother.”

Unfortunately, Kieran had a point. “Alastir doesn’t believe us. He didn’t say that outright, but I could that tell he has serious doubts. He probably thinks I’m infatuated with you, and you’re just using me.”

A slow grin spread across Casteel’s face, barely halting when he saw the look I gave him. His eyes still glimmered. “We’ll just have to try harder then, won’t we?”

I folded my arms. “How can anyone really believe us when I asked if you were out of your mind just a few nights ago?”

“A lot can happen in a few nights, Poppy. Especially with me.”

“Your arrogance never ceases to amaze me,” I muttered.

Casteel ignored that. “I think he will believe us. We have time to convince him, but now I’m sure I need to reassure him before he leaves to check the roads.” Casteel rose.

“Reassure him of what?”

“He can be…sensitive. Therefore, I need to reassure him that I won’t have him killed before we leave here,” he replied, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “Would you like to stay in here for a while? There’s a lot of books. None as interesting as Miss Willa’s diary, though.”

That damn diary.

“I would like to stay here,” I said.

Casteel glanced at Kieran, who said, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Do you all really think I’m in that much danger? Word of our engagement must have spread through the keep by now.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.” Casteel moved forward, touching my cheek just below the scar. “Thank you.”

“For what?” The touch of his fingertips was light, but a shiver still rolled through me.

“For choosing me.”

I spent the rest of the day in the library, taking a late lunch of soup by the crackling fireplace as I thumbed through the dusty pages of short tales meant for children, and old records of those who’d once lived in New Haven. As I moved from row to row, I didn’t think about what Alastir had told me or what awaited me once we left the keep. I lost myself to the freedom of being able to read any book I wanted. What I’d been allowed to read in Masadonia had been restricted to historical texts, and while Tawny often snuck far more interesting novels for me to enjoy, it was never enough.

Kieran was a quiet presence in the room, having picked up one of the books I’d discarded. I suspected that he was pleased with his task, only because I was too busy to ask him any questions.

It wasn’t until after I’d finished the bowl of stewed vegetables and scoured all the shelves, except for the bottom row behind a large oak desk, that I found a text of particular interest. It was a thin novel, bound in gold-dyed leather, halfway hidden behind the numerous, thick records, the gold smothered in dirt. I pulled it out, coughing as a cloud of dust plumed.

“Please don’t die,” Kieran commented from where he sat. “Casteel would be most displeased.”

Ignoring him, I wiped off the cover as I carried the book to the desk. I cracked it open, flipping through blank parchment faded to a dull yellow. I stopped when I saw the date. The gold-bound book was another set of records, but one far older than the rest. It was dated at least eight hundred years ago.

Turning the pages, I read through birth and death dates, occupations and house numbers, quickly noting that these records were very different. The span of years between the dates of birth and death caught my attention.

Hundreds of years.

These were records of the Atlantians who’d once lived in New Haven. The worn armchair creaked as I sat in it. Many of the names were illegible, the ink too faded, as were occupations. Some were easier to decipher. Baker. Stable Master. Blacksmith. Healer. Scholar. It was strange to see these common skills listed beside dates that suggested they’d lived ten or more mortal lifespans. But I supposed that when Atlantia ruled over the kingdom, many of them lived very ordinary long lives. There were occupations and words unfamiliar to me, ones I saw repeated under the column that listed jobs, and words often in parentheses near the names that I could read.

“What is a wivern?” I asked, unsure if I’d pronounced it correctly.

“What?” Kieran looked up from the book that rested in his lap.

“I found records from when Atlantians lived here,” I told him. “The word wivern appears frequently.”

Kieran drew his legs off the chest and rose, placing his book where his feet were. He came to stand by my shoulder. “Where?”

“See?” I tapped a finger below the faded black ink. “There are words I don’t recognize. Like here.” I drew my finger down. “Ceeren.”

“Hell.” Kieran leaned forward, turning the pages back to the title page. “It’s Atlantian records.”

I arched a brow. “That’s what I said.”

“I’m surprised this remained here all these years.” He flipped back to the page I’d been looking at.

“It was behind a couple of other records and covered in dust. It must’ve been forgotten.”

“Definitely forgotten. The Ascended destroyed any and all records of the Atlantians who once lived here. No matter how inconsequential as a census.”

“So, what does wivern mean?”

“A wivern was an Atlantian bloodline that was killed off during the war,” he explained. “They too were of two worlds, mortal and animal.”

“Like the wolven and changelings?”

He nodded. “Except the wivern could take the form of cats larger than those that roam the caves in the Wastelands. Here. Draken?” His arm brushed mine as he moved closer to point out a place farther down the page.

Air hissed out of Kieran’s clenched teeth as he jerked back his arm. I turned, finding him standing several feet from me.