The Royal Academy library was quiet.
It was the kind of quiet that felt heavy.
Dust motes danced in the light of a single magical lantern.
Marcus Aldridge sat at a large oak table.
He was surrounded by mountains of parchment.
Old scrolls were piled precariously high. Leather-bound tomes smelled of mildew and ancient secrets.
Opposite him sat Damien Blackthorn.
The young rogue leaned back in his chair. He balanced a dagger on his fingertip.
"This is dry reading," Damien noted.
"It's the history of the world," Marcus muttered. He turned a brittle page. "Try to show some respect."
"I respect sharp things," Damien said. "And fast things. This is neither."
Marcus rubbed his temples.
He had a headache. It was throbbing right behind his left eye.
"Theo gave me the green light," Marcus said.
He was still processing the conversation from the training yard.
"My brother, the designated hero, told me to date his harem."
