These Gilded Seas

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Stupid Girl and Her Stupid Infatuation

Morning comes too soon, and I'm still rubbing sleep out of my eyes when I pick up Eero's breakfast from the kitchen.

"Not sleeping well?" Josef asks with a concerned look.

I finish my yawn and grin at him. "Not really. I was too busy reading."

He laughs. "I see. Prince Eero used to be the exact same way." Josef passes me the tray. "Such little bookworms."

I crinkle my nose at him, not appreciating being compared to the prince, and shuffle out of the kitchen.

Even though I was away most of the night, reading under the tiny light of the bathing room fire, I still haven't made much progress on the mythos. The stories bring crippling waves of homesickness with them, and I spent more time clutching my necklace and crying for home than I did digesting words. Plus, reading about the Divine makes my magic hum, which only distracts me further.

But I have added to my notes. Significantly.

Whoever the tall, light writing belongs to, they're my favorite reader so far. They write long soliloquies about alliances and the power of unification. As they talk about the sea, their words turn poetic. They compare the water to the Divine herself, saying it's Her finicky nature coming out in sudden storms and Her beauty that shows in the orange and pinks of the sunrise. This person understands our religion more than any human should, but the Divine would be pleased.

For the first time since my mother's death, I find myself lost in the words—not for a love of studying, but for the pure joy they're bringing me. I've nothing to gain except an understanding of how these strangers feel.

And it's exhilarating.

This must be what it feels like to read fiction. To study strangers in strange worlds and compare oneself to them. To get tangled up in mythical politics and root for people you've never met. I think I could come to enjoy it.

How very human of me.

As I top the staircase, balancing the breakfast tray on both hands, an empty hallway greets me. There's no guard stationed at Eero's study or his bedroom. I take a few cautious steps in the other direction and peek around the corner. A stern-faced guard, one whose name I don't know, stands at King Soren's door. He's always there, though, glancing up and down the hallway.

Our eyes meet, but he just shakes his head and ignores me.

King Soren's in his room; Prince Eero's not.

Where could he have gone this early?

We have a routine, and he never misses breakfast.

I tiptoe back down the hall and push open the study door. Maybe he left me a note or something. Or maybe there's a guard inside. Maybe he didn't take a guard with him this morning.

That last one is laughable. Of course he has a guard with him. Prince Eero never goes anywhere without Will or Magnus.

But the study's empty.

All that's there is the velvet couch, two walls full of books, and a hauntingly empty desk. I place the tray of food on the side table beside Eero's reading nook and make my way to his desk.

On the surface, there's a stack of scrolls propped haphazardly between some record books and a bottle of ink. A half-full cup of tea has left a river of condensation running across the dark wood. It comes dangerously close to a cluster of maps, marked with scribbled x's and o's. My eyes fall on a large star-like shape in the middle of the eastern sea that is suspiciously close to Hygge.

Eero's war plans?

No, I remind myself, He's not planning a war. He's trying to stop one.