Eryndor’s POV
The library was its own kingdom. A towering hall of ancient wood and stone, lined with shelves that stretched upward in endless tiers.
Dusty tomes. Forbidden manuscripts. Cursed books—everything was here… except those I didn’t want.
I stood in the upper corridor, one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, the other resting lazily against the long oak table beside me.
The window before me faced the back of the hall, and beyond it lay the narrow path that led toward the slave quarters.
I waited, patiently, my eyes focused on the path. Why was it taking so long? It never did.
“Eryndor! Eryndor Darkazov!”
I exhaled slowly. Of course, no one screamed my name like a spoiled brat except Zoya.
I stepped away from the window, then took slow steps toward the railing. Glancing dow
