Clockwork Kiss

The Royal Archives

The realization that Valerius and his agents were actively hunting for the temporal key - and for me - fueled my steps. Torian gave me no time to dwell on the danger, and I was, admittedly, grateful. His pace was swift and purposeful as we continued our descent.

The tight passage continued to wind down, down, down. We walked for what felt like hours, the blue elemental light casting distorted shadows that danced like ghosts on the damp stone walls. I focused on Torian’s steady presence and the rhythm of my own breathing. I could barely process the magnitude of the looming threat. The fate of an entire world - a beautiful, terrifying world filled with magic and elven lords - rested on finding a decorative nutcracker.

Eventually, the stairs gave way to a wider, dry stone landing. Torian pressed his hand against a large, unmarked slab of rock, and it slid silently open, revealing a breathtaking space.

We had arrived at the Royal Archives.

It wasn’t a library of neat, organized shelves. It was a cavernous space, stacked impossibly high with scrolls, leather-bound tomes, illuminated manuscripts, and even glowing, suspended crystal prisms that seemed to hold recorded words and sounds. The air here was dry, scented with ancient parchment and rosemary, and thick with the quiet hum of dormant magic. The same hum I had heard in the museum’s warehouse.

“The cataloging system here is…thematic,” Torian explained, pulling me into the room and closing the secret door behind us. “It’s tied to the bloodline’s memories. It is chaos to any but a Drakemoor.” He gestured at the towering stacks. We are looking for lore on ‘The First Solstice’ or ‘Temporal Weaving.’”

~*~

Torian seemed stressed, frustrated by the sheer volume of material. He immediately went for the highest, dustiest scrolls, reading their text with furrowed concentration. Meanwhile, I found myself strangely energized. This wasn’t chaos, it was an organizational challenge.

“Wait,” I said, moving past him to look at a lower shelf. “If it’s catalogued by theme, you shouldn’t look at the text itself, look at the binding.”

Torian paused, turning to me.

“In my world,” I explained quickly, turning a book in my hands to show the binding, “the type of cover - leather, silk, oak - often dictated the content category before modern numbering systems. If the content is tied to an ancient theme, the vessel will reflect the nature of the magic.”

I pulled out a small, heavy wooden box, secured with metal clasps stamped with symbols of the sun and moon. “Temporal weaving involves celestial alignments, right? Look for bindings of astronomically significant woods or metals, not just texts.”

Torian watched, astonished as I located two more large leather-bound tomes within minutes by ignoring the titles and focusing instead on the dark wood binding carved with constellations. I also found a white leather scroll casing that shimmered like moonlight.

“You are incredible,” he murmured, his irritation completely forgotten. It was replaced by a deep look of admiration. I couldn’t help the light blush that colored my cheeks as a result of his compliment. He came to stand beside me, brushing my shoulder as he peered down. “A thousand years of Drakemoor magic, and it took a mortal archivist to show me the index.”

“Curator,” I corrected softly, a proud smile tugging at my lips.

~*~

We spread the artifacts across a low table in the center of the room. Torian began translating the complex, spiky script of Aethelgard. I focused on the illustrated texts, finding relief in the familiar task of analysis.

“There’s no mention of a nutcracker,” Torian began, his finger tracing a line of text, “but this states that the Guardian of the Gates sealed off the mortal realm from Aethelgard during the First Solstice War. It doesn’t just open a door, it calibrates reality.”

I leaned closer, pointing to an illustration in a different text. It was a stylized rendering of an intricate clockwork mechanism being powered by a flickering object. “The illustration shows that the key must be charged or wound at a precise moment of celestial alignment…like the one we are currently experiencing.”

“The moment is nearly over,” Torian confirmed, his voice heavy. “The alignment peaks at dawn. Valerius needs the Temporal Key to finalize a ritual, and lock in a new reality. One where his house rules, and mine is erased from existence.”

The urgency of the moment was crushing. We worked side by side, the tension of the hunt combined with the silent intimacy of shared crisis. Torian was exhausted from the ball and the stress of conspiracy. I was running entirely on adrenaline and terror, realizing that if the key wasn’t found at all, I wouldn’t be able to go home.

I reached for a falling scroll, and Torian’s hand shot out for the same piece of parchment. His long, cold fingers covered mine completely. The contact was electric, shattering the sterile, scholarly concentration.

My breath hitched. We both froze, leaning over the table, faces nearly touching. His lavender eyes were dark and warm in the dim elemental light, and filled with a raw, desperate weariness.

He didn’t move his hand, he simply stared. The lines of exhaustion around his eyes softened. “Anya…” he breathed my name like it was something sacred, his voice a mix of wonder and despair. “I have spent my entire life preparing for a day where I would have to defend my realm. I never anticipated the savior would be a mortal…who smells of winter spice and cinnamon.”

He lifted his free hand, reaching out, and brushed his thumb along the line of my jaw. His touch sent a startling tremor through my entire body. I leaned into his palm, completely lost in the moment, the danger forgotten. He was going to kiss me…

The sound that broke the silence was not the gentle intake of breath. Instead, it was a sharp, metallic scrape from the stone floor just outside the archive doors.

Torian’s eyes snapped wide with immediate, cold terror. He released my hand instantly, his sword half-drawn from its sheath.

“They are here,” he hissed, pulling me tight against him as he faced the massive, unguarded doors. “Stay silent.”