Liam's Vulnerability

The scent of old paper and lemon polish usually settled my soul, a comforting blanket woven from the quiet hum of the library and the rustle of turning pages. But lately, a restlessness had taken root, a tiny, persistent seed of discontent. It was a familiar feeling, one I usually soothed with a well-worn copy of “The Duke’s Dutiful Darling” or “Lady Annelise’s Unruly Heart.” The problem, however, was that my own heart was becoming decidedly unruly, and no amount of fictional dukes or tempestuous ladies seemed to be able to tame it.

It had started with the locket, of course. That tarnished silver oval, cool against my skin, had become a portal, a gateway to a world I’d only ever dreamed of. Prince Valerius. The very name sent a flutter through me, a ridiculous, delightful flutter. He was everything my historical romances promised: dashing, chivalrous, with a smile that could melt glaciers and a voice that, in my dreams, spoke of eternal devotion. He was also, I was rapidly discovering, prone to tripping over his own exquisitely tailored breeches and declaring his undying love at the most inconvenient moments, like when he was trying to rescue me from a phantom dragon or, more commonly, when he’d just spilled an entire goblet of imaginary wine down his doublet. He was perfect, and beautifully, hilariously imperfect.

Then there was Liam. Liam, with his earnest eyes and his perpetually slightly-too-long brown hair that he’d push back with a smudge of ink on his fingers. Liam, who could tell you the precise year a particular architectural style fell out of favour or the socio-economic implications of a specific type of medieval farming tool. Liam, who, bless his grounded, sensible heart, seemed utterly incapable of any grand, dramatic gestures. He’d offer me a cup of tea, or ask if I’d found that elusive biography on Queen Boudica, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. It was… nice. It was real. And it felt increasingly like a lukewarm bath compared to the roaring bonfire of Valerius’s affections.