A Rivalry of Affection

The scent of old paper and lemon polish was usually Elara’s comfort, a familiar embrace that soothed her soul. But lately, it felt… thin. Like a well-worn blanket that had lost its fluff. She found herself staring out the library window, the afternoon sun painting stripes across the polished oak floor, and her thoughts, as they so often did, drifted. Not to the overdue notices or the quiet hum of the photocopier, but to the echo of a laugh, the phantom touch of a hand, the impossible, dizzying reality of a prince who existed only when the locket pulsed against her skin.

Prince Valerius. The name itself was a sigh. He was everything her historical romances promised: brave, witty, impossibly handsome, and possessed of a charm that made her knees feel like overcooked spaghetti. He’d galloped horses through sun-dappled meadows with her, whispered declarations of eternal devotion under skies dusted with more stars than she’d ever seen from her small apartment window, and even, in a particularly memorable dreamscape, tripped over his own velvet cape while attempting a courtly bow. That bit, she found, was rather endearing. It made him feel… almost real, in his unreality.

Then there was Liam. Liam, with his perpetually rumpled tweed jacket and the faint scent of coffee and old parchment that clung to him. Liam, who could discourse for hours on the socio-economic impact of the potato famine without a single yawn escaping her lips. Liam, who had a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and a way of looking at her that made her feel seen, truly seen, in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He was the antithesis of Valerius, grounded and solid, a lighthouse in the fog of her daydreams.