Sincerely, Secretary of Doom (High Court of the Coffee Bean Book 2) by Jennifer Kropf

Author:Jennifer Kropf [Kropf, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winter Publishing House
Published: 2024-05-28T18:30:00+00:00

23

Mor Trisencor and the Limitations of Touch

The library roof was painted gold from the sun when Mor and Violet arrived with their pockets full of pens and notebooks. Of all the libraries in the city, this one had become Mor’s favourite due to its size—he could get lost inside with few humans noticing he was there—and its vast collection of myth and fable literature that ranged from ancient times to various human cultures. He’d avoided the academy library ever since he left the café to track Luc, fearing he might run into Kate there. Or Cress. He’d been using the literature at this library instead when he needed to do research for his articles.

Even though he was doing all he could to avoid those working at Fae Café, there were times when Mor wished he would run into Cress here by accident. Once or twice, he’d seen a pair of blue eyes through the shelves, and he’d scurried over to the next aisle only to discover a plain old human that didn’t resemble Cress in the slightest. He felt foolish for thinking Cress would ever come to a library he knew nothing about.

A slow ache grew inside Mor when he remembered the moment he’d seen Dranian battling Luc in the street. It had been a nauseating yet… invigorating sight for his sore, tired eyes to behold one of his brothers fighting his nemesis. It had both filled him with pride and terrified him in the same moment.

For a faeborn-cursed heartbeat, Mor missed the taste of enchanted coffee and sweet cookies so terribly that he stopped walking.

“What?” Violet staggered to a halt. She had an impatient look, which was astoundingly hypocritical.

Mor grunted and started walking again, taking the steps two at a time while Violet tapped her way up, making a clamour in the heels she insisted on changing into after she’d already insisted on changing everything else. Mor already missed seeing his sweater on her. Since the moment he’d opened his eyes and beheld Violet Miller in the middle of the night, fashioning dripping wet hair and cloaked in his garment at his bedside, he’d been battling between annoyance at having his sweater taken without permission and a sheer desire to put an enchantment on the material so she could never take it off. He’d been too poisoned by his injury to think clearly when he’d grabbed her and pulled her to him—sweater and all, overcome with some foolish need to see her up close without her face paint on.

Mor rubbed his eyes at the recollection, glad his secretary had believed his act about not remembering what he’d done. How shameful of him, after he’d been so adamant about keeping their relationship professional and making her work life miserable just for fun while he was at it.

Now his secretary wore that same pink dress she’d been wearing for ages, as though she refused to be seen in anything less extravagant while out in public. Her hair was braided to the side—something that had taken her a whole faeborn hour.

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