Excerpt

Colorful light from the stained-glass window splashed across the book’s yellowed pages, giving them a multi-hued illumination. The only sound was that of Bella’s quill as she dipped the tip in the inkwell and then scratched out her translations on the parchment. Silence and the musty smell of old books were her constant companions this late afternoon.

She was lost in the ancient manuscript with an extraordinary alphabet of roses and thorns that no one else was able to translate or read. She, however, had a gift for it. Her whole life, she could examine foreign writings and understand the concealed words within their secret scripts.

Father called it her magical gift.

She turned the page of the book, her gaze skimming across it. Her mind translated the climax of the story she’d been writing. It was the tale of a wicked enchantress and the prince who caused her heartbreak. She cursed him to exist in isolation within his castle’s dark and lonely confines. His eyes would never again behold the sun, for its light would be his ruin.

Bella sat a moment, staring at the words and thinking about the tale. It was a heartbreaking tale. Surely, it was fiction and not a tale of truth. She could not imagine being alone for all of her remaining days, locked away in a castle without the sunshine to warm her cheeks.

A faint tap at the library door interrupted her thoughts. She looked up as the door swung open and the butler stepped inside the library, his hand on the knob of the oversized door. 

“Hello, Archie,” she greeted.

He winced only a little at the nickname she’d given him. “Miss Rinaldi, his lordship asked if you would like afternoon tea.”

She and Archie—Archibald was his proper name—were on a first name basis since coming to Lord Vincent’s extravagant manor in the seaside town during the past few. Port Leclare was home to some of the richest, fattest nobles in the northern realm of Cassoné. And some of those rich nobles liked to collect ancient works that required translation.

That’s where she managed to help them—for a price, of course. She made a handsome sum for each book she translated and had garnered quite the reputation in the sleepy seaside village. Her father was a merchant and was often away on business, which left her to her own devices most of the time. She started translating for fun and then realized the nobles were happy to pay her for the services.

Sometimes it took her days to translate. Sometimes weeks. And always she spent the time in their extraordinary personal libraries in their mansions where she was pampered by their staff and treated as though she, herself, were royalty.

“I would love afternoon tea,” she said.

“Very good, my lady.” He nodded and closed the door.

She settled into the plush, oversized chair. Her fingers were ink stained. She didn’t mind. Her penmanship, she had been told, was some of the best ever seen. The Port Leclare General Library often requested she scribe for them when she had a free moment, but that was volunteer work. She much preferred her work as a paid scribe and translator.

It must be after midday since it was time for afternoon tea. Father would arrive in port later that evening, returning from a long voyage across the sea to another continent, Cappadocia, where he planned to sell his wares and buy textiles to bring back to their small sliver of land. Though her father, Enzo, was not a noble, he was treated as such. His shop on the wharf was among the most popular selling the latest fabrics to the local dressmaker for their fine gowns. Everyone in town knew the Rinaldi’s which made it quite easy for Bella to find work as a translator in the port.

The door creaked open again, and the soft scent of Earl Grey drifted into the room as Archie wheeled in the tea cart. The porcelain cups clinked and rattled with each tiny bump, a delicate, familiar sound that made her smile. Her eyes immediately locked onto her favorite finger sandwiches—fresh cucumber slices glistening on buttery bread—and next to them, the tiny lemon cakes, their golden tops shimmering under a light dusting of powdered sugar, sending the tangy sweetness wafting toward her.

Lord Vincent Blackwell entered next.

About Author MICHELLE MILES…