She wondered how she had gotten herself into this, so far from her intended studies, but Serena found herself engrossed in a child's fairytale book. The leather cover was cracked at the corners, the gilding on the title long faded. She had meant to look for economic records, perhaps something on past ambassadorial duties but instead… here she was, cross-legged before the low table with a book that smelled faintly of lavender and smoke.
The book felt oddly familiar. She brought it closer to her face and inspected it. It reminded her of her father.
Her fingertips brushed the curling edge of the last page she turned. No, this was not an Ironshade tale, she was sure of it now. The cadence was different, the metaphors more direct, the prose still carrying the sharp tang of Eastern tongue. A Crimsonclaw story, without question.
