The Consort

Chapter 8: Questions

The door taunts me. Such an innocent enough looking object yet behind it lies so much fear. I've been staring at it for minutes now, working up the courage to enter.

It took hours for John to calm me down last night, and even now I am still frazzled. He's assured me that if the King wanted me dead then it would have happened by now, and that everything will blow over if I just keep my head down and stay quiet today. I don't know much I believe that though, my mind full of doubt and worry.

Hopefully the King will be gone all day and I won't have to see him. He's gone most of the time anyway, so it's likely that he won't be there today.

I've never been particularly fortunate though.

I continue staring at the door in an attempt to work up the courage to go inside. I'm sure that the guard will tell the King of my odd behavior, but even that knowledge isn't enough to get me to open the door any quicker. I contemplate running away- just leaving through the servant's entrance and disappearing into the woods.

I'd probably do it if it weren't for the fact that the Beasts often go out and run at night. They'd find and kill me by nightfall.

My thoughts are cut off by laughter coming from down the hall. It's followed by an angry shout from a voice I recognize immediately. My head snaps to the left just as the woman from yesterday comes around the corner, guards on either side of her holding her arms. She fights to remove their hold, but they only laugh at her attempts and continue dragging her down the hall in my direction.

Fear rushes through my body, scared of what she will do when she sees me. Realizing that I either need to face her or the King, I decide to pick the lesser of two evils and turn once more to the door. The handle feels smooth in my hand, and I only hesitate for a second before turning and pushing the door open and quickly stepping inside.

I look around the room in search of the King, relieved to see that it is empty. The room, on the other hand, is a complete mess. It looks as if a tornado ripped through here. Broken glass lies everywhere and almost every object appears to have been thrown onto the floor.

"Sorry about the mess."

I look up, immediately spotting the King standing in the hallway that leads to the office. His hands are shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched over.

I back up against the door as I regard him, hesitant to do anything until I can better determine his mood. He continues to stare at me, but does not move. His eyes wander over my face, following the length of the cut I received yesterday.

He pauses at my neck, squints, and lets out a sigh.

"Your neck is getting infected." He states.

Frowning, I bring my hand up and softly touch the cut. It gets a bit deep on my neck, and stings as I poke it. I flinch at the contact before dropping my arm back to my side.

The King sighs once more, before turning and walking into the bathroom. I stay where I am, unsure of what to do. Should I just pretend like yesterday didn't happen and begin cleaning like normal? Am I expected to apologize for last night?

Deciding that the best course of action is to just begin cleaning, I tiptoe to the cleaning closet next to the kitchen to grab a broom and dustpan. It'll be best to start with the broken glass. The King exits the bathroom and I slow my movements, but continue with what I'm doing.

"Stop with that." I glance up at him, and he motions to the broom in my hand. "Sit down."

He gestures to the barstool underneath the kitchen island, and I cautiously do as he says. I sit on the very edge of the seat, watching him with narrowed eyes as I try to gauge his intentions.