The Tragic and the Pure - DreamNotFound

Chapter 6

George POV

If George had to choose his favorite place in the castle, he'd always pick the library. Thousands of books lined cherry wood shelves, gold rimmed spines shining in warm lantern lighting. Scarlet rugs softened polished wooden floors. Ladders propped against bookshelves, allowing for access to even the tallest shelves.

George snuck past silver lion sculptures majestically posed on smooth railings encasing the spiraling staircase. The library contained four levels brimming with knowledge, his destination being the lowest floor.

His tongue soured, irked that he must resort to sneaking around his own castle. He understood his father's intentions, George was the only family he had left. 

Queen Aleria suffered several miscarriages, desperate to birth a heir to the throne. When a beautiful heterochromatic eyed boy graced her life with a delicate beating heart, she sobbed joyful tears. Queen Aleria embraced him, fiercely protective in the knowledge that she'd never bear another child.

She'd loved him deeply, and even as her body failed her from birthing, she'd held no regrets. King Henry endured her funeral five months after George entered the world. For that, the prince could hold no anger towards his father for protecting him. He'd scared the king by acting recklessly, he should've expected this to be the result.

George brushed his fingertips over smooth cherry wood glimmering with fresh polish. His calf muscles burned from countless stairs, lowering his boots achingly slow to avoid the click of wedge heels. Thankfully, crimson carpet provided a muffled barrier against sounds. 

He tugged his ruffled sleeves, combating memories of a hand gently gripping his own. Polish so dark it was as though the night sky dropped to blanket pointed nails. A smile that glowed brighter than the moon, emerald studying him as if George had hung the stars.

Idiot, stop laughing. We're going to get caught!

We look so dumb.

You sound worse than an old tea kettle, be quiet! 

George crept along the same path they'd walked innumerable times. He weaved around bookshelves, avoiding open areas with practiced ease. He snagged a lantern off a hook on the wall, golden metal warm in his palm. He raised the lantern above his head, wriggling between narrow shelves.

Shadows grew around him, quickly chased away by the flickering light. He emerged into an area that closed his throat, setting his jaw stubbornly. Three bookshelves converged, forming a triangle shaped enclosure. 

He'd expected the hideout to feel smaller, having not been there for years. Surely he grew in that time, and yet... the hideout seemed larger. Empty. 

George placed the lantern down, turning in a slow circle. Short stacks of abandoned books gathered dust, evidence of their past. A couple pillows sat beside the books, looking as though the fabric had seen far better days. He approached the stack, brushing away fluffy gray particles to reveal an old fantasy novel. Beneath the fantasy novel was an adventure story, and he chuckled under his breath.

King Henry never wanted him to "waste time" reading fictional stories, but his father's strict rule simply made him hide away to read what he wanted.

"I don't even remember what these are about." George turned the first book over in his palm. 

He flopped onto the pillows, sending clouds of dust to life. George choked, struggling to swallow his cough. The book in his hands still had a blue feather bookmark peeking out the top, but he ignored the marker and flipped to the first page.

Silence. 

Pure, blissful silence. Time ticked by, lounging more comfortably and delving deeper into a story about wizards. He strangely understood the main character, whose past wrote tales of emotional turmoil and the confusion of feeling left out. Not quite fitting in.