The Cursed Kingdom

SIX

~ THE FORGOTTEN ~

The castle's library was a lot smaller than I thought it would be.

Although it was certainly large in comparison to normal structures in Amaryllus, I felt an odd type of disappointed-awe while I stared at it, my eyes sweeping from one side to the other.

The room had a simple fireplace situated in the center of four floor-length windows, the stone structure only—and very slightly—brightened by the painting of orange flowers above the mantle. In front of the dull fireplace was a low table with a plain, blue fabric chair and two matching sofas around it, the pieces of furniture covered in their own thick layers of dust. Surrounding the small reading area were rows of bookshelves, all blanketed in endless stacks of grey and some even possessing cobwebs in their corners, emphasizing just how long it'd been since someone cared for the poor library.

Its rundown appearance gave me the impression I was trespassing across something forbidden, something that belonged to another time that wasn't meant for me. But I shook off the strange sensation, remembering the precise directions Henrik had given me from the dining room and his verbal permission that I could, in fact, look around.

So why did it feel so wrong?

My belly full and aching from Henrik's idea of a fulfilling breakfast, a platter of meat with a glass of water, I softly walked across the room to the window on the right side of the fireplace to pull away its closed curtains. The pieces of thick, black fabric, whose texture reminded me of velvet, were covered in grime. My handprints were left behind wherever I touched them, dark and distinctive and in complete contrast to the light grey layer that covered the rest of the curtains.

When the job was done and I was left staring out at the winter landscape and the room was filled with the soft light I craved, I wiped my dirty hands off on the robe and prayed Henrik could learn forgiveness in the midst of his kingly duties. Nonetheless, I hoped he wouldn't take the new smears of grey on the robe's pink wool as an insult.

A sudden tickle in my nose had me sneezing again. I realized that the dust and my cold must've made some sort of pact because once I started, I didn't stop and I ended up sneezing until my cheeks ached and my head felt light from the lack of air.

With watery eyes and a runny, dry nose that I had to wipe with the back of my sleeve every few seconds, I began zigzagging between the shelves randomly, scanning the books' spines to find something—anything—of interest. But none caught my eye and after what must've been at least half an hour, the books' brown leather covers started to blur together. A few minutes later, I made it to the very back of the right-side of the library, where it was dark and smelled pungently of mold.

The floorboards creaked beneath my feet just once and I cringed at the sharpness of it, the sound almost painful in the otherwise silent room.

Despite the short interruption, I kept walking and I didn't stop until I finally spotted something of interest, a book placed in the farthest corner and stacked lopsidedly between the shelf above it and the books holding it up. There was nothing really special about it at first glance. My curiosity, however, encouraged me to peek at whatever was inside and I chose to listen to it—It wasn't like I needed much persuasion anyway.

I got on the tip of my toes and stretched my arms as far as they would go, which thankfully was just enough to reach. If I had been only an inch shorter, I would've been met with a different outcome.

When my palm made contact, I immediately noticed that whatever its cover had been made from wasn't like the polished leather that the other books shared. It was rough with bumps, almost like scales.