The Cursed Kingdom

EIGHT

~ BLOODY NIGHTMARE ~

Ever since I switched rooms, Henrik avoided me. Or at least that's what I assumed because I hadn't seen him since our tense exchange by the stairs.

Because things quieted down without Henrik around, Jerium and I spent a lot of time together and I could see that he was slowly becoming more relaxed around me, that polite and quite serious wall of his crumbling to reveal an easygoing male interested in astrology and architecture. He always found ways to entertain me, even when I thought there were none, mostly with stories and facts about the Cursed Kingdom over a game of cards or lunch. Although they were interesting and I listened earnestly to everything he said, none were anything useful when it came to my pending escape. Even the multiple tours we took around the castle didn't show any promising signs of a possible route, only full of Jerium admiring the stonework that had been built during Henrik's grandfather's rule almost a thousand years ago.

Every door to the outdoors had two armor clad guards standing at ready, hands always on their swords and eyes always moving, looking for something out of place—almost like they were expecting it. At the main entrance, there were six that were the most intimidating and appeared physically strongest, which I knew was arranged purposefully.

With their weapons, massive height (although not as tall as Henrik), and bulging muscles compared to my thin and short frame, I knew there was no chance of me making it to the threshold let alone passing it.

Hopeful—no, desperate—to find a weakness in their daily routine, I watched the guards day and night that circled the palace, half in their human forms while others chose their beastly wolf ones, through windows in rooms throughout the palace.

But after a week of me spying and somehow tricking Jerium into thinking I was genuinely interested in the architecture of the castle despite the many times I'd zoned out, it looked impossible. There was a reason why Henrik had been king for the past two-hundred eleven years, a fact I'd learned from Jerium, and I finally understood it.

I'd always been told Henrik was invincible. Now I knew it was true.

An unwelcome yawn escaped my lips as a guard in his grey wolf form was passing underneath my window for what I guessed to be close to the hundredth time, his nose pressed against the ground. He stilled for a moment, his shoulders tensing as he sniffed a certain spot. After a couple heartbeats of him standing as still as a statue, he finally relaxed and started walking as usual, his ears twitching.

Seeing that the same uninteresting pattern wasn't going to change just as it hadn't the past six nights, I stood from the plush window seat and stretched my arms straight up into the air, releasing a groan when a vertebrae in my back popped. The grandfather clock across the room told me it was nearly midnight, a clear sign I should've crawled under the warm covers of my new bed and gone to sleep.

But I knew sleep was not in my fate that night.

I thought I could find peace by switching rooms, instead I was met with nightmares. Horrible, gruesome, and scarily realistic nightmares that kept me from getting more than three hours of sleep a night and kept me on edge during the day. Every single one of them were filled with Oriana, Taylium, and Tylem, shouting at me to help them but my feet would always be stuck to the ground, so I'd have to stand there and watch as they were ripped apart over and over again until their screams finally awoke me. I always cried afterwards, sometimes more than others, muttering their names and pleading for their souls to forgive me, and hoped that my spiritual payment would be over soon.

I couldn't sleep after they happened, too scared by the idea that there could be a time where I didn't wake up. So after suffering from them for six days in a row, I decided that I would avoid sleep altogether, knowing my friends' souls combined with my fear and guilt would make sure I was unrested and tense no matter what.