The Cursed Kingdom

TWELVE

~ BLOSSOMING EMOTIONS ~

A knock at the door startled me, causing my knee, which had been crossed over my leg, to bang against the underside of the table and nearly topple over my steaming cup of tea. Startled and my kneecap pulsing, I cursed under my breath and I made sure the sloshing brown liquid didn't go over the edge of the delicate, floral patterned cup before I turned to face the perpetrator for the unwelcome noise.

"Pardon me, Madam," the young servant said from the doorway that I regretted leaving open. Appearing around fourteen years of age, she had the aura of a trouble maker, an amused look in her eye paired with the shadow of a smirk along her lips. In her outstretched hand, she held an envelope. "A letter from His Majesty, King Henrik," she told me, bowing her head.

I stood, placing the book about Lycans I'd begun reading that morning aside on the table. The girl didn't lift her head until I'd taken the envelope from her grasp and placed it into my own, staring down at it with curiosity. The blinding white paper was thick and warm to the touch like freshly ironed cloth. I turned it over to its front and lightly brushed the pad of my thumb over the red wax seal of the Cursed Kingdom's crest, a snarling wolf with the curving tongue of a serpent standing on its hind legs.

"Thank you." I dismissed her and she did a slight curtsy before looking up and giving me a genuine smile. I couldn't help but notice her stare linger on my leather trousers, her grin widening in approval.

"Have a good day, Madam," she said before turning, her dress skirt swaying from side to side as she giddily walked away.

I turned back to face the interior of the small den Ingrid had introduced me to, who claimed she used it whenever she needed solitude herself when she stayed in the palace. It was probably the smallest room in the whole castle with only enough space to fit a table that could sit four people, a pitiful fireplace beside it, and a single arched window on the farthest wall. The restrictive, plain walls and the lack of sunlight reminded me of my home, which seemed to help my thoughts come forward a lot easier, and was exactly what I needed if I wished to ever escape and retain my sanity in the process.

I sauntered back over to my chair quickly and sat in it, not wasting another moment to rip open the envelope and feel the satisfying pop of the wax seal releasing the bottom paper against my fingertips. The parchment inside was warm as well, like it had been sitting out in the sun or clasped between someone's hands for a long period of time, and it felt about as expensive as the clothes I was wearing.

I unfolded the letter with a gentleness equivalent to how I'd handle a flower and raised my brows in awe at the beauty of the penmanship inside, tracing my name written at the top lightly with a single finger, never having realized such a simple word could look so exquisite. Every swirling, symmetrical letter was just as memorizing to look at, done with a precision that I knew must've taken the writer quite some time and I wondered why he had wasted it on me.

Raena,

   Your presence these past few weeks have left an impression in my heart more worthy than any riches. I beseech you to help a wounded male by allowing me the honor of dining with you tonight not as someone with the lowly title of a king but rather as your mate.
   I am preparing a feast, one too prestigious for a queen and too large for a god but seems all too humble when I think of you. I trust that you might be pleased with what I create and assure you that wearing a crown these past two centuries has not hindered my ability to use a whisk. However, one word from you and I shall eat by myself every night for the rest of my life if that is what pleases you.
   I shall know your answer if you arrive in the Grand Dining Room before sun fall.