The Art of Imagination

Chapter 11

It had taken several days to get used to the beds at the academy, especially since she shared a room with Amelia but now that she had a guest room to herself, Ingrid felt somewhat out of place.

Despite the lavish décor, the plush settees and the king-sized bed, none of it felt at home to her. Ingrid was alone, an alien to the luxury, and although the room warmed her right down to her toes, she felt cold within her chest.

Sliding out of bed and tying the laces of her boots, Ingrid grabbed her coat off the end of her bed and wrapped it around her body.

The fire had started to die. The embers were glowing but not as brightly as before and she didn’t want to turn the pods on, afraid that they’d blind her with too much light in the midst of the darkness.

Will I even be allowed out at this hour? Ingrid wondered, her hand hovering above the brass doorknob, sculpted to resemble a five-petal flower. She lowered her hand.

This wasn’t the Manor. This wasn’t her home and she couldn’t treat it like it was. She couldn’t wander around or sneak into the kitchen for a glass of milk in the middle of the night when sleep evaded her.

But that was exactly what she wanted to do – and she couldn’t help herself as she slipped into the hallway and clicked the door shut behind her.

It was significantly colder outside than it was in the guest room. Goosebumps rose along every inch of her skin despite the thick nightgown and coat she wore. The windows must have been open for a while because the walls were freezing against her fingers. She shivered, pulling them back and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. At least her boots were cosy.

“Which way to the kitchen?” she pondered under her breath. “Kitchen . . .”

She’d come through the main entrance earlier on so the kitchen area was bound to be further back, like the Charles Manor. It was only logical to keep staff headquarters out of the way of tourists and nosey civilians.

After a moment of contemplating which way to go, she scurried to her left, rubbing her hands to keep them warm. She almost regretted leaving her room if it wasn’t for the tempting promise of warm milk in the kitchen awaiting her – if she managed to find it and receive permission to do so.

It took countless lefts and rights she couldn’t keep track of until she came across a staircase and descended it. It only seemed to grow colder as she made it to what she guessed was the ground floor. Her arms tightened to preserve warmth while she slowed her pace to a leisure walk. Ingrid hadn’t come across a single worker so far. Either she was struck with sheer dumb luck or the palace staff just didn’t have night shifts, aside from the guards.

Ingrid glanced out the windows every now and then to catch a glimpse of the moon shining over the courtyards. However, when Ingrid came across a door slightly ajar, a multitude of colours caught the corner of her eye before she could pass it entirely. Pausing, Ingrid backtracked until her head peeked out from behind the door.

“Elora’s Haven,” she whispered in awe, pulling her entire body out into the open. Also known as the Imperial Gardens, Ingrid stood in the doorway, milking in every part of the land before her. She took a brave step forward into the gardens, cautious of any prying eyes.

As far as she could recall from her books, it had been designed by the famed Aramis Flint, known for the beautiful floral images he painted. This garden had been designed specifically for the wife of the fourth Lorcanian King, Queen Elora, several centuries ago. Skilled gardeners had brought Flint’s artwork to life and over the years it had been groomed and well cared for. It was more beautiful than it was in pictures.