Boy King

// the french and italian king //

I cannot sleep.

   The thump of my slippers echoes rather loudly against the floor of the castle. The yellow light illuminating from my lantern ignites my way.

   My heart has finally slowed into its normal rate. Somehow, I need to forget about that dream. It's not normal, it was too real. Reflecting upon it, I realize that I fear that dream perhaps a nightmare.

   What if it comes true?

   My stomach gives a loud churn-- loud for the quiet hallway filled with people sleeping in their chambers. I ignore the churn and continue to make my way to the court library; I just need to distract myself with a book.

____________

"Sir?" I hesitantly whisper, bending over to level with the old, balding librarian's face pressed against the pillow of his small bed. My foot unconsciously taps the floor in slight impatience. I look around again; a myriad of shelves filled with books occupies the library with models of planets, scientific equipments, parchments and quills--yet Sir Cornelius decided to sleep on the floor with a mattress on his back.

   "Sir Cornelius?" I whisper quietly again, tapping him slightly on the shoulder. He continues to snore. "Sir?" I tap harder. Sir Cornelius gives a small flinch, snoring harder. "Sir Cornelius," I call louder.

   "Mmm!" He grunts and his body gives a small jolt. Finally, his eyelids slowly opens, his light, wrinkled eyes looks straight into mine.

   "Who are you?!" He shrieks, jolting up. He grabs his covers and backs away from me like a caged animal, his back presses against the wall.

   "Sir," I try to explain, "Sir--"

   "How did you get in here?! No courtiers should be allowed in the library after midnight!" He exclaims angrily.

   I alarmingly look back to see if any patrol knights are walking around outside the door. I turn myself to him, "Sir Cornelius," I call him again, yet gently trying not to intimidate the old man. "I'm Charles. And, I just... I just thought I'd come here and get a book," I explain, shrugging.

   "Charles?" The old man repeats, squinting. His eyebrows lowers into a confused frown, "Which Charles?" He asks himself, grabbing his glasses under his pillow. He puts it on and blinks multiple times.

   "Ah," He sighs, his head gives me a small bow, " The ninth. King Charles." Sir Cornelius stands up from his mattress, and scratches himself, "What book shall I give you as a remedy to your nightmares, Majesty?"

    This has been a somewhat routine for the past five years since I came home to France. I would always have terrible nightmares that I would remember still after ten minutes--usually, I forget my dreams or nightmares in a matter of seconds but there are dreams that stays with me for the whole day, and if it terrifies me, I would always come to the court library, and Sir Cornelius would help me find a book that would distract me from it.

   "Uh, La belle et la bete, please," I respond.

  "Beauty and the Beast," he says, "I'll look in the back."

  I pull out a chair from the table and sit down.

  And another thing, what is strangely terrifying is that the nightmares that I remember usually comes true...