FOR THE UNKNOWN KINGDOM | BOOK 1

CHAPTER 11

He failed. Again. Then, he said, "That's good because I don't need more scars."

It was my turn to try to hide my laughter from echoing through the room. As for me, I didn't fail, and the room remained silent.

He gripped my wrist, some strands of hair falling over his forehead, the characteristics of his face radiating an amaranthine warmth. My body stiffened at the touch, at the silent invitation. "Follow me," he said, then interlaced our fingers to coax me into going with him.

"Ouch!" he hissed through his teeth.

At the muffled sound of pain, I immediately pulled my hand away, realizing that his wounds hadn't healed. But like a damn fool, he'd taken the bandages off and his still healing skin was now vulnerable to any kind of touch—gentle or not.

"I'm—I'm sorry," I said, "But I really think it'd be a good idea to bandage this hand again."

"Well, I don't think I have the time or the energy to do so."

I made to protest, say something more, but he didn't seem to care. He just shrugged, a playful smile decorating his face, and walked to his closet. I did the same, not looking for a second back at that black hole that was supposed to be a bedroom. I just kept my eyes on his broad back and followed him, just to find out what he was about to do. Cold sweat slithered down my spine as he opened the closet's door. All at once, it was hard, almost impossible, to keep my face blank and disinterested when . . . when there weren't clothes inside the closet, but a corridor.

A secret pathway with torches lighting it up.

"So . . . do you want to go to your bedroom?" A too-quiet question.

His eyes glowed in the lantern light and it seemed like he was breathing sunlight in a place full of rain.

I could go to my bedroom, safe and sound, miserable and alone. I could go there and mourn my life for one more time. Yet those books . . .

I crossed my arms, looked him straight in the eyes and said, "What if I were to say that I'd come with you only if you gave me some books of yours that I'd like to read?"

He dragged a hand across his face. "Consider it done," he replied, then started leading our way toward the unknown destination.

His figure walking down the endless corridor didn't remind me of a king who was ready to serve his kingdom, but someone who was ready to flee. The torches hanging on the dark golden walls provided this getaway path with light—something that barely existed in Denfer's room. I forced my eyes to adjust to the drastic change. Our footsteps didn't make any sound since the floor was covered with carpets, spotless and undoubtedly priceless, the dark purple texture of them looking sacred.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft, made only for the late hours of the night.

He waited for me to reach him and when that happened, we walked side by side.

I considered his question, but I didn't really know if I had an answer. It had been a long time since I'd bothered thinking about my emotions—not suppressing them.

"Fine? I really don't know," I said, then decided to return the question. "How are you feeling?"

He blinked in surprise, and I only needed a look at his face that was a mix of worry and sharpness and life to understand that he hadn't expected that. He said, "A little drained, but I'll manage."

And that was that. Just silence. Uncomfortable, but expected, desired even.

As we walked, I tried to take in every inch of that place in case I someday needed it as an escape route. I counted the torches—eleven, twelve, thirteen. I counted the footsteps, too.

I lost track of everything when we came across a spiral staircase. I instantly stopped counting. I swallowed, taking a step back. Its wooden texture looked like a perfect refuge for spiders and insects, something that differed from everything I'd encountered here so far. But Denfer only nodded, as if to reassure me that the staircase was clean, not a kingdom of spiders and webs and dust.

I could clearly see Denfer's brows frowning, not with annoyance, but with a feeling I couldn't quite decipher. It felt like excitement, a longing for a future moment I knew nothing about.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked and offered me his hand, which I didn't accept. He stood there for a moment, looking over at me. "That's my favorite place in the castle."

"Then let's go," I insisted for him to hurry up. I wasn't planning on spending my entire night with him.

The familiar squint of the rusty door echoed through the corridor and I flinched, getting goosebumps by the sound.

"After you," he said and let me be the first to exit the door, exit that secret tunnel, and walk out to a veranda that could barely fit two people.

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