The Cursed Kingdom

THIRTY-TWO

~ SECRETS AND CONTROL ~

My fist knocked twice on the door while my eyes evaluated the sage wreath that hung from a rusty nail in the center of the dark wood. I wasn't unfamiliar with the plant's supposed magical properties, some claiming if you placed it near your door that it would ward off evil spirits and demons. Same for pumpkins. But I never took Ingrid for the superstitious type, which was why I found the item so strange to be hanging on her front door.

After a few minutes of me awkwardly bouncing on my toes, the door swung open quickly to reveal a beaming Ingrid, dressed in a loose, casual dress with her hair done in a side fishtail braid. "I'm so happy you could come!" she squealed and pulled me into a tight embrace with me quickly returning the gesture, breathing in the citrus smell that stained her hair.

A few days prior I'd sent her a letter, asking Jerium to deliver it after I found him doing paperwork in a small study on the second floor beside a tired-looking Master Barnwell, the overseer of all the cooks in the palace. He was a young looking male, despite the streaks of grey near his ears, who only seemed to leave his office in the servants' quarters, a small building attached to the side of the palace, unless he was specifically called for something urgent. That was why I was so shocked to see him conversing with Jerium and he looked just as taken aback by my presence as I was his, instantly becoming a rambling mess and making a lame excuse to leave.

Of course, Jerium was full of suspicions when I told him what I wanted him to do for me. So I delivered a lie and stressed to the hybrid that the letter contained some very private things that could only be discussed with another female, things I was too embarrassed to even mention to Henrik. Flustered yet understanding, Jerium didn't ask anymore questions and grabbed it with a bow, saying he would deliver it within the hour after he was done with his work.

It'd been three hours later when he'd returned with Ingrid's reply.

A small argument and a large amount of kisses were all it took to persuade Henrik to agree to let me go by myself to Ingrid's house, only giving me the requirement that I kept the bond between us open completely as I walked. I did so happily and felt him pressed up against my mind like a child on the glass of a fish tank, watching through my eyes and seeing what I was seeing, and a part of me wished he could be there in person.

It was a lovely day, not too cold and not too warm, and the trees were covered in sprouting leaves, the ground covered in pollen and tiny white flowers that blew off the branches in the early spring wind. The weather allowed me the ability to dress in my new cloth capris and a thin, tight fitting blouse that had almost made me late after Henrik saw me in it.

Once and a while, I would even catch flashes of brown and grey dart between the trees and I let Henrik know I saw them, rambling to him internally about how lousy of a job his guards were doing.

Henrik had chuckled at that, his deep voice making my heart swell.

Have fun, he told me at the same time my arms fell from around Ingrid's shoulders, caressing my mind like an embrace of farewell before slowly putting up that familiar barrier between us. Ignoring how scarily much I already missed his presence, I put up my own as well. Just in case.

I walked in as Ingrid closed the door and my eyes bounced from every detail of the interior of her house. Placed about half a mile away from the palace in the middle of the woods, Ingrid's stone cottage appeared small on the outside but was spacious with bright wallpaper and arching doorways on the inside. There were small sketches of an infant, who I guessed to be her son not long after his birth, all over the walls of the entryway. Up a tiny step to the right was a dining room connected to a spacious kitchen, to the left was a hallway whose doorways led to three bedrooms, and straight ahead was a cozy looking living area with a radio, full-sized sofa, and a table covered in magazines and a single newspaper.