The Royal Explorer (Completed)

Chapter 8

I took my drug and kept it in my pocket, tip-toeting my way to the Kitchen. The guards hadn't left their spot from outside my door, which I really found serious and intimidating. I decided to ignore them and make my way to kitchen.

The palace, glowing in the morning looked equally haunted at nights. The place did not need torches, it needed its own personal sun.

 Okay atleast a street light.

The stairs were steep and uneven. I hadn't even carried my Q for me to use its flashlight. So all I could do was be careful while I walk down.

 With my sense of direction and the mighty palace, I believe it must have been half an hour until I found the kitchen.

Huge, pitch black room welcomed me. Just one torch at the extreme corner, doing its best to keep the room illuminated. I looked around to find no stove. Shit.

I had forgotten we had no stoves, no electrified kettles back then. I didn't know what to do with what they had; huge brick stoves. 

I am sure even my grandmother wouldn't know how to light them up.

I sighed to myself walking away sadly. I don't know how much should I learn before settling here.

"are you looking for something." I jumped at the hoarse voice that came from behind me. I turned to look at the dark figure standing in front of me. 

The tall, dark, human like silhouette at 3 in the morning, in this dark mighty palace, had me scream my lungs out. I fell on the ground because of the horror that paved its way in my guts.

"shh shh shh" the man shushed me as he walked ahead for me to have a better look at his face.

The King. 

I sighed of relief, yet panting and breathing deeply.

"what the hell? Who does that?" luckily it came as a statement than a shout for the king to get offended.

"I'm sorry. Did I scare you?" the king sounded apologetic.

I felt bad at this. It was not actually his fault. I am sure he did not intend to fright me off. 

This is what happens, you go into self guilt when someone actually apologizes.

"it's- its fine." I tried getting up from the floor. I offered him my hand, asking him non verbally to help me up. He looked down hesitantly between me and my outstretched arm. I realized this must not be valid here.

 Perhaps you cannot touch the king at all.

I was about to take my hand back to myself, when he decided to help. He lent his arm to me, offering me to grab it and pull myself up.

I did what was supposed to be done. 

His hands felt firm, strong. I couldn't believe I was holding onto those hands that have won somewhere around 156 battles. Those hands that have killed a million of humans. And yet to me, those hands felt fine. To me, those hands felt safe.

I looked at him, as I clung on to his grip. His eyes not not matching mine, looking hesitant, everywhere else than at me.

I stared at him, as I rose up. Our hands still in contact. And although, this was neither my first time holding onto a man's arm, and nor was I some sort of saint, who never had any physical contact with any man, this tiny human touch, still managed to send butterflies to my stomach.

 I was enjoying the thrill that came with making the king nervous. 

But more than that, I was enjoying the adrenaline rush that came with being nervous, along with the king.