King ~ A Troyler Story.

Chapter 6

Prince Troye's POV

It did register in his mind that this is something not just a Prince shouldn't be doing but definitely something anyone shouldn't be doing. Yet Troye realised and had accepted that he was never going to conform to the 'guidelines' of a Prince and if he was being quite honest he never even wanted to. So with that in mind he had found himself exiting his room at night by stealing the key which father used to keep his door locked (which was pathetic. Really.) and escaping into the drafty corridors of the castle. It wasn't that he planned to have a scope around the castle in the early hours of the morning. He had woken up during the night and found himself full of tedium when he could not delve back into the realms of the night.

So here he was.

The first thing he noticed was the atmosphere of the castle. There just wasn't something quite right. At home, the castle was warm and his mother chose pleasant colours to decorate the castle. At home, his mother had furnished the corridors with fuzzy carpets and beautiful paintings. At home, Troye felt at home. Yet here he was almost collapsing into himself not only with the cold but at the darkness that seemed to envelop him from every side. Troye had never been one who liked the dark, which is something he hated to admit. There was something about the depths of it, the way it seemed to go on forever so when you were lost in it you were trapped forever.

With that thought in mind, Troye picked up the pace a little with no particular destination in mind but he wasn't going to be caught by the dark this time. In front of him he currently saw many doors which he knew led off to the guest rooms for the various visitors. Then at the end of the hallway was the door that contained the stairwell to travel down into the main castle. Troye headed toward out, pleased he managed to get away quietly and soon reached the large door. At the top of the door was a small window and he peered over the ledge to look in. Darkness looked back at him. He ignored the shudder that travelled through him and reached down, twisting the doorknob and waiting for it to open.

It didn't.

Perplexed he tried again, twisting the handle like his father always did and pushing against the door. Listening he heard the faint sound of the lock pushing against the barrier. The door was locked. Had it been locked every night? More importantly, why was it locked? Troye once again looked through the window, urging his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could make out the vague outline of the castle stairwell and hear the quiet dripping noise. Angered he kicked the door, the frame shuddering and spitting dust at him with venom. He let out a cough at the now dusty air and returned to his room. Silently he creeped into his sisters room and opened one of her drawers, ruffling through it. Not finding what he was looking for he searched the next drawer, finally pulling out a small silver pin. Grinning, he slipped out of her room and back into the freezing corridors.

Once he returned to the door it took him a few tries, as he wormed the pin into the lock and worked it round a few times before hearing a satisfying click sound. Again the grin returned to his face as he twisted the handle and the door swept open. Troye walked through the door and shut it behind him, pocketing the pin before descending the stairwell with utter silence. His footfalls seemed to betray him however, sending an echo that seemed to boom through the stairwell. Troye stopped for a second, listening closely for any disturbance and when he found none he carried on down the stairwell.

The chill had begun to pick up more, the windows in the stairwell more aged than the sturdy ones in the guest rooms. Troye would have been fine but he was dressed in his nightclothes, white cotton shorts and a white vest. He had grabbed his navy dressing gown before he left the room but it only reached his hips and was made out of a flimsy fabric. He curled his toes uncomfortably, again scolding himself for forgetting to grab some shoes. His feet were quickly forming into blocks of ice.