The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER XXXIII | SILENTLY SCREAMING

       THOUGH MAARIT HAD undergone only one training session, she could feel the effects of exercise pulsing through her body. With each movement, her muscles ached and her limbs were stiff as though she had been dipped in stone and then hung in the sun to dry.

Just when the last bit of lingering evening light was obliterated by the coming dusk, Maarit found herself wandering about the castle. It was partly out of sheer boredom, and partly due to the fact that she had gotten herself lost while looking for the library. She attempted to use familiar paintings—as Alexander had suggested—to guide the way; however, the castle was enormous and the artwork so abundant that she didn't come across a single piece she recognized.

       She settled for permitting herself to be set adrift, like an unanchored ship, into the unknown depths that were enclosed within the walls. And, much like what lay between the uncharted liquid folds of an ocean's onyx waves, there was an undeniable charm in the castle's tenebrosity.

       There were nearly always guards lurking nearby, pacing up and down the corridors while conversing with one another. Their conversation would cease when she came into view, and it was not uncommon for their eyes to brim with suspicion as they gazed at her. Sometimes, she wondered what they thought she was to the king; it was more than likely that the other men in the castle—out of touch with reality as they were—assumed she was Theodoracius's mistress.

       As if I would ever be anyone's mistress, she thought to herself bitterly.

They probably hadn't a single clue she was a soothsayer—or a prisoner for that matter, since she was no longer treated as one and had the freedom to do as she pleased.

       Treading down the carpeted floor, she dragged her hand across the wall, feeling the texture of the ornamental outlines of the mouldings beneath the pads of her fingers. As she absently continued gliding her palms along the wall, the texture changed to something smooth and cold—and it was then that she realized it was a window. The night was cool and caused an outline of condensation to form on the glass pane, tracing the profile of her hand.

       Peering into it, she was instantly aware of just how breathtaking the view of the sky was. The sight of the stars—beautiful in both the simplicity of their design and the complexity of their composition—kissing the firmament made her heart and her mind sigh in unison. She was lost in an opulent prison, wandering aimlessly within a cage of gilded gold and something distinctly malevolent, held captive by a thoroughly confusing king who made her further question his nefariousness with each passing day, surrounded by men who thought of her as nothing more than the king's whore (a paper doll to be toyed with until she ripped; and to then be replaced easily, for she was disposable and never really of any value to them).

Yet, somehow, when Maarit stopped to take a deep inhale, and the musky scents of dusty carpets and old wooden floorboards met her nostrils, she managed to experience a sense of deeper serenity than she had in quite a long time.

       She passed the ballroom and a few sets of stairs, not having a clue as to where she was headed.

It was not long until she came to a narrow corridor that poured into a much wider hall. Its cylindrical walls enclosed numerous marble columns and statues. One of the statues was of a naked woman with wings sprouting from her back, curling in on themselves as if to serve as a protective shield. The marble the sculpture was made from was the colour of bone, veined with black. With a curious purse of her lips, Maarit realized it gave the impression that the woman was a fallen angel, her bare shoulder blades kissed by Lucifer.