Yeara's hands rested on the door. She drew a few slow, steady breaths, bracing herself. Was he asleep by now, or still perched on the stool? Hesitantly, she pushed the bathroom door open, her eyes sweeping the room as she stepped out.
He was gone.
Yeara's breath caught in her throat, taken aback by his disappearance. Why would he just leave like that at this time without saying anything or even informing her at all?
At least he should have told her. Her eyes moved to the corner of the wardrobe, but he was not there. She turned her face to the window, perhaps he was standing there—but he was not there either. Worry crept into her.
"Where is he, and why would he leave without saying a word?" she said aloud, as if the air could answer her unanswered question.
Her eyes drifted to the door before moving back to her silk gown. She bit her lips. How was she even supposed to leave to look for him like this?
'Calm down, Yeara. Have you forgotten this is the Great Zalthor we are talking about here?' her inner thought screamed at her. Her breath calmed a bit. She nodded, her hands resting on her chest as she practiced the basic breathing techniques.
'Breathe in… breathe out.'
Her heart settled slightly. She walked toward the bed to sleep. Sleep was important—very important. Besides, why was she even worried about him? She did not care a bit about that man… right?
She laid on the cozy yet comfortable bed, her head pressed lightly on the pillow, as if that way it could give her the gentle ambiance she needed for sleep. She shut her eyes and began taking deep, steady breaths, as if convincing sleep to come.
Minutes passed.
The clock ticked. The night sky was bright with stars. The wind blew softly, thanks to the draft that came in through the small opening in the window.
Yeara turned her face to the side for a better position, eyes still closed. She grabbed the other pillow, hugging it to herself. Finally, her eyes flew open as she sat up, her hands pressing the sheet like it was all at fault for her lack of sleep.
Her eyes turned to the clock.
Why was she even worried?
Slowly, she moved as she stood, her legs slipping into flip-flops. She walked toward the wardrobe and opened it. She pulled the drawer, and there sat many scarves folded in perfect order.
She slowly grabbed the white one—it was bigger, and flung it over her neck, covering her shoulders and chest with her hands.
It was far too late for a young lady to be going out at this time. But why did she behave like this? That was just how Yeara was.
Even though she had different questions in her head, the particular one her mind wanted answers to was the one she needed to solve; otherwise, she would not be able to do anything.
But why?
She could get lost in this huge castle. Why was she even caring this way? Did he even care about her at all?
She walked toward the door, her hands moving to turn the doorknob before slowly opening it.
She closed the door behind her as she turned back into the room. She exhaled and inhaled loudly, quickening her pace to the table and grabbing the small torch that rested just beside the mirror. With that, she left the room.
Her hands wrapped around the torch as she pressed the button. The golden light spread across the hallway.
She looked around and gulped, walking softly yet quickly down the stairs. Her gaze was ahead. The flip-flops patted softly, yet it was loud in her ears. She dared not look at the paintings, as she believed they were living things at night.
Her hands tightened on the torch as she finally reached the ground.
"Where am I even going?" she softly spoke, as if she did not know whether her body was taking her to find Zalthor or make her miss him.
She was seriously looking for him, but from how dark this hallway was, the servants had already put out the candlelight, which meant Zalthor could not be in his office… wherever that place was.
'Maybe he is in the garden,' she said to herself with a smile. Maybe she, too, would need fresh night air. Her other hand moved to the scarf, her fingers trailing on it in a more fidgety than soothing way.
She turned to the large door leading to the outside garden and slowly pushed it open.
A wide smile grew upon her lips. This alone told her that Zalthor was outside. Earlier today, when she tried opening it, it had been locked, meaning His Majesty had not come. But now she opened it and it did not budge, meaning the King was outside, and the servant could not be careless enough to leave the back door unlocked.
The night air brushed her face, pushing the stubborn strands that fell across it backward.
Yeara looked around as she slowly stepped out, her lips opening as she inhaled—and with it, she let out the breath she inhaled.
"Zalthor…" Her words came out lower than intended. She looked around before turning off the torch.
She walked toward the garden area, her steps quickening more than she realized. Fear now hit her. She did not even know why she was acting this way toward him… Goosebumps crawled on her skin as the wind brushed through her bare arms.
She entered the garden where the benches were…but they were all empty.
"Z… Zalthor," her voice grew loud as she looked around more.
She began running around, calling his name. The more she called and did not receive a response, the more fear hit her.
She finally walked out of the garden. As she made her way toward the side of the castle, she came to a stop, her back now facing the garden path. She was at the far end, on the other side of the palace—which meant she stood at the back of the palace, since the garden lay at the side.
There, in front of her, was just freshly trimmed grass. But then something caught her eyes.
A hut…
Strange.
Or was it a small house? It was so small it looked more like a single room made into a house.
'Yeara, leave… go back,' her inner thought warned her. But Yeara began to move, curiosity getting the best of her.
Her flip-flops moved through the slightly damp grass. Yeara looked around, eyebrow raised.
"Why would there be such a thing at the back of the house?" she spoke softly.
'What if it is a burial ground?' Her body halted as she shivered, followed by the sharp whisper of the wind that felt like a warning.
But despite that, there was a strong urge within her to know what that was and what was behind that closed door.
Yeara was curious—infinitely curious, more than a cat. But why did her urge grow stronger? She pressed the button on her torch, and the light returned.
Finally, she reached the door to the house. It was just one door and no windows. Who in Gatrem would make a house with no windows? Were they trying to kill the person inside?
Her hands moved to the knob slowly.
'Run, Yeara,' her inner thought warned, but she ignored it.
"I am okay. Nothing will happen… by the way, just a little peek," she spoke to herself convincingly as she opened the door. At this point, she had forgotten that the real reason she came here was to find her husband, the King.
She moved the torch, and there she saw a window…it was open, and the wind entered.
She entered, leaving the door ajar just in case she wanted to run. The place led downward—a long staircase downward.
At the end of the stairs was a door.
Yeara's eyes moved around sharply. The place was dark, thanks to the torch that created light. She began to climb down, holding the torch tightly, as it was her only source of sight. The deeper she went, the creepier the air grew, but she ignored it.
Slowly, her quickened breath calmed. As she reached the last stair, now facing the door, she turned back, pointing the torch ahead again—but the torch spluttered…
Then stopped.
Yeara's heart fell as her blood ran cold. Fear surrounded her as she kept pressing the button—but nothing.
BAM.
The door above shut and locked.