He hated to admit it, but Lorn had lost count of the days. Just how long had he been bedridden? He sighed, feeling as though his body was slowly melting and becoming one with the bedsheets below him.
All the medicinal herbs stuffed down his throat kept him lightheaded and numb and he was almost able to forget about missing right hand.
Almost.
He shuddered and kept the ugly stump hidden under the blankets. His strength was slowly but surely returning and he was eager to get out of bed, cripple or not. The Eitherfel House crest was hung up on the wall opposite of his headrest, reminding him the stay strong. The serpent that devoured the moon was a symbol of their power, after all.
And from within the twisted depression that clouded his mind was a striking determination that refused to abide to the world's ugliness. He might be a cripple now, but Lorn had no regrets.
A subtle knock on the door startled him out of his train of thoughts.
"Come in," his voice was a little hoarse from lack of use but he was eager to have some company.
Lorn shouldn't have been surprised when the door creaked open and revealed the Little Queen. She was so big now, compared to the young girl he had first met when he arrived at the castle gates in Arcadia. "Hello, Your Majesty."
Queen Cecilia pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear before coming inside. Her movements were small and delicate, almost as though she was afraid of disturbing Lorn's rest. In one hand she had a giant book with a title which surprised Lorn, and in her other hand, there was a small bowl of medicine.
"Hello, Mr. Eitherfel." Her voice was almost a whisper as she carefully sat down upon the chair next to his bed. "This is for you." There was a slight clang when she set the bowl on the bedside counter. Cecilia seemed to frown at her own clumsiness. She said nothing else and folded her small hands across her lap.
A sweet warmth filled Lorn's heart as he looked upon her downcast eyes. Who was he, to be so privileged, served by the country's very own queen? The thought made him chuckle, "What's this?"
But Cecilia tensed at the question, her narrow shoulders flinched and eyes went wide, "It's not poison! I promise I made it myself." She fiddled with the hems of her skirt. Looking closer, Lorn could tell that she had been crying.
He gave her a small smile and wrapped the bedding tighter around his right arm. She likely already knew but it didn't mean she had to see. "What did you come here for, Little Majesty?" He gave the book in her lap a pointed look.
She followed his gaze and patted the thick book cover. "It's time for my lesson," she said as a-matter-of-factly, never quite able to rid her voice of that sweet girlish tone.
It might have been rude to chuckle, but truly, Lorn thought that the queen was adorable. "Have you already forgotten? Our lessons are over now." He kept his voice light but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't a sharp twinge of sorrow sinking in his gut. But it wasn't his place to disobey the Royal Mother's wishes. And if she no longer wished for him to teach Cecilia then he had no other option.
But Queen Cecilia knit her brows and pursed her lips, her fingers dug into the cover of the book. Even though she was fidgeting, her voice had determination, "You always told me that philosophy is one of the most important subjects to know and understand, as a ruler."
He smiled at her and resisted the urge to bop her nose, "It's also your least favorite subject."
She was still fidgeting, picking at the seams that held the cover together. Lorn could only imagine the fit her etiquette teacher would be in if he' saw her behavior. But it was only the two of them there so Lorn said nothing. "But it's Mr. Eitherfel's favorite subject so…I want to understand why."
The words make him chuckle and reached his one good hand out to pat her head. The blankets shifted and he had to retreat to fix it. Cecilia's eyes flickered to his right arm and then back to the book cover. Lorn tried not to sigh. "You'll make a fine ruler, Little Majesty. Don't you worry." Unlike your mother. But he left those words unsaid and instead he focused on the book that Cecilia had in her hand.
And she was so patient and engrossed in his lesson that when someone came to disturb their peace, it was already nightfall.
It was nightfall for November as well when he closed the book in his lap, his breath came out ragged as though he'd been running a marathon. The last sentence he read was still resonating in his mind and refused to leave: "And that would be their final lesson."
An unnamed horror gripped him and November became terrified to turn the pages. The climax of the first arc was approaching and he didn't know how he felt.
A part of him told himself that he didn't want to know the ending.
But another part of him told him that it was his duty to read.
The Festival of Remembrance was fast approaching and he needed to finish the book before the day came.
November rubbed his eyes, trying as he could to will away the throb of fatigue. There was still a pile of homework left on his desk untouched and he couldn't help but wonder when his life became so utterly consumed by the book.
He stumbled over to the desk, eyes glazing over at all the articles that he had yet to read. A small card then caught his attention. He reached over and picked it up, reading the name 'June' placed front and center.
The Patch was said to be a wild and dangerous place, like a jungle filled with hungry beasts. It was not a place that November ever wished to go but he also wondered if the Marilyn that the Kaleidoscope member spoke of was the same Marilyn mentioned by the Reading Club.
Was there a connection yet to be unearthed?
Was that why the Princess joined the Reading Club?
A dark thought blossomed in his heart and November felt as though he'd gotten himself tangled in something big. Would it go away if he ignored it? He pondered.
Plagued with dark thoughts, fatigue, and anxiety, he dropped the card back on the desk and abandoned his homework in favor of going to bed. But temptation had him retracing his steps back to the living room and where he picked up his discarded book from the couch and took it back to his bedroom.
Just one more chapter he told himself, even as a deep throb assaulted his eyelids.
Just one more chapter and he would sleep.
Just one more chapter, that was all he needed.
But November didn't sleep that night and continued to read into dawn, as though possessed.
He truly was possessed. After all, he was possessed by the plot.