NOVEL NEXT Chapter 19: Shower thoughts
Hearing the faint trickle of water nearby, Arthur let his curiosity guide him. Pushing aside the heavy folds of emerald curtains, he unveiled an ethereal marvel.
An infinite loop of water cascaded down from an invisible source, the enchanted shower forming an indoor rain that defied natural order. The space was bathed in a humid, tropical ambiance, the warm droplets creating a cocoon of sound and mist.
It was tranquil, yet the magic of it felt almost alive, pulsing faintly in harmony with his breathing.
Arthur descended the shallow steps leading into the lower section of the room. The water pooled around his ankles, cool and soothing, a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on his chest.
His sharp gaze tracked the droplets as they fell and then reversed, streaming upward in perfect defiance of gravity. It wasn't chaos, but order, finely tuned by magic beyond his own understanding.
Tentatively, he reached out, letting the rain cascade over his fingers. The sensation was hypnotic, the warmth lulling him into a false sense of ease.
But as the water ran through his hair and down his back, Arthur couldn't help but feel an edge of discomfort. It was as though the rain saw through him, as though it sought to cleanse more than just the filth on his skin.
He made his way toward a nearby shelf, his steps deliberate and slow.
Glass bottles of various shapes and colors lined the surface, their contents shimmering under the ambient light. Some glowed faintly, their hues shifting like captured sunsets, while others were opaque and muted, their purpose enigmatic.
He grabbed a handful of bottles, unceremoniously twisting off their caps and pouring their contents into his hands before forcefully trying to remove every speck of filthiness from his skin.
The scents were rich and varied, citrus, lavender, and something faintly metallic. Arthur didn't care for the luxury of it all. He scrubbed the soaps against his skin with unrelenting vigor, focusing on a faint scar on his torso. Each stroke was an attempt to erase it, not just physically but from his memory. His breaths came faster, his chest heaving with effort as his skin reddened under the assault.
The rain stopped.
Arthur froze, his eyes darting around the room. Thousands of droplets hung suspended in mid-air, tiny prisms reflecting the room's muted light. They seemed to pulse with a life of their own, vibrating faintly in the stillness. For a moment, he thought he could hear them, a faint hum, like a distant chorus.
The air was thick with tension, and Arthur clenched his fists, forcing his mind into focus. His breathing steadied, and slowly, the droplets resumed their descent, the rhythmic sound of rain returning to fill the silence.
'Control.' He thought, shaking his head. 'It's always about control.'
The present him was a newborn mage. One that had no awareness of his dangerousness.
From the corner of the room, a voice broke the fragile stillness. "You can't control magic if you can't control your emotions." It said, its tone calm but laced with smugness.
Arthur turned, his jaw tightening as his eyes locked onto the ghostly figure lounging against a bedpost. The apparition wore the guise of a man Arthur perfectly remembered, yet the presence was unmistakable.
"Don't you dare lecture me." Arthur said, his voice cold. "And don't use Lancelot's voice to do it. I don't need your borrowed words nor his lessons."
The ghost smirked, unperturbed by the prince's anger. "Suit yourself, child. But don't come crying to me when you lose control again. You're a danger, Arthur. To yourself and everyone around you."
Arthur's glare could have cut through stone, but the ghost only chuckled, its laughter echoing faintly before fading into silence.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew Arthur's attention. The maid entered, carrying a silver tray with the poise of someone who had served royalty for decades. On the tray were porcelain cups and sugar-dusted pastries, their delicate presentation a stark contrast to the tension in the room.
"You forgot something." Arthur said flatly, his tone as dismissive as his glance.
The maid hesitated, her fingers tightening around the tray. "No, my prince. Like you, your bodyguards need to dress appropriately for the occasion." Her voice wavered, betraying her discomfort.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What day is it?" He asked abruptly.
"Fall's first." She replied, her voice barely above a whisper. A sharp intake of breath followed, and her eyes widened in realization. "You shouldn't be here! Your father is meeting Rainlet's emissary!"
Arthur frowned but said nothing. His mind churned through the implications. Rainlet was a neighboring kingdom of immense power. Whether this meeting was about trade or war didn't matter, it would undoubtedly complicate his already precarious position.
"Gather my sisters." Arthur ordered suddenly. His tone was calm, but it carried an edge that made the maid flinch. "If they appear unavailable, tell them the king has died and that they are to organize his funeral."
The maid's face turned pale, her composure cracking under the weight of his words. She stumbled backward, nearly dropping the tray. Before she could respond, Arthur waved her away.
"Go now." He said, his voice icy.
She fled the room, her hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor. Arthur exhaled heavily, his gaze shifting to the ghost.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He muttered, his tone laced with bitterness.
The ghost smiled faintly. "Immensely."
Arthur moved toward the desk at the far end of the room. He picked up a book, its spine cracked and worn from use. As he flipped it open, a sharp pain shot through his temples. The words on the page blurred, their meaning clawing into his mind.
"You should've listened." The ghost said, its voice quieter now. "He's been creating you, Arthur. Over and over again."
Arthur's grip tightened on the book, his knuckles white. The ghost's words settled like a heavy weight in his chest, and for the first time, doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve.