Chapter 5: Night of the Haunted King

I went back to the Abandoned Wing, picked up my old life. Days blurred together. Each one felt emptier than the last.

After my shift, I crawled into bed with the little white dog. Its warmth against my side was the only thing that felt real.

At midnight, I heard the door creak. The sound was soft, almost like someone was afraid to come in.

I figured it was my roommate, didn’t bother to look. I pulled the blanket tighter.

After a while, half-asleep, I felt the dog run off. I reached for it, but my hand found only cold sheets.

I rolled over, searching for the dog, and jerked back from something cold and metal. My breath caught.

I opened my eyes—my hand was covered in blood. Panic shot through me. I sat up, heart pounding.

A man with long hair in a high ponytail, dressed in red, sat at my bedside. His face was pale, eyes hollow.

A long sword lay behind him, blood still dripping from the hilt. My stomach lurched.

It was the King. Even in silence, his presence filled the room, like the air got heavier just because he was there.

I had no idea how he found my room. The thought made my skin crawl.

He sat there, blank-faced, eyes dead. His bloody hands stroked the dog’s head. The dog whimpered, sensing something was wrong.

Maybe he was sleepwalking again. His movements were slow, stiff, almost like a puppet.

I whispered, “Eli.” My voice was shaky, barely above a breath.

He turned, meeting my eyes. For a second, I saw a spark of something—recognition, maybe.

He was awake. My heart hammered in my chest.

I knelt on the bed, blurting, “Your Grace, spare me!” The words tumbled out, raw and desperate.

He turned away, silent. The quiet stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

I got up, fumbling for a lighter to flick on the lamp. My hands shook so bad I almost dropped it.

He spoke, voice worn thin. “No, too bright.”

I knelt at his feet, watching him sit there, lost, for a long time. The minutes dragged.

Finally, the dog got restless and jumped from his arms. It landed with a soft thud, tail wagging.

He spoke with effort. “They’re trying to kill me.” His words were slurred, heavy.

“Who? Are you hurt?” I asked, voice rising.

I reached out to check him, afraid the blood was his, but stopped myself.

“The queen, the dowager, the Regent—too many want me dead. I can’t even keep track.”

After court that morning, the Regent told everyone the King had lost his mind. The manor buzzed with whispers, the air thick with fear and medicine.

They locked him in the King’s Hall, brought in doctors. The halls reeked of medicine and something sour—fear, maybe.

They forced potions down his throat, some that knocked him out, some that made him sick. He grew thinner, paler, more fragile every day.

That night, he killed all the guards outside with his sword. Blood pooled in the hallway, thick and sticky. The sight made me want to puke.

He searched every room for me, leaving bloody handprints on every window. It haunted me for weeks.

“Jamie, I’m so tired. Really tired.” His voice cracked. I felt tears sting my eyes.

“Let me take you back to the King’s Hall to rest.” My voice was gentle, but it trembled.

“No! They’ll kill me!” His fear was raw, almost childlike.

His face was ghostly, cheeks sunken, hair hanging in limp strands, not a hint of life left—his fingertips white as bone. I wanted to hold him, but I didn’t know how.

“Your Grace, if you don’t mind, you can sleep in my bed.” It was all I had to offer.

“Will you stay with me?” His eyes were wide, his bloody face almost beautiful in a broken way.

“Yes, I’ll stay.” The promise felt real, more real than anything else.

After tucking him in, I sat below the bed, dog in my arms. The dog licked my hand, trying to make it better.

He reached out, hand trembling, and touched my head. “Jamie, do you think I’m a monster too?” His voice was small, almost lost.

“You’re the King, a real wolf. Not a monster.” I tried to sound sure, but my voice wobbled.

He snorted. “What kind of wolf can’t protect his men or his people? Maybe I really am just a stable boy’s son.” The bitterness in his words made my heart twist.

I grabbed his hand, looked him in the eyes. “You’re a wise ruler. No matter what anyone says, you’ll always be a wise ruler to me. You did your best. That’s more than most.” I meant every word, even if they came out clumsy.

I thought I saw a tear slip from his eye. I wanted to wipe it away, but I didn’t dare.

That night, he curled up in the blankets, shivering, calling for his mother over and over. Each sound tore at me. I wished I could do more.