Chapter 2
Over the next few days, he tried alleviating his boredom by exploring, which there was plenty to do. The Palace was huge-he lost track of how many bedrooms, closets, and bathrooms he walked into. Regardless of the vastness of his new home, he felt sure he'd explored every nook and cranny within two weeks. Every space, that is, except the tiny, wooden door. The door he could not open, which was driving him crazy.
Soon, he had other things to occupy his mind as he settled into a familiar routine. After his servants had unpacked and sorted everything, they forced him back into it.
First thing in the morning, he did his morning exercises-these were designed specifically to help alleviate his scoliosis and the injuries he'd suffered from the boating accident. He hated them, but felt they were necessary. Without them, his spine would become more crooked than it already was. At least he wouldn't have to use a cane when he grew up this way.
Next, came a meager breakfast of eggs and toast. He gobbled down his food just so he wouldn't have to sit with dry old Yates and his ancient Governess. The latter he'd have to spend more time with later anyway.
Then, his favorite part of the day-lessons. He adored history and writing, but dreaded art and geography. Actually, he preferred geography- or indeed, almost any other subject- besides art. For some reason, his efforts resulted in mere scribbles on the page. It annoyed him.
However, his least favorite activity was gym. That he despised even more than art! Sports like swimming and running only made him feel inadequate. Nonetheless, his couch insisted they'd do wonders for his spine and aid his recovery.
Naturally, the only thing that could possibly cap such a daily schedule was a ridiculously early bedtime; his governess read him a story every night around seven o'clock and he was expected to pass out like a good little boy. Only he couldn't. Instead of doing something fun, he lay awake for hours on end, at least until after midnight, reliving the day, trying fruitlessly to count sheep, allowing random thoughts to buzz around in his head, or (during most nights) relive the accident.
Early bedtimes were a colossal waste of time.
One night, the fire of the boating accident was disrupted by an odd scratching sound. Wonderful. Probably rodents! I wonder which is be worse, mice or rats? Probably rats. He was so tired, almost too tired to be concerned. Still, he had no choice but to investigate- the noise was just loud enough to prevent sleep, and persistent enough to be annoying. Groggily, Henry sat up and looked around. His night vision wasn't that great, so he lit a candle- enough to see a naked, pink tail disappear around the door frame.
"Bother," he murmured. He seriously considered calling for his governess, as rats made him distinctly uncomfortable, but the walls and darkness felt immensely oppressive. Somehow, he sensed calling out would be as useless as trying to fall asleep- his governess might as well be in another house, instead of across the hall. For some reason, he felt completely on his own.
Well, he may as well be brave about it. Hoisting himself out of bed, he slipped into his cozy slippers and followed the thing out of his room.
By the time he'd followed the scratching to the living room, the animal had vanished. He hesitated to put even his toe across the threshold, for it felt like the room- nay, the entire house- was holding its breath. Waiting for him to make his first move.
What do you want from me? Now, having calmed down a tad, he felt more intrigued than afraid- he'd never felt the way he did in this house. Houses were supposed to be safe, warm, and inviting. The Gray Palace was alive. And it was challenging him.
Well, challenge accepted. Cautiously yet boldly, he entered the room to find the tiny door open and waiting for him.
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