"Hurry up, you brute!" Henry shrieked at the coachman.

The sudden piercing yell forced Abijam to jolt. His eyes met Wilbur's, who cowered in his seat. James, Henry's right-hand man, sat with the coachman, hunched over.

Abijam felt pressure on his leg. The realization struck him as he glanced at his father's hand on his thigh. Abijam patted his hand, reassuring Ambudhi. He began to wonder if they were on track.

"Are you deaf? I said, 'Hurry up!'" Henry repeated.

"What's the rush? You could be a little polite," stated Wilbur.

Henry glared at his companion. An awkward silence entered the carriage. A subtle undercurrent of betrayal began to weave its pathway through their interactions like a silent serpent slithering through the shadows. Whispers of deception crept into Abijam's consciousness. The uncertainty of Arieshell's safety filled his senses as they chewed away at him. The only hope he had in his gut was that Arieshell had been aware of Henry's fiery attitude.

The coachman quickened the horses' pace as they passed fellow citizens. Abijam's heart danced in his chest as he clenched the edges of the velvet seat. The speed of the wheels grew energetic as a cool breeze slammed against the men's faces.

Refreshing. Abijam thought while his body swayed back and forth, colliding against the carriage's door. The clatter of hooves created a chaotic symphony, echoing the pulse of the frantic journey. Miniature dust clouds began to form under the wheels and cobblestone streets.

"Where are we going?" Abijam questioned.

"Spring Grove Asylum," Henry responded with a fiery, intense anger that was palpable in every word he spoke.

Abijam's throat tightened. His mind went rapidly. What have we gotten ourselves into? Henry's aggressive and egocentric perspective sent chills down Abijam's spine. Without his companions' reactions and gestures, Abijam and his father would never have expected the underlying threat in Henry's presence.

He reached out to his sister, but a faint voice urged him to keep their Siren lineage hidden from Henry. Abijam's mission shifted from finding Arieshell to safeguarding her from a deranged, aggressive, and frantic man.

The motion of the carriage came to a standstill in his mind as it made its way toward its ultimate destination: the asylum.

"Wait!" shouted Wilbur.

"Oh, what is it now, Muppet?" Henry boomed.

"Weren't we going to ensure Belle's safety?" he questioned.

Abijam watched Henry try to speak, but no sound escaped his parted lips. Then he motioned to James, who blinked once before turning to the coachman.

"Whershie Manor instead, Your Majesty?"

"Precisely, my good man."

The driver skillfully guided the horses to inaugurate a turn. The lead horse pivoted on its hind legs in a graceful arc, responding to the slightest touch. As the carriage began its elegant pivot, the wheels creaked and the wooden spokes groaned under the strain. Under the coachman's commands, the well-trained horses moved in synchronized harmony. The polished wooden carriage shifted as the horses completed the turn, momentarily catching the eye of onlookers before disappearing from view. The ornate detailing and plush upholstery inside the carriage remained undisturbed, a testament to the man's expertise.

Abijam's body jerked as the carriage changed direction. His forehead throbbed with a rhythmic beating. The sensation made him taste his regurgitation, and he began to grind his teeth. Abijam squeezed his eyes, noticing the flavor was reminiscent of a bitter taste with a pronounced acidic tang.

Did we always have this ability to taste? If so, why didn't Father explain these sensations before?

"Damn it! Would you be more gentle? We have guests onboard," Henry howled. His voice croaked with an underlying sense of annoyance.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," responded the man.

Despite Henry's complete lack of respect and rude behavior, the coachmen continued carrying out his duties without letting his demanding and disrespectful actions affect him. Another prolonged and lengthy silence stretched around the men, begging for release.

Abijam glanced at Wilbur. He immediately averted his gaze, feeling a heaviness. Abjiam's eyes darted to his chest, and in that instant, he knew with absolute certainty that no one had laid anything upon him.

The strain of his chest began to ease when he felt a warmth wrapped around him like a cozy strip of seaweed or kelp he would wrap himself in when he was a young tadpole. He smiled after his father patted his shoulder.

Before long, the sturdy horse-drawn carriage made its way along the winding path. The uneven terrain caused it to shutter and sway. Abjiam sheepishly peeked out the opened window of the carriage.

The remote, narrow road was barely wide enough for a single carriage with two sets of horses to pass. Overgrown trees and tangled shrubs created a secluded, mysterious atmosphere. On the right-hand side, a wall had the words engraved, "Whershie Manor."

Abijam peered at the words for a moment. Leaves covered some letters, making him ponder if these men ever cared to tend the landscape.

"Here we are!" announced Wilbur.

"Seems like your daughter didn't care to accomplish her duties," Henry scoffed.

Wilbur replied. "We will chastise her when we enter the manor."

"Excuse me for being so bold," Abijam paused. "Why are you so upset with Belle? She had no part in whatever you are upset about."

Henry's jaw tightened, his muscles rippled with restrained fury. His voice dripped with contempt as he uttered, "Who are you to tell me what I think? You're a mere nobody in my grand kingdom, yet you dare to challenge my thoughts? Remember your place. I am the king here. My reality reigns supreme."

A sudden spark of astonishment emanated from the depth of Abijam's eyes, revealing a profound sense of surprise and curiosity.

He scoffed. "What makes you believe in such disillusionment? If I recall, you are the King of England. Not the King of France. Is this correct?"

"Abijam!" his father reprimanded. "Mind your manners. Please forgive my son."

What! Abijam's body became as stiff as a brick. Amidst Henry's problematic rage and his father's biased perspective of their shared kingship, Abijam felt increasingly disturbed. The inexcusable defense eroded his trust in his father, making it a challenge to maintain faith in their relationship.

He sensed himself reevaluating if Arieshell had the right motive to explore forbidden territories outside the ocean's depths.

The elegant carriage gradually stopped in front of the magnificent stone staircase, its imposing presence a testament to the grandeur of the surroundings. Abjiam admired the mysterious beauty engulfed by the monstrous landscape.

Nestled amidst the vibrant tapestry of autumn hues, the stately manor exuded an air of timeless elegance, its intricate façade a testament to architectural grandeur. Bathed in the soft glow of the autumn sun, the slate roof shimmered, casting a delicate sheen upon the meticulously crafted double doors and the artful glass panels, as if time itself paused in reverence to such refined magnificence. Abijam stared in awe at the grand staircase, flanked by lush greenery and soldier-like trees. It beckoned visitors towards the entrance where four exquisite Tuscan columns stood guard, exuding a welcoming allure steeped in tales of opulence and heritage.

Above, the balcony, adorned with elaborate stone railings and intricate relief sculptures, offered a sweeping vista of the picturesque landscape. The stage seemed set for intimate conversations or a clandestine rendezvous.

The expansive arched windows, trimmed in perfect symmetry, reflected the harmony and poise of the manor. Views of the meticulously tended garden and seasonal embellishments infused the surroundings with an autumnal enchantment.

The cobblestone driveway, echoing the manor's legacy, served as a pathway to refinement and grace. The gentle radiance of lantern-style light fixtures cast a warm, welcoming glow upon the estate.

Every detail wove a narrative of a residence steeped in rich history and character, where each passing season inscribed a new chapter of beauty and mystery. The home of Whershie Manor stood as a living chronicle of the time, embodying grace and sophistication, whispering tales of love, resilience, and the enduring essence of belonging.

"Wow!" he whispered.

"Inspect the house, boy. This is what humans lavish on. Gold and riches," stated Ambudhi. He wrapped his arm around Abijam's shoulder.

"It seems lovely," he marveled.

"Trust me, don't let them fool you."

Abjiam forcefully pulled away from his father's grip. He refused to meet his father's eyes as the door swung open. I cannot believe him! The nerve of him saying 'Don't let them fool you,' doesn't make sense!

An irresistible aroma entered his nose once his feet stepped upon the road. He glanced at the abundance of shrubs and flowers planted in every nook and cranny.

He found himself unconsciously stroking railings. The smooth texture embodied a nippy sensation underneath his fingertips. The rhythmic cadence of his boots against the marble staircase resonated with a medley of strength and grace.

As soon as he stepped onto the manor's deck, Wilbur's fumbling attempt to grab his keys sparked Henry's outburst.

"What's wrong with you, Muppet? Open the damn door!"

"I am trying! I'm nervous!" Wilbur responded shakily. His hands were sweating.

Henry bundled his hands into fists and slammed the door, cracking it in the process.

What a codfish! That door served a purpose. Abijam glanced over his shoulder, waiting to observe his response.

"Henry," Wilbur stated. "I paid good money for those!"

"Poppycock!"

The older men entered, leaving Abijam outside alone with James. Fumed with bitterness, Abijam desired to scold the young boy but refrained after James showed him a half-terrified and meek expression.

"Do you know what caused him to be that way?"

James shook his head, his gold locks covering one of his light blue eyes. He shielded his face with a black book, half the boy's size.

Abijam tilted his head. "How old are you?"

The boy exhaled. "Seventeen!" He exclaimed, before lifting the book higher to disguise his embarrassment.

Dumbfounded by James's docile responses, Abijam formed a sense of sympathy for him. His brown eyes inspected the boy, attired in a jacket richly embroidered and adorned with intricate details.

The deep navy blue of the jacket impressed Abijam, a shade that exudes an essence of elegance and refinement. The color complimented the gold trims that were crafted delicately, lining James's coat.

"Answer my query. Why has a young boy received the most unpleasant chance to serve an entitled man like Henry?"

He hesitantly chewed on his lip. "My father was his courtier before I inherited his job after his untimely death."

The brutality and honesty startled Abijam. The word 'Untimely,' led him into a rabbit hole filled with horrific theories of what could've been the demise of James's father.

Henry is a dangerous man. This statement continued in Abijam's mind. He realized that they could not leave without taking care of Henry once and for all.

"James," Abijam stated. "Has he ever tried to strike you?"

"Tried would be an understatement. He has!" James corrected himself as tears trailed down his cheeks.

Conflicted by the unsettling and newfound truths, Abijam embraced the boy with a comforting hug. Despite his lack of knowledge about humanity, Abijam's intuition kept expanding and replacing what he already understood.

"James," he articulated. "From this point forward, I will never let him harm you or anyone again!"

"T-thank you. Let's go into the house before they get suspicious."

Upon entering the house, a grand wooden staircase greeted Abijam crafted from a luscious dark wood with a burgundy velvet rug covering the surface. Intricate details adorned the balusters and handrails.

His heart pounded when a loud growl reverberated from the room adjacent to the staircase. He glanced at James as another wave of dread spread across his face.

"There's no need to be tense. I will keep an eye on him," Abijam voiced.

James glanced at him, a skittish expression appeared on his face then, he reluctantly roamed into the room. Abijam's brows furrowed in a subtle ridge of perplexity. His eyes broadened in disbelief.

Poor boy.

As soon as Abijam stepped foot into le salon, Henry shoved a glass filled with wine into his hand. He gave the older man an inquisitive stare. Abijam lowered his gaze to the cup. It contained a deep, velvety red hue that evoked a sense of richness and warmth.

He cocked his head as he investigated the dark liquid. The glossy sheen added a touch of radiance, creating a reflection of his face inside of the glass.

"Take a sip," Henry proposed.

"It's okay, Abijam. It's wine, and it tastes great!" A comforted tone laced in Ambudhi's voice.

"Well, I..." With the glass in his hand, he lingered in thought. "Would you excuse me?"

"Of course!" answered Wilbur.

"Thank you. I'll be right back."