* * *
"Doyou have any idea what it is?" Scout asked as they finished their breakfast at the massive table. He was starving this morning, and it took them longer than usual to have breakfast. He chalked it up to spending so much energy the day before, constantly on their feet and full of adrenaline.
The palace maids began cleaning up as soon as they got out of their chairs and Scout thanked them genuinely for their help before catching up with Killian in the hall.
"No idea," Killian said. "My father's never really been one for surprises. Especially not good ones, which I'm hoping this is supposed to be."
Scout chuckled. "I'm sure it's gonna be fine."
A maid doubling as a messenger let them know that the king was waiting for them in the upper reaches of the palace, down the hall from where Killian and Scout's room stood. They made their way there while holding hands. Killian squeezed his mate's hand firmly. After everything that had happened in the past few days, he never wanted to let go.
"Is this it?" Scout asked. Before them was a huge, heavy door made of solid cherry wood. The doorknob was delicately carved silver, an artistic touch that none of the other doors had. Scout turned to him. "What is this place?"
Killian's brow furrowed in concentration, but his mind was coming up blank. "I don't know. It's been locked for as long as I can remember."
"Maybe we should see if he's even in here." Scout tentatively rapped his knuckles on the door. "Hello?"
"You have to be louder than that," Killian murmured. "The old man's hearing is getting bad."
Scout tried again, knocking harder this time. He was starting to wonder if they even had the right room when the door creaked open.
Killian and Scout blinked as bright daylight flooded through the gap in the door. As their eyes adjusted, they saw huge windows on the other side of the room, almost as big as the walls themselves.
"What took you so long?" the king said as he ushered them inside. "I've been waiting for you."
"Sorry," Scout said, embarrassed. "I couldn't stop eating. It was like I haven't eaten for a week or something."
The king seemed to mull over Scout's words for a moment before he said, "No matter. You're here now."
Killian raised a forearm to shield his face from the streaming light. "What is this place?" he asked. "And why's it so bright?"
They noticed a few maids in the room now as one hurried to draw the curtain forward. There were two sets, Killian noticed — one translucent white lace, the other a dark, velvety blue. He felt a strange feeling nagging in the back of his mind at the sight of them.
"Yeah, it's like — the brightest room in the whole palace, from what I've seen," Scout added. He seemed less irritated by the brightness than Killian, and stepped forward to explore the huge room. "It's beautiful in here." He suddenly paused, then sneezed. "Although it's a bit dusty."
"Yes, there's quite a bit of work to be done before it's ready, unfortunately," the king said. "But it will be prepared in time, I'm sure of it."
"In time?" Scout said.
"What are you talking about?" Killian asked.
The king's brow furrowed. Scout noticed he looked a lot like Killian when he made that expression — or maybe the other way around, since Killian was his son.
Then Scout's heart leapt into his throat.
He turned slowly towards his mate. Killian still hadn't seemed to put the pieces together. He crossed his arms, looking puzzled. "I don't understand," he said. "What is this room, father?"
The king gave him a wry smile. "You mean you don't remember?"
Killian shook his head, although he still felt a strange, almost nostalgic sensation about the curtains.
"Well, then," the king said, turning to a large object covered in a dust-preventing tarp. "Maybe this will jog your memory."
The king took hold of the tarp's edge, then drew it back in one smooth motion.
Killian gasped.
Before them was a huge rectangular object made of solid cherry wood, just as the door had been. It had a distinctive flair and the same delicate decorative carving as the silver door handle. Even after all this time, Killian still recognized the smell - the grainy wood, the gentle softness of baby powder, and the phantom scent of his mother.
