LITMIR.BIZ

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he had never seen it, the boy had whispered , with a knowing air: "I had noticed it a few days ago and asked my mother what it was, because there was no title and she had blushed a little and had taken it from me a little too quickly, saying that it was nothing important and not suitable for me. But then he forgot it again on the table today and I took it secretly. Tell me, father, do you think it's an adventure book?”

      The king had begun to leaf through it with growing interest and for a few minutes he had seemed absent, caught up in his thoughts, forgetting the presence of his son.

      "So, father? Will you read it for me?”

      "No," he said dryly.

      "Why not?”

      "It belongs to your mother: you have to ask her.”

      "I thought the library was just yours.”

      "I thought so too, but it wasn't. Your mother has taken care of the books in all these years when I left it closed and neglected and take care of it, and now it belongs more to her than to me. And this particular book is especially hers; I can't read it without your consent.”

      "I see; I'll ask her tomorrow and she won't say no.”

      "Don't be sure," his father warned him.

      "She almost never does.”

      "Well this time I'll be the one to tell her to do it.”

      "Why, father? Don’t I deserve an explanation? I was perhaps wrong in taking it, but I was curious: if you had seen how she blushed when she saw me in my -hand. If I am wrong, I will apologize. She will understand and I will then be allowed to keep it.”

      "I am the one who does not want you to. Maybe when you're older.”

      His tone was now domineering, and it did not allow replies. The prince still did not understand and was a bit sulky; his father seemed nervous, not exactly restless, but as if he was just in a hurry to dismiss him and to be alone.

      So that night he went back to sleep in his room for the first time since that beautiful understanding had formed between him and his father.

      He was sad and despite Antonia tried to cheer him with her stories, she did not succeed.

      He could not sleep and rolled around uneasily in his bed, rolling up his blankets and then kicking them away and sitting back in the dark, his heart beating so hard that he thought Antonia might hear him through the walls.

      "Now I'll go to my father "he thought at times "and I'll tell him to keep me with him. I don't care if he does not want to read me that book, but I care to be with him, that I care about.”

      Then he was afraid to make him angry, going to him so without warning and, even more, he feared crossing those long dark corridors.

      He laid back down and rolled up in the blankets again ...

      For better or worse, sleep caught him by surprise and, when he awoke, it was already morning and the sun was high on the horizon.

      He got up in a fury and just as quickly dressed. His animals had perhaps already left, disappointed by his lack of punctuality. And his father had perhaps waited in vain for him and was as annoyed by his delay.

      He looked out the window, but did not see him in the park, nor near the stables. He ran out of his room still disheveled, with his shirt out of his trousers and his shoes with loose buckles. He flew down the stairs and into the garden and into the alleyway that led to his morning appointment, but he saw no sign of the king.

      He came across him only when he was a few meters from the grove and then stopped running frantically and undignifiedly.

      "Good morning, son, I think you're really late. You lingered a long time in bed, eh? " his father teased him.

      "Have they already left?" the child asked.

      "I'm afraid so and they were really sorry that a prince was not able to keep a commitment.”

      "I'm sorry, but I didn't wake up in time. It had never happened to me before.”

      -I'm afraid you'll have to explain that to several people this morning.”

      -What do you mean?”

      "Well, apart from your four-legged friends, I'm waiting for your apology.”

      "Why, Father?" he asked in amazement.

      "I don't think it's the right way to present yourself to your king. You didn’t even greet me and are dressed in a decidedly unseemly way.”

      The prince blushed and instinctively tried to straighten his hair and adjust his shirt.

      But his fingers were rather clumsy, and, without the usual help of the nurse, they could not tackle tying the many ribbons.

      The king smiled involuntarily at this hindrance and tried to help him but was politely rejected.

      "I think I'm old enough, father, to do it alone.”

      "Seriously? Even shoes?”

      "Maybe a little help ... "granted the boy, when he realized he wasn't getting too far.

      "I see you're more reasonable now. When you are decent and presentable, we will go to your mother and you will also have to justify yourself to her.”

      "I didn't do anything wrong... oh, yes! The book. Is this the reason?”

      "Precisely.”

      "But father! I didn't think I was going to spite her.”

      "But she wasn't happy last night when I told her about it.”

      "Did you tell her everything?”

      "Certainly, and now I want you to go and explain yourself to her.”

      The prince sighed resignedly, not at all happy.

      Who knows why his father had betrayed him so? He wouldn't have expected it, after so many days of friendship and complicity. Why had he brought back that book to his mother’s attention right away? And what mysterious and delicate secrets were written in that book?

      "But," the boy observed, as he followed the king's rapid steps along the alley that led to the paved courtyard in front of the main façade and then up the stairs to the first floor, where the reception rooms and the rooms the queen used during the day were located "but I cannot understand: what was so important about that book to provoke all this chaos, to make me worthy of being punished by you and my mother?”

      He had spoken in a whisper, almost a whisper, as if he were talking to himself, in a reasoning so complicated that needed to be expressed aloud to be better followed and grasped.

      The king turned slightly to look at him and was struck by his son's almost suffering air. His excessive sensitivity irritated him a little and he decided not to answer. But then he realized the child, who was silently racking his brain, was desperately trying to recover his self-esteem and decided to wait for him and take his hand to calm him at least a little.

      "You don’t fear your mother is angry at you, right? I said she wasn't happy, not that she wanted to punish you.”

      “No, father, but I am so sorry to know that she ... that she is not happy with me. She always says that I am her treasure and that if she didn't have me her days would always be grey and sad. And now ... Oh, father, I'm sorry if I am making her suffer. I'd rather be placed in a dark cell.”

      "That is that is best for you” the king said jokingly.

      "Yes, but my mother is also best for me.”

      "Seriously? And your father?”

      Why did he insist on that self-centered question? Perhaps to elicit a little exaggerated and false praise from his son? Perhaps to feel reassured about his paternal role, that in reality for years and years had not worried him at all and that only now he was barely rediscovering?

      "I am very happy to be with you, but you are never here, while my mother

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