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Holdgrafer Estate was quiet in comparison to his own palace miles away in the heart of a large city, constantly buzzing with life like an oversized beehive. It was smaller and dingier and darker and Cyelena wasn’t too sure he liked it here very much. There was an overall hanging feeling of depression here that couldn’t be escaped no matter how he brightened his rooms with flashy whites and light blues, and the smell that he often associated with death never left even when the fabrics were washed and when the windows were left open to allow the air in. It was cold inside despite the fire blazing in the hearth, and nothing could shake the feeling of being watched. Cyelena found the place… creepy actually, as if it were haunted though he’d never seen physical proof of this theory. He wasn’t quite sure if this was really the best place for he and his son, but where else could they go? Yes he complained often about it, but in the end he still made Holdgrafer Estate his home with Lord Holdgrafer’s much appreciated permission. And Cyelena did appreciate it, even if he had a poorly way of showing it. He whined and he complained and he threw hissy fits and demanded that everyone call him Queen. He tortured the poor butler and he terrorized the other residents. He was almost never particularly pleasant, and never had been in the nearly two years since he’d moved in, but to Cyelena the fact that he wasted enough breath to complain or be unpleasant was all the gratitude he needed to show. Right? He’d never been one to so openly give thanks, so why start now?

Honestly, that would mean giving up everything he’d known growing up. He wouldn’t do that. No, no…. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself. Because letting go of that meant letting go of Queenship, and he couldn’t…. Because underneath that there was a Cyelena that he’d left forgotten until the evenings, who sat in his chair and waited patiently for someone to stand in the darkness behind him while his eyes focused on the crackling, flickering, dancing light of the bright red fire, so that he could just speak to them, release his heart and let it gallop freely. And if no one showed up, there was always a book nearby for him to pick up and read before bed. Usually… there wasn’t anyone there. Usually he locked his door because he didn’t want to be disturbed except to have his tea before bed, and that was usually the butler’s job. Of course, Tinario had keys to all the rooms in the home, so it wasn’t much of a problem as long as he locked it on his way back out. Usually he’d get hungry in the middle of the night and go downstairs for a snack, then return to bed and leave the door unlocked unintentionally, blaming Tinario profusely because he couldn’t admit to himself that he’d made a mistake. The question remained—why did he lock the door in the first place? Because he didn’t want anyone to come in, would be the logical answer; or, he didn’t want to let himself out. Actually, it was a security device for Cyelena. In a way he felt safer knowing that there was limited access, not because he didn’t like or trust anyone in the home…. It was a hard habit to explain, but as long as he could remember Cyelena had always locked doors behind him. If there was a plausible reason for it he might’ve explained, so when someone asked, he simply responded, ”As a Queen I am entitled to the privilege of locking my own door, and you, commoner, have no say in the choices that I make.”

Even still, the chair was his favourite and when he could be found in no other location of the estate or its stable, one had only to check his room. Cyelena was notorious for disappearing off without telling anyone because why should he? He was the Queen, and the Queen could make his own decisions. Early that morning, Cyelena awoke to find that he hadn’t moved from his chair and that the fire had died down to just the dark red coals. Of course, he didn’t stoke his own fire up, or add more wood because that was sure to dirty his dainty little fingers. There was an invading chill in the room that forced him to shiver because he was wearing next to nothing, but he did little more to ease his situation than sit upright and lift one hand to make an attempt at rubbing the kink from his neck. What time was it? The digital clock on his nightstand was facing away from him so he couldn’t tell, but he knew that it was very early—the sun hadn’t even touched the snow-capped hills on the horizon where the land owned by Lord Holdgrafer ended. That would explain why it was so cold at least. Winter was in full swing, and Cyelena was left wondering what he was doing in only his pajama pants in the middle of the winter. There was no answer because there was no one to ask; faintly, he wondered if he’d been wearing a shirt when his tea was delivered on the tray that sat untouched next to him, capped with ice. How interesting. He shivered just looking at it and wished that it were time for morning tea, brought to his bedside, because he was cold and there was no real reason for him to remove himself from his seat, other than to stop himself from catching cold, but what kind of reason what that? Cyelena scoffed—Queens don’t get sick, he thought to himself and shifted a little bit. The leather was stuck to his back.

It was uncomfortable. Everything was uncomfortable. He had a headache, and he wanted his tea now.

He couldn’t remember exactly when it became a routine to get up at five in the morning and deliver tea to the man who claimed he was a Queen and then go to the kitchens to make sure that breakfast was getting started. It was just the way his schedule was going, so when he woke up a little earlier than his alarm by a chill seeping under his comforter he felt incredibly off. Waking up early wasn’t part of his routine because he was always in bed nearing midnight to make sure that all the daily cleanup was done properly and completely. It was like a nicotine addiction. But that was a whole other conversation that he wasn’t about to start thinking about and he shifted uncomfortably beneath his blankets to try and find some kind of warmth. Why did this place have to be so cold all the time? The other places he’d worked at were always warm no matter what it was like outside and especially in winter but this place was…. This place was insanely cold all the time no matter what and he was used to it when he was walking around working but not when he was at rest. Sleeping was supposed to be a warm and soothing activity but in Holdgrafer Estate it was restless and exhausting and sometimes he felt like he’d have more luck staying awake all the time rather than sleep at all. At least awake he wasn’t interrupted and he was warm but sleeping…. Sleeping was a hellhole when the Estate decided that he wasn’t allowed and when he looked over at his clock to see it was an hour before he was supposed to wake up he just wanted to stuff his face into a pillow and go to sleep the hard way.

But it wasn’t the time to complain because he knew that if he woke up early he could get started early even as sparks of cold shuddered down his spine when he pushed the blanket aside. Shagged purple locks dropped willingly into bright green eyes glazed with left over sleep. A hand pressed to his face tried to clear them as he shuffled out of the single bed and so tired was he that the cold floors didn’t register to his bare feet. Tinario shuffled, almost zombie like, to the bathroom attached to his unimpressive bedroom to take a shower and get his day started. Sitting on a desk by the bathroom door was his outfit, pre-ironed and set out from the night before so that all he had to do when he got out was put it on and get to work. There wasn’t a point in wasting time in the morning to get dressed when he had to bring this one his tea and then do this and that and then go and check on the horses and make sure they had everything they needed before letting them out into the pasture and then getting to work on the house. It was a busy life he lived but the repayment of knowing everything these people got up to was enough to make it all worth it. “Gah!” Tinario sunk back away from the sprat of the showerhead and looked down to see clothing clinging to skin. “Fun,” he muttered because this was the best way to start the day. It was what happened when he didn’t get all his sleep or when his routine was interrupted by something as silly as the cold. And the rest of the time went by the same way until he’d managed to get toothpaste on his tie and he didn’t have another one until the laundry was done so he ended up without it.

It would be like an eyesore he knew. The tie was part of his look; powder blue button-down dress shirt, black suit vest and comfortable but formal looking pants but no tie. Where was the tie? The tie had mint flavoured toothpaste on it and wouldn’t be making an appearance this day. The butler looked at himself in the mirror and found his hands searching where the knot should have been and he forced them to drop. He felt incomplete without the formal attire normally situated about his neck but he couldn’t do anything about it because by the time he looked at the clock it was time to go and bring tea to Cyelena and probably be blamed for something. That never failed but it was interesting when the time called for it. He was sure that there was going to be something the ‘Queen’ wanted to blame him for and as he walked down the frigid halls to the kitchen to prepare this tea he wondered what it would be this time. Maybe there was a loose thread in the quilting that he’d pulled out purposely or the pillow case was cold because he’d put ice cubes in it the night before. Anything honestly since Cyelena was so creative with his blame placing because that never failed did it? No. That was why he was prepared for anything he headed towards the room of his tormentor with two cups of tea on a tray and opened the door and just stood there when he noticed what was going on in the room. See, this is where Tinario managed to make his job a little bit more bearable than it was. With two steaming cups of tea in his possession he set the tray down by his side; on the floor; and kept one in his hand that he could sip from.

“Cyelena, you should have stoked the fire to keep it from getting so low.”

Milsem’s hand slapped on the small end table near his bed, several items were radically displace from the blow. His leg was throbbing like there was no tomorrow. If he was lucky there would be no tomorrow and he could remain as he was, brooding under the quilts that were piled on him. As it stood, there was a tomorrow and he was in pain. His digits sought out the amber container that held his little wonders. When he nearly tipped over the half glass of water onto his clock, he decided to engage his eyes in the search.

Lifting his face off the pillow, he blinked his blurry vision at the small surface. The pill bottle was MIA, growling to himself he forcing his body to move. Sharp pain shot through his thigh causing his toes to tingle, the beauty of nerve damage. Nerves healed at a much slower rate than muscle or even bone, if they healed at all. The five different physicians he saw all said the same thing, there was no miracle cure or drug. It was one of those things he had to live with more or less for the rest of his life. His shoulder and arm dangled off the edge of the bed as he searched for the object, locating it slightly tucked under the bed. He seized rogue pills and rolled on his back, with practiced ease he popped the lid and two pills slipped to his palm. He closed it and returned the container to the nightstand, the drugs went down with a swallow of water. These things were weaker than his narcotics he had been on for years, they didn’t make him so loopy. His doctor worried he was getting addicted to them. The only thing he was addicted to was not having constant pain.

Milsem laid upon the pillow, half uncovered to the chill of the room staring at the dim ceiling above. Instead of going back to sleep like he would have liked, his mind started ticked things on his to-do list. He closed his eyes and rolled on his side pulling the blankets with him. His gaze landed upon the fireplace which had only ambers were glowing in it. He fought with reasons to ignore the needs of the fireplace and the fact he could just have the butler deal with it. With a glance at the clock, Tinario wouldn’t be making rounds for another hour. He eased his bum leg over the edge and refused to use his cane for the few hobble steps to the hearth. He found the poker stoked the coals and tossed a few pieces of wood in and leaned upon the warm bricks watching the fire catch. Once the flames were licking the wood happily he limped back to his bed and wiggled under the covers. His leg screamed in pain from carrying his full weight and he growled unhappily once again.

After twenty minutes of pretending his life was not going to hell in a handbasket, he gave up. Milsem once again freed his form from the bed, slipped on his robe and his feet found his slippers. Milsem grumbled under his breath unhooking his cane from the headboard and rose to his feet. Moving with the speed of an old man to the bathroom, he cleaned up and readied himself for the day. The pipes knocked together from the moment he started his shower to the moment he shut them off. He needed to remind Tinario to call someone about that annoyance.

Dressed in a white button up shirt, navy vest and matching slacks. He worked his tie into place before stepping out of the bathroom. He eased the suit coat on and tucked in a pocket square before heading to his desk. On the other side of the large room. Sitting down he rummaged though the papers to find his pen.

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He’d spent that whole hour there in that chair and hadn’t moved. One would think that when one were cold enough, they would move from their place to seek warmth; but Cyelena wasn’t one. Cyelena was a Queen. More technically he was a King, and a dethroned one at that, but Kings where always portrayed to be so thick and rigidly built wearing hideous furs with big round pot bellies. Queens were refined and beautiful, powerful in mind and presence, and Cyelena felt that this image suited him rather well. He felt regal and commanding. Or rather… he felt like he should’ve been. Actually, truth be told, he didn’t feel much of anything right now as the cold had numbed most of his important nerve endings in his body. The only thing he felt was the way the leather pulled at his skin when he tried to move, and he let an inaudible breath pass through his lips—because the sound of exasperation in a sigh is undignified, of course—knowing that he was going to have to move eventually. His eyes stayed locked onto the glowing coals and for a fleeting half-second he was cold enough to consider stoking the fire himself the way he’d always been excited for as a child, when his father finally taught him to build his own fires. Ah, there was a time when Cyelena was a normal little boy, but it was oh so long ago. Now he was a Queen and queens don’t stoke their own fires. He had a valet that had told him that once or twice before he got the idea.

His head tilted slightly in the direction of the painfully loud sound in such a long and empty silence and he recognized immediately that it was the doorknob turning, the latch being released from its hold and the door being pushed forward on its hinges. It must’ve been time for morning tea already; this was a routine Cyelena had been used to from the time he was sixteen and he didn’t plan on giving it up so easily. If he had not a butler or a valet at his side then it was Cargeus’ job though that didn’t always go over too well, but it was perfectly all right now because Tinario was the butler he needed to do the job. Only… Cyelena wished that he hadn’t had such a smart mouth on him. Otherwise he was a perfectly desirable employee for a queen’s services. He was capable, he was intelligent, and he was hard working. He was handsome. Pictures of Queen Cyelena’s court revealed his rather refined—or some would say shallow—taste for beautiful men, and some even featured his delinquent of a son, nearly an eyesore in comparison to the well-dressed and neatly groomed manservants, but Cyelena always kept him close in their photos; these were all on display on the mantle, along with a 12x9in of a much younger Cyelena sitting on his throne for the first time with the crown jewels in hand, an ornate silver tiara cresting his delicately styled up-do of fiery red hair, and a thick white shroud draped over his shoulders tied with a twisted gold cord. Most notable about the picture was his smile and bright eyes. Thinking about that always made him a little nostalgic—they’d told him to look serious, but he felt too much pride in his ascension to the throne straighten his face.

Voice was the next sound he heard, and it was almost taunting. Yes, Tinario definitely earned all the torment that Cyelena put him through, that was for sure, because for all that torture, Tinario gave it back just as hard. It was amusing to the former queen, actually. It was some of the only entertainment left for him as far as social interaction went. “And risk soiling the hands of royalty? Don’t make me laugh,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and letting his eyes fall closed with his head held high, even if the tall back to the chair masked this action. The haughtiness was in his voice, which was surprisingly deeper than one would imagine just looking at him, but clear as crystal and soft, powerful, commanding, all at once. “You should know your place by now, Tinario. Bring me my tea and build my fire up; I won’t say it twice.” Of course, he was always on guard with the butler; he was never quite sure what was next going to come out of his mouth, and there was a sickening feeling attached to that. One of the last things left for Cyelena to feel, however… he’d not only grown used to it, but also rather looked forward to it in the morning. No one, in as long as he could remember, had ever denied him anything.