|| c y e l e n a ||
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 wasnāt too sure he liked it here very much. There was an overall hanging feeling of depression here that couldnāt 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 placeā¦ creepy actually, as if it were haunted though heād never seen physical proof of this theory. He wasnāt 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 Holdgraferās 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 heād 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? Heād never been one to so openly give thanks, so why start now?
Honestly, that would mean giving up everything heād known growing up. He wouldnāt do that. No, noā¦. He couldnāt. He wouldnāt allow himself. Because letting go of that meant letting go of Queenship, and he couldnātā¦. Because underneath that there was a Cyelena that heād 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. Usuallyā¦ there wasnāt anyone there. Usually he locked his door because he didnāt want to be disturbed except to have his tea before bed, and that was usually the butlerās job. Of course, Tinario had keys to all the rooms in the home, so it wasnāt much of a problem as long as he locked it on his way back out. Usually heād 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 couldnāt admit to himself that heād made a mistake. The question remainedāwhy did he lock the door in the first place? Because he didnāt want anyone to come in, would be the logical answer; or, he didnāt 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 didnāt like or trust anyone in the homeā¦. 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 mightāve explained, so when someone asked, he simply responded, āAs 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.ā
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 hadnāt moved from his chair and that the fire had died down to just the dark red coals. Of course, he didnāt 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 couldnāt tell, but he knew that it was very earlyāthe sun hadnāt 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 heād 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 scoffedāQueens donāt 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.