King of the Sea (Violent Delights Book 3)

Chapter 12: "So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed"

My eleventh year slips away into long winter nights. My days are much the same as ever at Berkhampsted, but Ned is no longer there permanently. We and the rest of the residents are politely silent on the topic, terribly loyal to our Prince Edward. When asked we're pleased that the prince is staying with friends. Little more. And while I miss his company I hardly begrudge him his attention to his family now. He's growing up. As am I, even it feels like my own youth is stretching for centuries.
Deep in winter, Ned invites me to return to Clarendon with him. I am a bit surprised and he rolls his eyes.
"You know everything anyway. You always do."
I of course agree to come stay for a few weeks. I'm glad to get out of my chores if nothing else. And I've never been to Clarendon castle. It's a large palace, in the south of England, a few miles from Sailsbury. Usually we might only use it when going to the Southampton port, but again I don't think I've ever been. It's mostly a hunting property now. Ned clarifies that he and our father hunted there once or twice.
I find the place nearly deserted. A pleasant place for ghosts. A few, silent, rather well paid staff and otherwise the castle is empty. A maze of cold, dark rooms.
There are signs of life though. Ned's wolfhounds race through the halls. He laughs and greets them. And of course the wing that he and Adele occupy is mostly set up. We go to a humble sitting room, where Adele waits. By now she's heavily pregnant, dressed still in a simple cloth dress, and her pale hair down around her shoulders. Ned moves to her side immediately, an arm about her back, and rough hand to her cheek. He kisses her quickly, before turning back to me.
"John's agreed to escape his chores with us for a while," Ned says, arm still about her.
"It's good to see you Prince John," Adele says, smiling.
"You don't have to call him that," Ned says.
"He likes it."
"I like it," I confirm.
Ned shakes his head but doesn't argue it.
We have supper together by the fire, and soon I have them both laughing relaying gossip at Berkhampsted. Ned forgets I can be charming when I like, and I'm entirely pleasing all evening. It's natural though. I find myself relaxed in their company. Perhaps because I have never seen my brother so at peace as when he has his arms around her.
I lay before the fire, wine in my head, watching as they lie together on a sofa. Ned, with his arm around her, hand resting her swollen belly. Her head resting on his broad chest, perfectly content. Safe. I've never seen him so entirely at ease, except that day on the ship in the midst of battle. For the first time he feels like he belongs somewhere that isn't pure chaos.
And I don't know what to do with that. Or if I've ever felt so at home. Or if I'm even comfortable with the peace I feel here. Quiet. Like we're common people. But we can't be common people. This is pretend. But pretend is all we have. I wonder if Ned knows it's all fake. Or if falsehood must be enough. I don't want false. I want something real to feel this at home. And I wonder, in my young mind, lying before the fire, if I'll ever feel just like this again.
Ned tips his head towards the firelight, warm orange glow on his dark skin, he lets out a soft breath and then puts his face into her hair. As though convincing himself that his love and their child are still here in his arms. And I wonder to myself how long he can keep them there. And if I'll ever know a similar joy. Or if anything will ever be that pure for me. I don't think I feel things the same as other people. But I don't know because I've never been anyone else. Nor do I want to be. But in my mind I fear the future, even though I wish to construct it. What if I can't?
The next morning when I wake cool music is playing through my head, but I've no instrument to play it on. I wake early as if I'm still a page. And I rise and dress myself, no servants about. I wrap up in my cloak, and go to walk through the empty halls of the palace. A wolfhound follows me, but otherwise I'm alone.
I do it because I've never walked through a completely empty castle before. I've never been so alone in my head. I always like what is going on in my head. And there's no schedule no one stopping me from walking the empty halls. Imagining when they were full. Imagining the days of Henry I who used to hunt here. Or Richard the Lionheart. All of them dead. Their stories left somewhere in the stones. But I'll never translate it.
It's a sleeping, ancient place. The dead all haunt these halls. And here I am living with so many stories before me. I and my future. The child who will soon be born in these lonely halls. We've our share of adventure before us. An odd beacon of hope in a world so dedicated to times past. One day I'll be little more than a memory. Will that matter if I've had my days in the sun? Or if no one has known I walked these halls alone? Just a secret between myself and the ghosts whose names I'll never know.
The castle is cold, and dark with the only light settling in pools on the rough stones. I don't search for anything. Just enjoying the unique quiet in each room I find. Every one is empty as the next. But my own thoughts are pleasing to me as ever. And I have never felt less alone than in this empty place.
We're never going to be common people no matter how we try. And I don't want to be. I don't want to be a ghost among these ancient halls. I want them to speak my name for centuries. I want to belong to the centuries. For if life means nothing at all, I'll create a meaning and weave it into the fabric of the universe.
And as I walk through the empty halls, I imagine them full of light again. And laughter. The ghosts of children past who played here. Intertwining with my visions of the future. My own family one day, my own lover I will visit. My own sons and daughters to guide and train. And we'll never end. Our stories will never end just as my parents and grandparents live in me. It's all complete.
And none of it makes sense quite out of my head. But it doesn't need to. It's only for me here in the quiet.
My days here are filled with endless quiet. I've never heard my thoughts so loud. But my mind is my own endless kingdom, and has always been my one true pleasure. And I find myself happy here. It's not a sad sort of alone. The ghosts of the past hold no horror for me. It's simply my day in the sun.
I run with the dogs through the halls. Just a pack of great black creatures following me as I run, skidding on the damp stones. I'll hide from them among the columns, as they tumble past, intent on finding me, well aware of the game. A thousand heartbeats of my ancestors filling these silent halls.
We race between the patches of sunlight from the windows. The dogs eventually knock me over to lick my face. And I laugh, slowly climbing back to my feet again. Just one man. Right now just a boy learning how to be a man with the weight of ten thousand legacies in my bones. But it only lifts me up. This my life. I know I won't live forever, but my dreams can. I don't even know it'll all work out in the end, just that it will. And for once I don't need a fixed plan for everything. Whatever tomorrow brings. I'm ready for it.
We all only have one chance at life. And I'm glad this is mine. In the echo of the ages past, with the heroes of old looking upon me. We're all only stories one day. And I'll make mine a legend.
I pass the days quietly. Playing with the dogs and the shadows. In the evenings I'll play cards with Ned and Adele. We tell her about whatever amuses us, usually re-explaining our branching family, and tales of feast days past. I think she gets no end of amusement of anecdotes beginning with simple words like 'our father', our father who is of course King of England and France. Our sister who is a princess. And ten minutes into the tale, a man who'd helped smuggle us out to a joust was the Duke of half of England. I don't know if she keeps everyone's real identities straight, or cares to. All that fades away like the smoke from the fire. Just a memory lingering in the air that we're in a hall of kings and telling tales of kings.