1864

Soon to be King. By day and night, that same phrase was a repeating notion from anyone who’d spoken to Alex. One of the most unpleasant prospects in his mind; born to be the heir to a throne he showed no interest in. Defiant and unwilling, but he never spoke a word of his ill feelings for his future. To speak so poorly of his honour to guests would be a disgrace. So, albeit reluctantly, he smiled and nodded at the comments.

The quill pen scratched along the page, filling the otherwise empty silence of dawn. His words had inherently no meaning. Those words would never be published. No one would hear the sweet melodies he conjured up. His talent wasted, spared by his duties as a prince and soon to be king, as reminded.

Sighing as he rose from his seat, he started to pace. Silent footsteps against the floor as he explored the dullness of the castle, the only noise being a few clatters of glassware in the kitchen. He steadily followed the noise, his steps subconscious and absentminded, drawn to any form of sound.

His steps were approaching the door as another emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of glasses and plates. Startled at the unexpected sight of someone outside, inadvertently causing the tray to slip from the servant’s hands, crashing to the floor and shattering. Glass pooled at both their feet, broken remnants.

“Oh,” he started, staring at the mess, “my sincerest apologies. I possessed no ill intent of startling you.”