the heir's secret

free

I sit on my bed in silence. I need a chance to think, to recover, away from everyone and everything, just for a moment. The walls of my old room surround me like a pack of wolves slowly closing in on their prey. These walls hold memories, sad memories, ones that have been at the back of my mind for years but never quite forgotten. I had never felt at home here, this place lingered with misery. I have not stepped into this room since I was ten years old, a child.

The silence of the house is a chilling reminder that I have no family, no mother or father, no one. But even when they were alive I was not their child. I was just an heir, someone to inherent their estate but I was not a son and this was enough to make them dislike me. Two days ago me and Elizabeth arrived back at Hatfield. We had not talked the entire journey, the awkwardness was unbearable, I wanted to scream and I'm sure she felt the same. I am angry at her still, she almost had me killed because of her stupid decision. When I walked into her chamber, she looked at me, a vision of longing and desperation and I felt something build up inside of me, something that I should not feel.

I changed my mind right then. I told her right then that I would no longer be her lady in waiting. I have inherited my father's estate and so therefore I shall live there and make use of it. I shall be my own person, not controlled by anyone. I will study and dance and sing and...
But as I sit here, I have no desire to do any of those things.

Her heart broke right in front of my eyes and she cried, I made her cry. I knew it was for the best so I packed my bags and left.

The tower was a prison, I was a bird in a cage but now the cage has been opened. I should be flying, soaring through the wind but instead I make the earth my cage, I imprison myself. There are no maids here, no servants. They were all dismissed when my father died. His bookcases left to collect dust, his plants overgrown and dead from the cold of winter. This place is the corpse of an angel, once beautiful but now cold and rotten.

Slowly I step off my bed, a few pieces of dust flying up into the air with the movement. I open my bedroom door revealing the long hallway that leads to the grand staircase. "You're not leaving me?" I remember Elizabeth saying after I had told her.

"This is no one's fault but yours!" I had replied, my anger rising. "You Tudors are all the same, you are like a moth to a flame. You couldn't just wait until she died, you had to risk your life and mine! Well, moths burn. You are a selfish bastard like your father!" I regret it, I regret saying that so much.

I wonder what she's doing now.

The tower had been a life changing experience. When you are so close to death you start looking back at your life, the happy times and the bad and your regrets. I want so much more of my life, when I was young I loved astrology, but that passion was gone when I met Elizabeth. She clouded my mind, I was so obsessed with her that I forgot who I truly was.

I walk down the steps, the sound echoing off the empty walls until I reach the hall below, a hall that was once filled with music. My feet start moving to an imaginary tune, the silence is my rhythm. I start twisting around the hall, floating into an ecstasy of dance as my body moves. I twist and turn, imagining the hall filled with laughter and wine, every man's eyes on me, some are brave enough to approach and take my hand as I turn from partner to partner. I look over my partners shoulder searching for someone whom I could spend the rest of the dance with, someone who could comfort me, hold me tight. I search for Elizabeth but she is nowhere and the dance will never end. Suddenly I trip, falling onto the floor in a heap, I plummet straight back into reality as I come face to face with the silence again, the deafening silence. My elbow begins to sting and I look down to notice blood.

Why do I feel like this? I have the chance to do what I always wanted to do, but is it what I always wanted? Suddenly I begin crying, my tears rolling down my cheeks and onto my dress. I let them fall, sometimes even the jester must cry.