The Queen of Elysium

Chapter 62 - Black mirror

Aren leans against the marble counter and stares into the mirror above the basin; eyes the colour of stormy skies stare back, the promise of a summer's day is just a distant memory.

Mechanically, he goes through his morning ablutions, although the term 'morning' is used rather loosely, for he rarely wakes up before midday. The nightmares do not seems quite so terrible in the daylight hours, so he often does not go to sleep until dawn is heralding the start of a new day.

Today there is no way that he can get away with skulking in his room. Today marks the twenty-ninth anniversary of his birth.

As is customary, there will be a big feast in the hall. This is something he is dreading, though not nearly as much as next year when there will be a ball to honour him becoming a man. It is small comfort that there will at least be excellent wine on the table tonight.

After dressing in the dim light of his bedchamber, he walks with dragging footsteps into the equally dingy sitting room and slumps into an armchair. Time oozes by like treacle.

At some point, the door opens and someone enters without first knocking. The scents of food turn his delicate stomach and there is the clatter of china as a tray is placed on a table. Then blinding sunlight streams into the room as the heavy curtains are pulled back.

Shading his eyes with a hand, he tries to focus on the figure silhouetted against the light. It moves and rather than a servant, he is faced with the queen. Surprised, he pushes himself up out of the seat.

"Mother!"

"Felicitations, darling," Ulrica greets him brightly. Her eyes flicker over his form and despite her smile, her eyes seem to reflect disappointment or perhaps disgust.

What kind of a son am I?

She steps close, resting a hand on his shoulder and kisses both of his cheeks. When he wraps his arms around her, she holds him tight and for just a moment he is transported to when he was a little boy. Back then, there was nothing that could not be made better by her embrace. Tears well in his eyes but he blinks them back.

Steering him to the table, she takes a seat opposite him. The tray is furnished with some of his favourite foods. Though he has scant appetite and each mouthful clogs in his throat, he manages to swallow enough to cause some of the tension in his mother's frame to relax.

She places a hand over his. "I hate to think of you cooped up inside on such a beautiful day. When you have finished breaking your fast, would you take a turn in the gardens with me?"

He would really rather not, but is not so selfish as to crush that bud of hope in her expression. He offers his best attempt at a smile.

"I would ..." The words 'love to' falter upon his lips. Instead, he rises and offers his arm, like a gentleman.

"Will you not first finish your meal?" A tinge of disappointment laces her words.

"I think that some fresh air would be better for me."

She rises and accepts his arm, accepting what little he can give. He tries to walk tall even though feelings of inadequacy try to tear him down.

Outside, there is not a cloud in the sky and spring is in full force. The trees are bursting with bright green leaves, there are drifts of colourful flowers painted across the lawns, butterflies are dancing in the air and birds are competing in intricate song. It is the opposite to how he feels inside, which is dark and hollow.

As they walk, the warmth of the sun on his face and the companionable silence actually help to lighten his step. Fate must deem it a luxury too far, for their stroll takes them towards Belinda, who is sat on a bench, staring at a fountain.