AnyaKimlin
Confuddled
I'm rewriting this but it's the difficult getting the opening to the sequel right. The basic scene is right but I'm not sure what is confusing to someone who doesn't know the story. It's epic fantasy and I'm hoping to have something on the cover to indicate it is not set in the past. It's a royal family with trappings of the past with where they live and how they dress but they are very much modern complete with smartphones, tablets etc
Wardrobes are safe. Wardrobes are secure. Wardrobes are sanctuary. It seems a lot smaller than it was when I was child. The thick oak doesn't even let in a pin prick of light and it smells of centuries of use. Napathlene has seeped into the grain from many years of mothball use even though we haven't used them in decades. The smell reminds me of my dad. Although it's my wardrobe now and has been for a year, I still think of it as his. I can practically feel him smack the back of my head as I realise I've forgotten my handkerchief. Using a clean tunic that's hanging on the rail, I wipe the tears from my eye and blow my nose. My valet's going to be less than impressed at the extra laundry.
I've never worked out how I manage to breathe in here. Dad said he'd put air holes in but I'd never managed to find them and I suspect he used magic of some description. In those days it was illegal. When my grandfather was on a deadly rampage my father would make me up a bed and put me to sleep in here. All I have today is a tunic for my pillow and my school uniform great-coat for a blanket, unfortunately the latter leaves my feet bare. Galileo, my dad's cat and curls up near my neck. His purring soothes me and I tickle his ears. “Hey, Cat.” As much as I would like to cry there are no tears left to fall. My eye closes and I block out the world. The place where my schoolmaster doesn't want my homework in; my adopted daughter wants a story or to play football; the place where my equerry is making me sign official papers; the place where over a million people rely on me and the place where my wife wants me buried in my family's mausoleum.
A loud thud wakes me up. A knock on dad's bedroom door. Like the wardrobe I've never really thought of the room as mine. There it goes again. Did they not get the memo that I hate the world and I don't want to see anyone? I explained it to my chief-captain, equerry and valet when I told them they were miserable lowly servants who needed to f*ck off. They're my friends and I pray they'll accept my apology.
“Angus!” my half brother's shout tears me in two. I don't want to leave my sanctuary but he's the only person I really want to see. He's like my mortal version of a wardrobe but he's less wooden and smells better. Well except he's not really mortal we found that out last year when the DNA test revealed he wasn't the king's son.
I open the door of the wardrobe enough to shout into the darkened room. “Go away.” Although I know he won't and I don't really want him to. Right now I want him to take charge.
“No.”
“It's an order.”
He laughs which puts me into a petulant sulk. My lip sticks out.
“And if I don't obey?”
“I'll have you flogged and imprisoned.” I won't and he knows that. It's not a serious threat.
“Love to see you try.” He tries shaking the door handle.
I used the iron key to lock it as unlike the digital panel it can't be hacked by an outside source – not without considerable force as the door is even thicker oak than the wardrobe. It's almost impenetrable.
“I'm not planning on doing it myself – I've got an army. It's one of the perks of being king...” I stop and squeeze shut my eye. The other beneath the patch tries to but the muscles are no longer in a position to do so. The last time I saw my dad he said something very similar to me. From the pocket of the king's tunic, I remove a very small tin. I take one of the pills from it and swallow it. Closing the wardrobe door I retreat back into the dark and shut my eyes. In about ten minutes it will hit. My heart rate will increase, pound in my chest, and make my legs tingle. I'll feel alive.
An explosion jolts me. Once I've taken rush it turns even minor events into heart attack moments. I push the door open, a little, so I can see what is happening. Flaming splinters are raining down and my brother is standing illuminated in the door. Rain – well the sprinklers kick in, potentially ruining eight hundred years of history.
Soc, plays with his cuff and looks down before stepping over the threshold. “What a mess. I was only supposed to blow the bloody door open. Sprinklers off and lights on.”
Before he sees me I close the door. Except I already know he will find me. He always does because he can sense the presence of other people. My eye blinks when he exposes me to light. He looks down at me and says, “Coming out?”
“No.” Not yet anyway. I'm not ready to face the world. I am here on my own so nobody sees me make an arse of myself crying. Picking my nose the wrong way gets me headlines so I can just imagine what crying would do to the image of the man they already call “Baby King”.
He sighs. My brother had a whole repertoire of sighs. They range from the minor “I'm bored” to the more serious “You've totally and utterly ruined my life.” Today I suspect it's more “You've ruined my nice cosy evening and now I have to sit here and be miserable with you.”
His face screws up as he sits on the floor near the wardrobe. “It's really soggy.” It forces a weak smile onto my face. My brother hates to be less than perfect in his appearance. As well as a wet arse he's got splinters all over his clothes and his very neat short hair is even more plastered to his head than usual.
Galileo meows in delight at seeing his favourite person in all the world. He leaves my shoulder and settles down in my brother's cross-legged lap. Soc tickles his ears. “I've been hearing reports that you're in a rather bad mood.” His tone is light and he is still smiling a little. However, he doesn't know why I'm in a bad mood yet.
I pull up my knees and bury my head in my hands. All I can do is groan.
“Idiot.” He punches me in the arm.
It forces me to glare at him and wish him all sorts of evil ends. Whilst my hand is rubbing the bruise that is forming. “What on Litae have I done to you?”
“Nothing. I just didn't know what else to do. This time it means I'll help you work it out.” The way he strokes the cat he resembles an evil witch from a TV show I used to watch when I was a child. I stopped watching TV, reading newspapers and paying attention to any media when they started paying me too much attention.
“You can't, Soc. This time not even you can make this better.” I nibble my lip and try not to weep again. “Bea hates me.”
“Your wife adores you and has done since you were four.” He's matter of fact and I can see he thinks I'm overreacting. Soc think I'm a drama queen at the best of times. “It will blow over and you'll soon kiss and make up I'm sure.”
“No. Not this time. I... I told her to get rid of it.” There's no way I can look at him now. I've told someone. It was the worst thing I've ever done in my life and not something I can make right. How do you unsay something like that?
“Rid of what?”
“Our baby.”
“Angus, no, you didn't.” Now he's mad at me. Soc is scary when he's mad. He's the only person who ever stood up to grandfather and lived to tell the tale.
I rub my face and the patch rides up, revealing the place where my eye used to be. “I didn't mean to. It came out.” Tears form and I turn my head to face the back of the wardrobe. “Daisy wanted me to walk her to school, Jack and Nate were talking about a major security risk and Matt had a treaty for me to sign.” With my fist I pound the back of the wardrobe. It doesn't give way. “And then I couldn't find my damn homework. I was packing for school and the world was going to fall apart if I didn't do everything else but you were going to give me a bloody detention if I didn't find my homework.” I cradle my bruised knuckles in the other hand. “Bea picked that exact moment to tell me. When on Litae am I ever going to find time to be a father to another person?”
“Angus?” His voice is softer. “Look at me.”
Wardrobes are safe. Wardrobes are secure. Wardrobes are sanctuary. It seems a lot smaller than it was when I was child. The thick oak doesn't even let in a pin prick of light and it smells of centuries of use. Napathlene has seeped into the grain from many years of mothball use even though we haven't used them in decades. The smell reminds me of my dad. Although it's my wardrobe now and has been for a year, I still think of it as his. I can practically feel him smack the back of my head as I realise I've forgotten my handkerchief. Using a clean tunic that's hanging on the rail, I wipe the tears from my eye and blow my nose. My valet's going to be less than impressed at the extra laundry.
I've never worked out how I manage to breathe in here. Dad said he'd put air holes in but I'd never managed to find them and I suspect he used magic of some description. In those days it was illegal. When my grandfather was on a deadly rampage my father would make me up a bed and put me to sleep in here. All I have today is a tunic for my pillow and my school uniform great-coat for a blanket, unfortunately the latter leaves my feet bare. Galileo, my dad's cat and curls up near my neck. His purring soothes me and I tickle his ears. “Hey, Cat.” As much as I would like to cry there are no tears left to fall. My eye closes and I block out the world. The place where my schoolmaster doesn't want my homework in; my adopted daughter wants a story or to play football; the place where my equerry is making me sign official papers; the place where over a million people rely on me and the place where my wife wants me buried in my family's mausoleum.
A loud thud wakes me up. A knock on dad's bedroom door. Like the wardrobe I've never really thought of the room as mine. There it goes again. Did they not get the memo that I hate the world and I don't want to see anyone? I explained it to my chief-captain, equerry and valet when I told them they were miserable lowly servants who needed to f*ck off. They're my friends and I pray they'll accept my apology.
“Angus!” my half brother's shout tears me in two. I don't want to leave my sanctuary but he's the only person I really want to see. He's like my mortal version of a wardrobe but he's less wooden and smells better. Well except he's not really mortal we found that out last year when the DNA test revealed he wasn't the king's son.
I open the door of the wardrobe enough to shout into the darkened room. “Go away.” Although I know he won't and I don't really want him to. Right now I want him to take charge.
“No.”
“It's an order.”
He laughs which puts me into a petulant sulk. My lip sticks out.
“And if I don't obey?”
“I'll have you flogged and imprisoned.” I won't and he knows that. It's not a serious threat.
“Love to see you try.” He tries shaking the door handle.
I used the iron key to lock it as unlike the digital panel it can't be hacked by an outside source – not without considerable force as the door is even thicker oak than the wardrobe. It's almost impenetrable.
“I'm not planning on doing it myself – I've got an army. It's one of the perks of being king...” I stop and squeeze shut my eye. The other beneath the patch tries to but the muscles are no longer in a position to do so. The last time I saw my dad he said something very similar to me. From the pocket of the king's tunic, I remove a very small tin. I take one of the pills from it and swallow it. Closing the wardrobe door I retreat back into the dark and shut my eyes. In about ten minutes it will hit. My heart rate will increase, pound in my chest, and make my legs tingle. I'll feel alive.
An explosion jolts me. Once I've taken rush it turns even minor events into heart attack moments. I push the door open, a little, so I can see what is happening. Flaming splinters are raining down and my brother is standing illuminated in the door. Rain – well the sprinklers kick in, potentially ruining eight hundred years of history.
Soc, plays with his cuff and looks down before stepping over the threshold. “What a mess. I was only supposed to blow the bloody door open. Sprinklers off and lights on.”
Before he sees me I close the door. Except I already know he will find me. He always does because he can sense the presence of other people. My eye blinks when he exposes me to light. He looks down at me and says, “Coming out?”
“No.” Not yet anyway. I'm not ready to face the world. I am here on my own so nobody sees me make an arse of myself crying. Picking my nose the wrong way gets me headlines so I can just imagine what crying would do to the image of the man they already call “Baby King”.
He sighs. My brother had a whole repertoire of sighs. They range from the minor “I'm bored” to the more serious “You've totally and utterly ruined my life.” Today I suspect it's more “You've ruined my nice cosy evening and now I have to sit here and be miserable with you.”
His face screws up as he sits on the floor near the wardrobe. “It's really soggy.” It forces a weak smile onto my face. My brother hates to be less than perfect in his appearance. As well as a wet arse he's got splinters all over his clothes and his very neat short hair is even more plastered to his head than usual.
Galileo meows in delight at seeing his favourite person in all the world. He leaves my shoulder and settles down in my brother's cross-legged lap. Soc tickles his ears. “I've been hearing reports that you're in a rather bad mood.” His tone is light and he is still smiling a little. However, he doesn't know why I'm in a bad mood yet.
I pull up my knees and bury my head in my hands. All I can do is groan.
“Idiot.” He punches me in the arm.
It forces me to glare at him and wish him all sorts of evil ends. Whilst my hand is rubbing the bruise that is forming. “What on Litae have I done to you?”
“Nothing. I just didn't know what else to do. This time it means I'll help you work it out.” The way he strokes the cat he resembles an evil witch from a TV show I used to watch when I was a child. I stopped watching TV, reading newspapers and paying attention to any media when they started paying me too much attention.
“You can't, Soc. This time not even you can make this better.” I nibble my lip and try not to weep again. “Bea hates me.”
“Your wife adores you and has done since you were four.” He's matter of fact and I can see he thinks I'm overreacting. Soc think I'm a drama queen at the best of times. “It will blow over and you'll soon kiss and make up I'm sure.”
“No. Not this time. I... I told her to get rid of it.” There's no way I can look at him now. I've told someone. It was the worst thing I've ever done in my life and not something I can make right. How do you unsay something like that?
“Rid of what?”
“Our baby.”
“Angus, no, you didn't.” Now he's mad at me. Soc is scary when he's mad. He's the only person who ever stood up to grandfather and lived to tell the tale.
I rub my face and the patch rides up, revealing the place where my eye used to be. “I didn't mean to. It came out.” Tears form and I turn my head to face the back of the wardrobe. “Daisy wanted me to walk her to school, Jack and Nate were talking about a major security risk and Matt had a treaty for me to sign.” With my fist I pound the back of the wardrobe. It doesn't give way. “And then I couldn't find my damn homework. I was packing for school and the world was going to fall apart if I didn't do everything else but you were going to give me a bloody detention if I didn't find my homework.” I cradle my bruised knuckles in the other hand. “Bea picked that exact moment to tell me. When on Litae am I ever going to find time to be a father to another person?”
“Angus?” His voice is softer. “Look at me.”
