Ciaran rested his head on the cushion of a chair, with his bare feet facing the dancing curtains and watched the contrast of the doll against the light. the edges of the rough wood formed a figure from which you could not tell whether it was facing the outside or the inside.
The curtains remained swirling around lifting glittery dust. The breeze burned against his skin, but he remained still. He closed his eyes to the sound of soft snores and opened them to the sound of an axe chopping wood. He was lying in bed next to a sleeping Orla.
He stepped down wooden stairs dragging his fingers through wooden tiles. A flower seemed to grow of a moldy corner.
Chatter and laughter were interrupted by loud thumbs. Clodagh was not there, in her place was a group of middle-aged women. The kind of woman that had a characteristic groove when walking. The kind that easily brough up a conversation. The approachable kind, and yet, the so much called next to be king Ciaran was a lame excuse of a prince.
The kind to avoid eye contact when speaking. The kind that sleeps in the floor to avoid an awkward interaction with his mother.
Ciaran is not shy, he is not usually shaky or frail, but he is also not the kind to be experienced with etiquette. He is a young royal that was never approached with class by a woman, instead he was rejected by his father and neglected by his mother. He is a brute that is aware one's bearing Infront of a woman is to never falter but he is never had the chance to experience womans grace.
Clodagh is not dear to him, she is not a mother, not a firm tree, not a warm cloth or even a sharp weapon. She is just the Queen.
Ciaran walked out the back door to a blond boy chopping wood as he imagined. The boy reached the base trunk smoothly as if it was easy. He continued to do so, not once turning his head around. With his back facing Ciaran and the axe swinging up and down, the sound continued without rest. He watched with eagerness, keeping himself from approaching him. Doubting if would be appropriate, after all he seemed his age, with such slender figure and yet with such force, he inspired epicenes.
Orla appeared holding some fruit, chewing loudly. Some strands of unbraided hair flying everywhere, some sticking to her cheeks, some were already in her mouth. Not a classy princess, a princess, nonetheless.
When he realized the thumbing sounds were gone, he turned his face to the blonde boy, he was gone, not the firewood, nor his axe were there. Just the warm breeze with pine trees smells.
The day went by fast, he could barely focus on small talk, instead he kept hearing the boy chopping wood, as if he could walk out to the entrance door and find him there.
when it was night again, he realized Clodagh had not appeared throughout the day, he wondered if she had expected to take so long in her journey, if she was prepared for such trip, she should have said something to them. He expected her to be safe, she wouldn't be negligent with herself, she was the one to always tell him to carry himself as the prince he was.
He entered their room to find hid younger sister sitting on the floor next to the bed holding a lightened candle. The cold in that room differed from the rest of the castle. it could have been the permanently opened balcony door only covered by thin fabric.
He couldn't help but feel empathy for her, she was usually a playful child, not the kind you'd want to see cry in a cold room.
"I'll sleep next to you for the night, Clodagh might take longer than anticipated." Ciaran untied the laces of his shoes while maintaining eye contact with her, as nonchalant as he could be, acting as an adult and keeping her from shedding ng tears since he was certain he was unable to comfort her, instead they both could end up crying.
"When I woke up, she was not in bed, I was all alone." She said while lowering here head staring directly at the light of the candle.
"I didn't notice her leaving either." Ciaran wondered if the maids knew anything, he couldn't bring himself to ask them anything, specially ever since that morning he was strangely distracted.
"She took the doll with her." She said as he turned away and covered herself in the bed blankets.
He laid in bed thinking of what she had just said. The candle was still on the other side of the bed, in the floor. The yellowish shadows drawn by her static hair floating above the candle merged with the shadows of the tree leaves by the whites of the moon light.
He watched the shadows for as long as he could until he could hear Orla's snores, then he stepped out of the bed and blew the candle off. He knew better than to leave that on.
He felt his legs tremble, so he held on to the corners of the bed frame. He pulled the blankets and then he heard it again. The boy chopping wood. It felt like cold water running down his spine. His legs could barely hold him, but he knew he had to see him, or he would lose his head.
Ciaran was careful to not make any noises while stepping down the stairs, holding his breath in thinking of his mother, of his sister. He walked past the living room where he saw in the corner of his eye, the doll, sitting where usually was a flower vase by a window.
He reached the door and held on the handle for two seconds.
"If you talk to me, I promise I'll listen to you for the rest of my life. until I die, you will have someone." He turned the handle and pulled the door in revealing what he knew was there all along.
The boy chopped wood unbothered. He just stared at his back for a minute and then continued to walk towards him.
"Isn't that a lot of wood?" Ciaran said with a trembling voice doubting he could speak any more than that.
The boy flinched, he lifted his faced and turned to Ciaran who was standing 10 meters away from him.
He frowned. "What are you doing here." The blonde boy leaned his body on the axe in disbelief.
Ciaran was glad, his face seemed normal, not like a ghost, his cheeks were flushed.