by Chii Rempel
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
Acknowledgements
The Rest is Silence. Copyright © 2019 by Chii Rempel.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or modified in any form, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover: Marie Graßhoff
Chii Rempel
Himmelgeister Str. 248
40225 Düsseldorf
Germany
[email protected]
Instagram: FindingBookland
This is a story inspired by Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
Consider yourself warned.
To Julia.
Thank you for being the emotional balance to my Romeo.
1
Xavier
I don’t know how I ended up in the gardens, inside the fountain, dripping wet, in the middle of the night. The ring of the castle around me is quiet, the windows dark and empty. When I try to recall the last thing I remember, my head only throbs and the world is spinning a little too fast for my liking. Somebody please pull the reins before I reacquaint myself with the contents of my stomach.
My foot catches on the marble frame as I try to climb outside my watery bed and the world turns upside down as I fall into an endless void. Suddenly, there is grass beneath my fingers and the scent of wet earth and dirt inside my nose. Huh, not so endless apparently. I look up into the sea of stars, my mouth dry and aching, and I drown in the depths of the infinite sky.
When I awake the next time, the night is still reigning over the firmament, and I am cold and shivering. Apparently, I am still lying on the ground. If I stay this way any longer, I’m sure I’ll freeze my balls off. I can’t have been out for long, but my mind feels a little less foggy, which is a welcome improvement. My throat feels like sandpaper. I wish I had something to drink. Drinks, I think and rake a hand through my thick dreadlocks. Drinks were what have brought me into this situation in the first place. Way too many drinks. Groaning, I heave myself up and wait until my vision is not so blurry anymore before I attempt to get back inside the castle and into my bed. Fortunately, I know these grounds inside and out, so it should be no problem to navigate myself through the darkness, even in my state. The emphasis lies on should. Because of course I have to trip over something – something solid that is not supposed to be there, I’m pretty sure – and once again I find myself in battle with gravity.
“Fuck,” I groan as I land gracelessly on the hard ground. Falling is becoming a regular activity of mine, it seems.
With a sigh I roll onto my back and sit up, reaching for whatever caused my newfound hobby. It’s cold and round underneath my fingers, and so impossibly white it shines against the darkness. Frowning, I pick it up to examine it closer. Immediately, I let it fall and draw my hand back horrified.
“I see you’ve met my friend,” a husky voice says behind me.
A yell escapes my lips that I will deny to my death and I jump, whirling around, my hands raised protectively.
I am greeted by darkness. Bewildered, I look around, only to find myself alone. I check my surroundings as best as I can without a source of light, but it appears there is nobody there. How many drinks have I had, really? Taking a deep breath, my gaze falls back onto the object on the ground. It is still there, an obtrusive white patch inside the ceaseless black. I close my eyes and count to three. The thing is still there. So that has not been a cruel trick of my mind. But the voice has, apparently? My fingers tremble as I kneel to pick up what I hope to be something different than it is.
No such luck.
It is still the same. It is still a skull. An actual human skull.
“Careful, lad. That is not a toy you’re holding there.”
The voice is so close to my ear that I nearly jump out of my skin.
“What –” I tumble backwards, clutching the skull to my chest.
My eyes go wide as I see a man standing in front of me. Or at least this is what my brain tries to tell me, while every fibre of my being screams for me to run. To run and to flee from this transparent silhouette of a man. A man, as much a part of the night as the darkness itself. And equally familiar.
“Don’t be afraid, Xavier,” the thing says, yet its pale lips remain unmoving.
“Who … who are you?” I manage to whisper. Whatever alcohol remains in my body is quickly forgotten. I’ve never sobered up so quickly.
“Have you forgotten a good friend’s face already?”
No. I haven’t.
“That’s not possible,” I mumble.
“I assure you, it is.”
I take in the features of the thing before me. The man before me. Broad stature, sharp features, a familiar shock of blonde, curly hair. Just like the prince’s. But everything seems … pale and ashen.
“My … king?” I ask in disbelief. “But, how …?”
I’ve never believed in ghosts. I still don’t. Whatever this is I’m seeing must have a perfectly simple explanation in the daylight.
“I fear, there is no time for answers. Where is my son?”
“Xander?” I blink, unsure of the mentioning of my best friend. “I assume he is in bed.”
“His or another?”
“… I wouldn’t know.”
The king’s presence flickers and a cold shiver runs down my spine. This must be a dream. Some sick joke my drunken mind is playing on me. I will wake up in my bed any second. Any second now.
“I need to find him. I need to speak to Alexander.”
Any second.
“Where is my son?”
The king comes closer. He is not walking, he is not floating. His body is dragged forcefully over the ground and ever so slowly closer to me. My legs have turned to ice. There is no other explanation for their disobedience at a time like this. This dream is getting out of hand.
“Alexander,” the dead king moans. “Where is my Alexander?”
I beg my legs to move.
“My dear, innocent child. What have they done?”
Suddenly, the king appears right before me. Piercing blue eyes, cold as winter, stare directly into my soul. I might be screaming. I don’t know.
“Avenge me, my boy.”
Everything turns to burning ice as the deceased king touches me. This time, I gladly give myself to the darkness.
2
Xander
“Do you think we should invite the Boulders?”
“What, all the way from the south? Are you sure they’d survive this trip, my dear?”
“Well, maybe that’s the plan, sweetpie.”
I watch with disgust as my mother fiddles around the table, laughing and batting her eyelashes at my uncle – my soon to be stepfather. It’s not even been a month since my father’s early death and they are already planning their wedding. The thought of his cold corpse rotting with the worms while his mourning widow shares his brother’s bed spoils my appetite and I let my fork fall loudly on the table.
The conversation ends abruptly, two pairs of accusing eyes land on me.
“What is it, son?” The calm voice of my uncle raises the hair on my arms and makes me want to puke.
“Don’t call me son,” I hiss.
&nbs
p; “Alexander” my mother chides. “We’ve been over this. Be kind to your king.”
“He’s not my king, yet.”
“No, but I’m your family,” my uncle interrupts. “And you will be kind to your family.”
I stand up and leave the room, but not without knocking my chair over in the process. I’m a bloody drama queen, I know that. But this whole situation infuriates me so much that I have no idea where to put all this pent-up aggression. Maybe I should start boxing. Or fencing. Or fucking. Yes, fucking sounds like a good idea. Tough luck that I have a fiancée. A lovely, charming and absolutely adorable fiancée, who I unfortunately am not in the least attracted to. That’s just my life. I wish I could be attracted to her, I really do. My life would be so much easier if I just married Arcadia and had cute chubby pink-cheeked babies with her. Unfortunately, my life is not simple. My love life even less.
Just as I am about to leave for the gardens, the object of my attraction – and the star in many vivid and embarrassing dreams – tumbles through the door. His black locks are plastered to his face and there is an unhealthy shimmer to his dark skin.
“You look like shit,” I say in greeting.
His coal-black eyes meet mine and there’s a look in them that I’ve never seen before.
“Are you alright?” I stride to him and grab his arm to steady him. He’s way too cold. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
If anything, his look becomes even more grotesque. I help him sit down at the end of the stairs, all thoughts about a calming walk among the flowers forgotten.
“Seriously, mate, are you alright? You’re freaking me out.” He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. “Xavier?”
“I’m … I’m fine,” he breathes weakly. “I just …”
Only now do I realise how hard he’s trembling. His clothes are damp, his skin is cold. He must be freezing.
“Did you spend the night outside?” I ask incredulously. “Are you mad? You’ll catch your death!”
Xavier groans. “No more talk of ghosts or death, please.”
I watch him warily. At least he is speaking.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes and into a hot bath,” I say and sling my arm underneath his to heave him upright. He’s a little taller and way heavier than me, but I’m not exactly scrawny either, so I manage to get him upstairs quite smoothly. A few servants pass our way, but I signal them all not to bother. It’s not the first time that I’m helping the captain’s son to his chambers. He has a reputation for not being able to hold his liquor. Although it’s been a while since I’ve seen him that drunk. The last time has been after an ugly and unnecessarily public breakup with his girlfriend. I wonder what it is this time.
“Do you think you can manage to undress yourself? I’ll go run you a bath.” I sit him down on his bed and vanish into the adjoining bathroom, before he can answer. It’s not like I haven’t seen him naked countless times, but I don’t think my tiny heart could survive if he asked me to actually help him undress. That just wouldn’t be fair.
The hot water is making the small bathroom steamy and I can feel sweat starting to run down my face. Immediately, I shed my coat and roll up my sleeves. I am a prince, I can’t be seen flushed and sweaty. When I step back into Xavier’s chamber, I am both relieved and embarrassed to notice he’s managed to get naked without my help.
“The bath is awaiting you, your majesty,” I joke and hold the door open for him, trying not to look, as he stumbles past me.
“Thanks,” he mumbles and climbs into the detached bathtub, splashing water all over the place.
“Yeah,” I say, risking the tiniest glance and immediately looking away. “I … I think you can manage from here. I’ll be off then.”
I run faster than is proper for a prince and manage to slip into my quarters before anybody can see me. That’s not as much of an accomplishment as it sounds, given that Xavier’s and my rooms are across the hall from one another. I was always glad for the proximity. The castle is a huge and lonely place and I don’t know how I would have survived my childhood if I couldn’t have slipped into Xavier’s bed whenever I wanted without anybody noticing. Well, my governess obviously noticed. There was a time when my nightmares were not so much an occasion as a frequent companion and my bed was left vacant more often than not. But she didn’t tell anybody. I don’t know what my parents would have done had they known. How do you want to manage a whole kingdom someday if you can’t manage your own fears? I’m glad she didn’t tell them. I miss her.
“What got you so hot and bothered?”
I jump at the sound of the familiar voice and look over to find Arcadia casually draped over my divan with a book in her hands.
“I didn’t expect company,” I say with a raised eyebrow and walk over to her. She raises her legs and I plant myself on the cushions, putting her legs over my lap and run my fingers over the silk of her long, navy blue dress.
“Unexpected company is the best company,” she says, without looking up from her book.
“I beg to differ.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I am not obliged to such things.”
“Your face is red, your clothes are rumpled and you’re breathing too hard. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve just been shagged.”
“Arcadia!” I say in feigned indignation. “How dare you expect such improper behaviour from me.”
She chuckles and snaps her book shut. “No, Xan, but seriously. Did something happen?”
Her eyes are open and full of concern and compassion and how dare she look at me with such gentleness.
With a loud sigh I let my head fall into her lap and bury my face in her dress. Her fingers find their way into my hair and I lean into the touch.
“I’m only allowing that because my hair is a mess already,” I point out.
Arcadia hums in response, raking deeper and loosening my carefully slicked back curls.
“So? I’m waiting.”
“Why do you have to be so persistent?” I groan.
“That’s what you love about me.”
“You’re right and I hate it.”
“Only proving my point.”
I let out a huff and sit up. “It’s Xavier.”
“When is it not?”, she says and rolls her eyes dramatically, but I can see the small smile tugging on her lips.
I try to shove her, but she catches my hand. “What did he do this time?”
“Get naked,” I huff frustrated.
Her eyes get big at that.
“No no no, not in that way!” I steer back, a slight blush spreading on my face.
“Okay,” Arcadia says carefully, “In what other way did he get naked then?”
“He took a bath.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You know, you are not presenting your case any clearer.”
“I know,” I whine and hide my face in my hands.
Arcadia retreats her legs so she can sit next to me, shoulders pressed close. “Xan, you would tell me if you had sex with your best friend, right? I mean, I am your fiancée, if anybody has a right to know, it’s me.”
“By god, I did not have sex with Xavier!” Now my face is red and my heart is beating. I know she is only joking, our betrothal is no more than meaningless words on old paper, somewhere in an old man’s desk. Arcadia would be the last one to object to me having sex with somebody else. Especially because she knows exactly that my preferences do not lie with women.
The beautiful girl beside me takes my hand and intertwines our fingers.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I know you would have told me. I am rooting for you two, you know.”
“Right,” I huff. “Like I have a chance. He’d be disgusted if he knew of my feelings.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Xavier could never be disgusted with you. He loves you.”
“He loves his girlfriends more.”
She nudges me with her shoulder. “Don’t be ch
ildish, it’s not becoming for a man of your status.”
“Maybe I like being childish,” I say and rest my head on top of hers. Her hair is soft and smells like roses. “I am good at that.”
“I know,” she chuckles. “Hey, how about we sneak into the kitchens and steal some of Daria’s muffins that you’re so obsessed with?”
I laugh. “It’s the middle of the day, there won’t be much sneaking involved.”
“Let’s pretend.”
“I’m nineteen years old, I don’t play pretend.”
“Who just said he liked being childish?”
“Yeah, yeah, alright.” I jump up and pull Arcadia with me, grinning at her mischievously. “Let’s raid the kitchens.”
3
Xavier
The hot soak helps me to feel human again. And the couple hours of sleep in my own bed afterwards let the events of the previous night seem like a bad dream. Maybe they were a dream? God, how much I wish for that to be true.
I peel myself out of bed and put some clothes on. I need to find Xander. I need to tell him … what exactly am I going to tell him? That I found a human skull in the gardens? That I talked to his dead father? Next time, I should think before I get this drunk again. In fact, I should stop drinking altogether, if it brings ghosts to my door. But I had good reasons for getting drunk this time. I’m pretty sure realising you’re hot for your best friend, your prince and future king, and not to forget a man, is quite the sufficient reason to drown your thoughts in alcohol. However, there is no time to think about my own petty problems right now. First, I need to check if the skull is still where I hid it and second, I need to talk to Xander.
Just as I open the door, I am greeted by forest-green eyes.
“Oh,” Xander says surprised. “Hey. Sorry, erm, I just wanted to see if you’re awake. Which you obviously are. I’ve brought you muffins, in case you were hungry.”
As if to accentuate his point, Xander raises the silver tray of muffins in his hands and cocks his head. Well, let’s forget about the first part of the plan then.
