2. Staying at home

Eleven years later

Nyte

That dull ache - the one that liked to gnaw at the base of my neck like some kind of demon rat creature - was back again. I’d been lying on my bed for four hours, counting the seven hundred and twenty three dapples on my bedroom ceiling - an activity that is just about as thrilling as it sounds- and wondering how possible it is to actually die of boredom, to slowly begin to decompose without even noticing. Now, though, my back was aching and I had the strange urge to actually do something entertaining for a change. This would require a bit of effort, of course, but counting ceiling dapples can only be done so many times a day.

“Paper!” I yelled out to whichever servant happened to be nearby. “Paper, paper, paper!”

The servants never really liked to take their time with me, and I knew that one would produce today’s exciting edition of The Silhouette soon enough. I hadn’t heard from my dear friends Aunt Annie, Susan-menstrual-cramps and Rupert-superfan for a while and I desperately needed something to brighten my day. I could also indulge in a bit of servant bashing on the side, I thought brightly.

There was a loud knock on the door and a teenage faerie with ridiculously blow-dried hair flounced her way into the room, not even bothering to wait for my permission. She gave me one of those wide-eyed, curious looks, before tossing the newspaper in my direction. I idly watched it flutter down around me. This servant was obviously a new girl, I decided. She’d heard all of the rumours about me, of course, but had never actually seen me. My father was fond of employing idiots like this, and I had to endure the company of one at least once a week. The last one, a short vampire guy, had been dragged away from my room, talking gibberish about flowerpots and avocados. I laughed darkly to myself at this happy memory, I’d been in a bit of a bad mood that day.

“Hello,” I said, smiling nicely.

“Uh, hi,” said the girl. “I brought you the paper.”

I glanced at the paper, which was now spread out in pages across my bed. “Did you?” I asked. “I didn’t notice!”

The girl gave a timid little laugh and began to edge towards the door as if I’d just hit her or something. Some people just don’t appreciate good manners. I frowned, deciding to make her feel as uncomfortable as I could be bothered to do.

“Do you hate me?” I asked her. Making people feel awkward isn’t that fulfilling but it doesn’t require much effort, and I was still pretty much in zombie-mode. Effort was the enemy.

“Wha – what?”

“You hate me,” I smiled. “That’s why you want to leave me. Because you hate me.”

The girl said nothing, but began to gape at me in a very unattractive way.

“Yes,” I nodded. “You hate me.”

“I don’t – I don’t even know you-“

“Oh don’t worry,” I said cheerfully. “Don’t feel guilty or anything. I hate you too.”

The girl frowned at me and placed a hand firmly on the doorknob. “I’m going now,” she said.

“Scared?” I grinned.

The girl began to gape again, but swallowed and marched through the door.

I sprawled out over the bed again. I’d lost her, but, in my defence, I hadn’t really been trying at all. That stupid servant had gotten off lightly. I could have forced fear into her, gone invisible or just gone for the old classic of throwing insults. Servants always love to participate in a good fight.

I yawned, rolled over and gathered the splayed sections of the paper together, before flicking over to page 46, where Aunt Annie’s name gleamed in curly black writing.

I treat each of my letters and their replies from Aunt Annie with great respect, cutting them out each day and putting them in my top drawer in chronological order. This way, I’m always able to find something to cheer me up slightly, no matter how dull my life is being. I made a serious effort to get out some of my more recent letters, and spread them around me so that I was surrounded by rants about evil parents, evil rumours and evil punishments. I picked up yesterday’s question and answer combination and read it reminiscently.

Dear Aunt Annie,

Having taken your wonderful advice about speaking to my evil parents, my outlook on life has completely changed. Thanks to you, my beloved Aunt Annie, I am not only a better son, but also a better person. I will never again consider killing my wonderful parents when they annoy me and I have discovered that I love them even more than I love myself. How will I ever be able to repay you? Will my undying love be enough?

Anonymous, 16, Hayleigh

Dear Anonymous,

Although I am very happy about this improvement, I can’t help but be suspicious. Are you taking my suggestions seriously?

Aunt Annie

Poor old Annie. She didn’t stand a chance. It had taken nine letters for her to become suspicious of me and, according to this new letter; it had taken ten letters for her to retaliate. I read it quickly, feeling a smirk tug at my cheeks.

Dear Aunt Annie,

No. Am I a freak?

Anonymous, 16, Hayleigh

Dear Anonymous,

Get a life.

Aunt Annie.

Charming. Still, amusing though it was to ‘see’ Aunt Annie getting angry, I had the nasty feeling that she’d never print me anymore. Now that she’d found out that her daily dosage of teenage angst was fake, I’d be lucky if she even read my letters. I’d need to get another hobby some time soon, I thought grumpily.

I groaned and dragged myself up off the bed, deciding to make an effort to indulge in my second favourite activity: winding up my father. He was not exactly my favourite person in the world, and was prone to calling me lovely things such as ‘different’, ‘a product of complications’ and, my personal favourite, ‘a lost cause’. Always one for compliments, my dad. He also was half of the dream team responsible for my imprisonment in the castle, something that I’d never forgive him for.

I left my room and slumped down the stairs, cheerfully watching my father’s servants scatter around me. Because of my not-so-distant past, they don’t really like to hang around me too much, and only come out to see me when they absolutely have to. My last personal servant had died a couple of months ago, so recently my social life had been minimal – I’d even been reduced to mirror-talking a couple of days ago, and often had riveting arguments with the TV. All this had worked to achieve was to enhance my long-standing belief that I needed to get away – and fast. Being grounded for life just wasn’t healthy, especially when it was so unjustified. I mean, I’d never actually done anything, things had just happened. But because of these…occurrences, I’d been locked up at home from the age of three and all the dear Quynxians knew about me, their Prince and heir to the throne, came from wonderfully vicious rumours. According to the servants, I had quite a reputation. Well, I thought to myself, at least my sheltered life had been good for something.

I could hear my father talking from the dining room – one of those ‘tasteful’ places filled with glass-eyed animal heads and portraits of various long-dead relatives. I had never really approved of my father’s sense of style but, I supposed, talking to so many old people was bound to mess up his mind somehow. He was chatting with some of these people now, having a meeting over dinner. I could have done with some food, myself; I hadn’t eaten for at least an hour and, if I wasn’t careful, I might become healthy, which was only a step away from sporty. Ugh. I clicked my fingers and pushed the dining room door open, preparing myself for a nice fix of calories and merriment. I could have skipped.

If it wasn’t for my strange talent of being able to go invisible at a click of my fingers, I am sure that I would have been as dead as my social life. My father’s no murderer - he’s way too weak for that - but, judging from the constant malicious look in my mother’s eye, she really wouldn’t mind carting me off to the gallows to get my just deserts. In fact, that lovely woman would probably kill me with her bare hands if it wasn’t for the fact that invisible people aren’t exactly easy to find.

My father and his associates were sitting around the table, chatting avidly about trade and eating huge quantities of meat and vegetables. Very few noticed the door opening, so I pressed all of my weight against it to make it slam shut. This made a few of the ministers and advisors reach for their chests and gulp and some of those nearest to the door stood up and looked around in alarm. It’s always nice to make a big entrance.

My father wasn’t shocked at all and looked at his plate with a miserable expression that could have easily been found at a funeral. He likes to look as if he knows all about suffering, my father. It makes him more of ‘a man of the people’, whatever that means. But he knows nothingcompared to me. Nothing. I mean, he’s never been locked up in his own home for thirteen years, has he? He’s just a stupid politician facing the big bad world and searching for sympathy. He’s so pathetic.

“Hi,” I shouted into his ear. I knew that some of the ministers and advisors were a bit deaf, and I didn’t want any of them to miss out on the conversation. Plus, anything that caused my father discomfort was fine by me.

My father didn’t say anything. As I’ve said, I was ‘a lost cause’. Well, I didn’t have a particularly high opinion of him either. The only two things that were good about my father were that he was easy to upset and that he had a nice big inheritance that would eventually be passed down to yours truly.

“Hello, Nyte,” he muttered in his sad, pathetic little voice. He sounded as if he was considering joining his dead brother through the noble act of suicide. Well, there was no harm in a bit of optimistic thinking.

“So you don’t even try to look at me now,” I grinned. “I’m getting quite good at this invisibility business, aren’t I? You must be so proud!”

My father leant back in his chair and shut his eyes. “Please, son, go to your room,” he moaned. “We’re busy in here.”

I looked around with my eyebrows raised. “Yes, I can see that. The party’s really going on in here, isn’t it?”

My father made one of those small, groaning sounds and gave apologetic looks to a few of his associates. Most of them were staring back at him, terrified. I smiled and shrugged to myself as I stalked over to the nearest one – a fat faerie science advisor whom I had terrorized on several earlier occasions – and grabbed the piece of meat from his hand. The advisor, Lucian Greeb, looked at the disappearing meat in dignified confusion before the bone flew back at him and whacked him in the eye.

“Yes, it’s me,” I grinned, having finished a mouthful of pork. “The one you’ve all heard about.” I paused, thinking that this might have sounded a bit stupid. “I’ll make you suffer and then kill you,” I added, just to clarify things.

I then proceeded to skip around the table, breaking plates and glasses, tearing off wigs, whispering in ears and, in general, having fun. Various elderly gentlemen shrieked and cowered, their hands clasped in shame over their bald heads. I just laughed in what I viewed to be a dark, dramatic way. I was an expert in this field.

“Don’t lie, Kinyte,” my father muttered. “It’s not nice.”

Nice? Who wanted to be nice? And who was my father to preach anyway? He’d not been nice when he’d stopped the palace’s supply of strawberry mousse – my favourite food ever – just to punish me when he’d found his iron supplement tablets in my room last year. Sure, these tablets had somehow been replaced with rat poison but who cares about minor details like that?

I was fed up with my father. In fact, I had become fed up with him years ago, so that now I felt a nice surge of hatred whenever I saw him. It was so strong and bitter that it could have burnt right through me, but still had an odd likeness to old trainers.

“We are very busy,” my father said. “Why must you do this?”

I rolled my eyes, but I don’t know why I did because he couldn’t even see it. “Because it’s fun,” I said. I sighed and looked around the room. “Look,” I said pointedly. “I really don’t want to hang around. I just wanted to tell you that I would like a servant.” I smiled brightly, keenly watching my father’s face drop several centimetres.

“Not another one,” he moaned.

“Yup,” I smiled. “Another one.”

My father looked around the room miserably. He hated decisions like this, but he always came around to my way of thinking in the end. He was such a weak guy, and was pathetically easy to manipulate. Face him with a moral decision regarding my fourth gift and he was putty.

I lazily counted down on my fingers, wondering how long it would take this time.

“Fine,” my father grunted after five seconds. “If you leave us alone.”

“I’m as good as gone,” I grinned, saluting him dramatically and turning away. I strode out of the room, slammed the door again, and galloped off up to my room with a huge grin on my face. Things had just gotten so much better.

A/N Heya! Here is the new chapter 2 - although I guess technically its the new chapter one already. I'll add replies later today/tomorrow but for now I've got to go to additional biology. Wahoo! Please review! And thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'll reply in a bit.