It was a morning with fresh air, splendid and strong sunlight and to tell the truth, a calm and silence that was, to say the least, agonizing to deal with at the royal court of the kingdom of Russia.
The days, the weeks had passed, and the saddest and deepest silence had covered the entire castle with its oppressive aura.
Prince Aleksei moved in the long, wide and cold corridors of the castle, everything was dull around him: the marble floor was cold, the air was cold, his eyes, wet and frozen.
It was disturbing, to be able to hear, in all the silence, the sound of his footsteps, to be able to hear, without any other background noise, how his light body moved in the floor, how his soft black curls caressed his pale face.
His lovely brown eyes were moist and wet from cold and stress.
That situation was stressful and oppressive, he had escaped from captivity to end up in captivity in his own castle.
Two dark and heavy dark circles surrounded his eyes, he wasn't sleeping, he couldn't, for a long time.
He could not do anything anymore, nothing that was not reading and harbouring hatred within him.
He couldn't even sleep with a woman anymore, so much so that he, concentrated on other things, didn't even feel the need anymore.
No, he was not like his brother Dimitri that, with his beautiful and fresh look and with his savoir-faire he could get a woman to bed every week and Aleksei knew it having the room adjacent to that of his brother and having to hear everything, he felt it seeing him every week with a new female company.
Every time the servants passed by, their eyes were immediately focused and focused on the two princes, all the dialogues of the case were always on them, on the "only surviving sons of the king".
But if it was the king, of which every day he was invariably reminded and planted in his brain as a persistent thought, it was the king that he had to go to in order to solve every problem of him.
He wanted justice, he wanted to be him, Aleksei Romanov, the prince, to kill the one who had endangered his life.
The young man came to the door, it was wide and big it smelled of old wood.
Two guards, who were standing there, took care to open the great door, thus letting their lord enter the throne room.
He looked in front of him, his eyes wet and tired from the cold did not dare for a moment to get up to his father, not because that rebellious and revolutionary prince had not had the courage, but exclusively because for a moment he could not understand well what was happening.
His father was there in every way, sitting on the throne, which gilded and powerful for generations had passed from sovereign to sovereign, going back to ancient branches of his own family.
Aleksei was always in awe of his father, in a way, he felt fear and excessive respect for him.
His father looked quite like him.
The king had a pale, wrinkled face, grey hair down to the middle of his back, and a far too long beard.
A strong shadow covered his small and brown eyes, which through the mixture of genes he had passed to his son.
He had turned seventy he could have been the boy's grandfather and his mother's father.
-Aleksei...- the sovereign began to speak -... Didn't I order you to stay in your room? Why are you here then? Why did you disobey my orders?-.
The prince clenched both fists, squeezed them so much that he almost dipped his nails into his palms.
He did not want to answer, not now that not even his mother was there to support him, to help him try to convince the man in some way.
No, he was alone and alone he had to overcome the awe he had of his his father.
His curls tickled his pale cheeks, he couldn't think, not like this and not under stress.
-I am here father...- Aleksei admitted taking courage -to ask for justice, for me...for my attempted murder...-.
The prince's voice swayed, choked in his throat almost, with the cold air that hit his respiratory system, his lungs.
His gaze was lowered, his wet eyes were lowered to the white floor.
He was so tired...in those days he had started writing letters and legislative articles as if he had no time.
He had been visited a couple of times by his older brother, who had helped him personally supplying him with coffee, pure and sour in color, which at that time in the year 1736 was still relatively difficult to buy, given its cost.
The prince was ready for anything he was ready for war, it was what he would propose to his father that morning, his revenge.
But as far as the young lord could imagine, instead of seeming to feel empathy for him, his father began to laugh, a single, powerful and somewhat nervous laugh that soon broke the oppressive silence that morning.
-Why are you laughing father? How come you don't just agree to listen to me for once?!-.
The man came to his senses, looked at him, placed his critical and majestic gaze on the prince, looked at him sternly.
Although Aleksei was his third and last child, he was not his favourite.
Like every youngest son of the royal families, Aleksei counted very little compared to his older brothers, he only counted for little because being the youngest he would have had less chance at the throne than his other older brothers.
Aleksei had always wondered, always asked questions about his birth, about his existence, that despite being a handsome person, with a strong passion for study and literature, if his birth had been nothing but a mistake.
Had his father ever thought of him? Did he want to have another child after his brothers?
The prince knew his father wanted more than anything strong heirs ready to run a kingdom, but from Aleksei, young lord and prince, he could not expect much.
Because Aleksei was too frail, because since his childhood he had always been better at writing than at planning wars and fighting.
His delicate soul was not in line with his father's expectations.
-I have no intention of starting a war because of you Aleksei, do you want to end up like your brother Vassily too?- the man asked harshly -do me a favour, son, go back to your room, I will not allow you to go out again...-.
The young prince was demoralized, depressed, because no one but his mother seemed to be able to understand him.
Why was it so difficult to communicate with his own father?
-Please father...- the young man pleaded -I beg you, don't do this to me...-.
-You will spend this time in confinement, Aleksei, given your obstinate and insolent character, this can do you nothing but good...-.