Several days, several months had passed and from the cold and freezing winter Russia was slowly passing to a warmer and more comfortable season, that of spring.
Many things had changed in those months, too many, to tell and also to remember, but not generically, for Aleksei time passed slowly, very slowly, and he was not able to bear that situation, anymore.
Now the prince was sitting on one of the precious dark chestnut chairs, one of the most precious woods and with the best construction, the backrest and the lower part itself were then made of a soft purple material, quite comfortable.
But there were not the colours that mostly caught his attention, not so much as the mixture of them that he was able to observe outside the precious and heavy glass of his window.
The sunset was so beautiful, the colours were not common, not those that the prince was forced to observe millions and millions of times inside his castle.
The sunset was a dying light, which in some sense mirrored Aleksei's sad feelings.
It was so dim that light, it wasn't quite a salmon pink, no, it reflected in it, in the clouds too, some reflection of a strange but beautiful reddish light.
Perhaps it had been for some time that the prince had never taken the time for himself to stop, breathe, let his worries slip out of his body, let the air in his lungs, be able to calm down and enjoy the beautiful light that that world made available to him every day.
It snowed in those days, but it did not snow as heavily as it had in that winter, not as much as the prince was repatriated to his country and had immediately undergone the change in temperature, from temperate England to cold Russia.
Yet he was so strange, once in England he had wished most of all to be able to return to the homeland where he was born and raised, but now that his dream was finally fulfilled, he could not feel sadder.
He stood there now, pressed his elbow against the cold marble sill of the large window in his room, watched the sunset, thought.
Aleksei was a handsome young man, in his twenty-five years he did not miss anything, he did not lack beauty, culture, education, royal blood which flowed in his veins.
He looked at the window and suffered, he saw his figure, his tired eyes gazing incessantly, his curly black hair, almost up to his shoulders, moving with weary slowness, they moved by the weak current of the wind.
Why did he especially look so much like his father? A person that he could not stand so much.
Why hadn't he, like his brothers, inherited the appearance of his kind mother?
The world and slowly his own family turned against him.
He slowly sat down in the chair.
His father hated him, he couldn't stand him, unlike his brothers, who on the contrary were for the king the reason that kept him alive.
Why did his father treat him in such a cruel way, was it because of their exaggerated similarity or because he was not the firstborn?
Was it because he was often sick and in poor health? Because he wasn't strong like his older brothers?
There was a very long list of aspects that could actually lead the king to think that his youngest son was not a worthy heir to such a great kingdom.
Why had he begotten him then? Why had he wanted the birth of a child that he did not consider a worthy heir? Had he thought of him? Had he ever wanted him?
There were so many questions that would have been unanswered, perhaps for his entire life and none could be answered, not simply, nothing could convince the prince that his birth was nothing more than a mistake.
He looked beyond the clear glass of the window, he observed the snow outside, he looked at the houses that spread all around the valley, at the sunset, which with its last rays greeted that enormous space of land that stretched out under the eyes of the prince.
The city was quiet, Aleksei could hear no noise, no person's voice, no animal noise, the clicking of horses' hooves on the stone streets, no smell in his nostrils, not even one, not even the disgusting smell of towed animal feces.
One, only one of the things would have been enough to make him a little happier.
He did not need the luxury, the riches, the books, everything that his father had put at his disposal, he just wanted to get away from there, to be free, not to be a royal anymore.
He finally heard a noise, the click of the latch of his room, the sound of footsteps, he hadn't heard it for hours, he hadn't met anyone for days, not since his father had decided to lock his own children inside their respective rooms.
That whole apocalyptic situation had started from the moment that the enemies, in the middle of the war had imprisoned the king's firstborn, Vassily, had impaled his body and cut off his head, sending it in a bundle dipped in blood to their father.
That trauma, that assault, the loss of the first-born heir to the throne had sent his father into a state of panic and apprehension, so much so as to put the two children who remained in an invisible prison in their own castle.
He hadn't seen his father for a month, his brother for a few weeks, his mother for a few days, he was alone, he was afraid, like an instinct, the weakest, the one who was left alone was always the easiest victim.
His mother was there, she stood still, on the threshold of the door, majestically, although her body was neither strong nor powerful, she was in perfect shape.
The woman kept her long caramel brown hair, almost blond, down on her back.
Her face had no wrinkles, none, perfect for her fifties, she had two big of a light blue color, like the sky free from the clouds, she had a delicate and upturned nose and cheeks covered with a bright reddish color.
She smiled, but it was not a sincere smile, not of happiness it was of compassion, it was of sadness, of lost hope, she too hated her life, she too hated her husband, she felt she had never really loved him, if not for the arranged marriage that her parents had chosen for her.
Anne Patterson approached her son, at the place where he was sitting, where he watched the sunset, pressed his pale face in her delicate hands, caressed it, caressed his hair, dipped her fingers in it, squeezed it affectionately, she sighed, he was her son, it was she who gave birth to him and she missed him, she missed him so much.
-How do you feel Aleksei? How are you my son?- asked the woman almost rhetorically, as if guided by a precise rhythm her hands clasped and caressed the prince's hair.
He was sick, he wanted to tell her, he felt a recluse, if he had not gone out he would have died, it would have been his father to indirectly kill him, but seeing the sadness of the woman in her eyes he did not answer, nothing but a small hint.
Aleksei was the woman's favourite son, secretly, there had always been something that connected them, the two, but Aleksei had never understood how or why.
They both shared impatience and hatred and it was then that Aleksei let the long-awaited question slip from his lips.
-Why does father hate me, mother?- asked the prince feeling, as more insistently the woman's hands were acting more and more with worried force on his curly black hair.
-Your father loves you, Aleksei-.
Good explanation, exact excuse, but not for a young man with his intelligence, it was quite the opposite, that his father hated him more than anything and everyone.
He shook his head, he didn't love him, he couldn't love him, they were too similar and two similar forces inevitably tended to repel each other.
-He's only afraid for you, my son, afraid, since the day you were born... -explained the queen with a sweetness in her voice, a sweetness that immediately led the prince to calm down more.
What did she mean by the day of his birth? What had happened, why did his father hate him so much? Everything was linked to the day of his birth, therefore, when he had made space from his mother's body to the outside world.
- You see my son, at your birth I was still very young, inexperienced, forced to carry the descendants of a man who was so cold to me, so foreign, not out of love...-.
Aleksei understood everything perfectly, he too in his mother's shoes would have felt the same feelings, this did not mean that she loved him and his brothers less, they were her children and they were everything for her.
-For the first years I endured two births, those of your brothers, Vassily and after five years Dimitri and then, a few years later, I was pregnant again, with you...another pregnancy was not planned for me, the king did not want more than two children anyway, he was angry with me, but you were still our son...I loved you from the first moment I felt you in my womb-.
Aleksei was right, his birth was a mistake, it was not planned, he knew he was useless for his father, but he also knew how much sons counted for a king and he felt a glimmer of positivity in all of this.
-You were born that it was winter, it was night, cold and for some reason I had difficulty in bringing you into the world, it was as if you were in some sense predestined to arrive in a world with pain, of a labor that lasted several hours, of a birth which made me risk my life, the doctors could have saved you or me...-.
-Your father intervened, he chose you immediately, without hesitation, this was what surprised me at the moment, that the man, whom I had always hated, was instead so attached to his own son, to you, Aleksei, to risk my life, the life of his wife, to let you live, my son, it was the most beautiful thing of my life, to be able to hold you in my arms for the first time, to be able to see you grow...and you grew up so fast...-.
What happened to his eyes, why were they so moist and annoyingly itchy, what happened? Was he crying? No, it wasn't possible, not him.
This story had never been told to him, it was strange to know, strange to think that his father was ready to sacrifice his mother's life in order to let him live, it was strange that his mother, still twenty-five years old at the time, had endured the immense and excruciating pain of labor to bring him into this world.
This did not let him change his opinion about his father, for him he was always a monster who did not have a heart, yes, but this did not change the fact that he was still his father and loved him, deep down, in his heart.
-As I saw you born, I also understood that there would have come time for you to live your life, your adventures, choose your love on your behalf, do everything I could never do...- Anne opened the door, what did she want to do? What did she meant by it?
-You are free, go, I know this is what you want, no one will stop you...-.
The prince was confused, what was going on? He saw the strong light come through the open door, what did she mean? Could he go away? Really? Was this a joke? Was this a dream? Did he have to fight to find out if it was true?
-The troops are already waiting for you, what are you waiting for? Isn't that the throne of England you want? Your revenge...go, do not wait any longer...-.
He couldn't believe it, he was free from a life he hated, free to live his life, choose for himself and fight his battles, wasn't that what he wanted?
He hugged his mother, hugged her so tightly that the woman almost lost her breath, he cried so strong, he was at the head of his war, he was at the head of his own destiny, a rebellious prince, independent, against the whole of England .
-Thank you mother, I really thank you...- the prince sobbed.
The woman caressed his hair one last time -Only one thing Aleksei, be careful, don't get killed, I beg you- the tears of the two began to fall, of happiness, of joy and of pain, they mixed one after the other on the white marble floor.