“Easy, easy.” Edmond said as he helped Mercedes through the door. Jacopo followed him quickly and closed the door after them.

“But…” Albert started but Edmond stopped him.

“Not now. Stay outside.” Edmond said and closed the door and let Albert outside.

“You can’t just close me out!” Albert shouted and hammered on the door. No response. He cried angrily and sat down on a chair. Tears ran down his cheeks. Angrily he dried them away.

He still remembered those moments when they had reached Monte Cristo’s estate. Or rather Edmond Dantes’ estate. Or whatever his name was. It now seemed ages away, though it was only few hours. And those hours he had spent walking up and down outside the room until the count had come out, pale and tired, and told him that his mother was all right. Albert had rushed into the room and sat down beside Mercedes who smiled happily but weakly.

“Don’t cry, my love. Don’t cry.” she had whispered. Albert had suddenly noticed that tears were running down his cheeks again.

“I am… just happy that you are all right.” he had said.

Mercedes had reached for his face and kissed his cheek. He had then been forced to leave by the count who had instructed Jacopo to show him a room where he could get some sleep. But he had not slept. Not one single minute.

He had spent the time thinking. Thinking about all that had happened. He sat by the window, looking out at the large, exquisite garden. A few servants walked around, turning off the lights. Soon after the entire garden was dark, only lit up by the moonlight. He had opened the window a little and could feel the wind cool his face.

His father was dead. Or rather, the man he had thought was his father was dead. Fernand Mondego was dead. The man Albert had thought to be his father for 16 years. Until today.

“You are the son of Edmond Dantes.” He could still hear his mother’s voice in his head. The words still rang loudly like church bells. And it would not cease. He could now see a certain resemblance between himself and the count, but still he could not see him as his father.

Fernand had not been much of a father, but Albert had still looked up to him, admired him and loved him like a son would love his father. But now it was all a lie. All the times he had called Fernand “father”, all the times he had felt proud of Fernand… all lies.

The was a knock on the door. Albert looked up. He first thought it was the count, but when he answered it was Jacopo who entered.

“His Grace would like to inform that your mother is well, and would like to know if you were hungry.” Jacopo said and bowed.

“No, I am not hungry.” Albert said. “Thank you.”

“As you wish.” Jacopo said and bowed. He turned to the door and was about to walk out.

“Wait.” Albert called. Jacopo stopped and turned to Albert. “Tell my mother I will see her tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Jacopo said with a slight smile. He walked out and closed the door behind him. The door made a loud sound as it closed and left the room silent and empty. Albert looked out the window again, into the darkness. The count was with her now, wasn’t he? He would only imagine what he was telling her. More lies, twisting her mind with stories, turning her to his side. Albert had truly been a fool, trusting Monte Cristo, looking up to him. But no more. For how could Albert trust the count now, Albert’s father or not?

“Damn it all!” Albert exclaimed. He began to walk around the room, fighting against the hate and anger that sought to suffocate him. He fell upon the bed and closed his eyes.

Things would never be the same again. Never. And only God knew what would happen. Only one thing was sure: Albert would never trust the count again.

Okay, this is just a little idea I have had for some time. The first chapter here was quite hard to write, but I hope I managed all right, and that it’s worth reading. Review, please?