CHAPTER FOUR
Asher
The crowd was remarkably large for an elementary school dedication. Normally, one or two people would show up. Instead, there were fifty in attendance, at least. Maybe three dozen more if you counted the paparazzi outside the school gates. Fortunately, they were not allowed in because of the school’s security policy.
He’d been asked to wear his crown for the occasion and the faded gold crown bore down on his head. It sent his skull pounding the way a hangover might. A constant, insistent throbbing traveled down the base of his neck and settled in every vertebra.
“Prince Asher, Prince Asher.”
There was a tug on his trouser leg, and he glanced down and into the face of a small boy. Asher couldn’t place his age. He’d never been very good at that sort of thing. The boy seemed very young—perhaps just starting school.
Ash didn’t need to work to form a warm smile for the boy. “Yes, young man. What can I do for you?”
The boy’s face broke into a matching grin. “Will you sign my backpack, please? It’s the Mutant TJ Ninja Turtles,” he said, mixing up the name and pronouncing the word “turtles” like “tortols.” He held out his backpack and a Sharpie to Ash, who accepted both.
“Of course. It would be my honor.” Popping the marker lid, he prepared to sign his appallingly long name with a flourish. Instead, he switched it to HRH Prince Ash. “Does this work?”
The boy’s smile widened. “Prince Ash. Is this what they call you in the palace?”
Ash made his face grave. “It’s what my very closest friends call me. You’re one of those now, all right?”
“Your closest friend? Cool!”
Ash wanted to talk to the boy more, but a teacher came and shepherded the child away. The moment was lost. Soon, Jenson was at his side. He’d donned his security guard costume of the day: a dark wig and sunglasses. The Florican government provided the royal family with a security detail, and Ash used to have his own team of in-house bodyguards. Not anymore.
Moments later, Ash cut the large, red ribbon that hung across the entrance to the school and it was his turn to be guided off. For him, it was to the car with Jenson at his side. Exhaustion from the night before seeped into him. He waited until he’d slid into the back of the rusty limo (Jenson had taken the liberty of hiding the rust with a Sharpie, similar to the one he’d just used) before he removed the crown, resting it on his lap.
Bailey rose to the surface of his weary mind. A royal-looking typeface. As if he’d have a problem coming up with something that resembled the term “royal.” He lived royal every day.
But the problem wasn’t with the royal concept. Instead, it had more to do with the client itself. Their business was called Windsor, but it was a spa, not a palace. They needed the royal treatment, but the type design also had to have a note of relaxation and flair to it. Individually, those were easy requirements; combined, they proved a challenge.
True, he could leave that to Bailey’s design, but Ash prided himself on feeding some of the clients’ goals into his typefaces. He believed it made the entire design seamless. That notion alone surprised him. Months ago, he hadn’t known anything about the palace and certainly nothing about earning a wage. He’d become an expert at both.
He toyed with the crown resting on his lap. He ran his thumbs over the smooth, faded gold, turning it over in his palms. That was when the inscription caught his eye.
The man who doth rests this crown upon his head honors thy family, thy country, and thy own true heart.
Ash stared hard at the inscription. He’d read it before, a million and one times. In that moment, it wasn’t the words which held his attention, but the engraving. He’d never seen anything quite like it. It wouldn’t work for the Windsor job. Yet, with some slight modifications, it could be perfect. The familiar a-ha moment pummeled him in the gut.
He pulled the small notebook from the breast pocket of his suit and began drawing. Copying the inscription exactly would be the first step. Afterwards, he’d make modifications to customize it. Finally, he’d have to finish creating the rest of the alphabet. It was only the beginning, one of many steps, but it was a kernel of an idea. A good idea. It was more than he’d had in an age.
With a fountain pen in hand, he shaped the letter T. He worked, not just on mimicking the letters in the same style, but adding flourishes that would make it come alive.
If his new design idea paid off, it would put Ash a little closer to securing the funds he needed to repair the palace’s roof and maybe the limo. He’d be able to do even more for Jenson, too. He just hoped he could pull it off.