Chapter 7

Charles

“And then there’s the school visit tonight, and the golf tournament tomorrow, and the parade on Saturday…”

My mom’s voice drifted in and out of my consciousness. My gaze was fixed on a painted portrait of my great-great-great-grandfather, old Charles V. He looked morose and paunchy, and I wondered if the reason was because, as his likeness was being painted, his own mother was reciting the events of the week to him too. Had things always been this complex and busy for the royals?

I frowned, dismissing the thought. It was something whiny Henry would think while he was griping about not being able to go on a six-month vacation to Brazil. Although it didn’t mean he didn’t have a point too.

Sometimes, the constant event attendance expected of me was just plain tiring. I constantly had to be on my game, constantly give my best manners, my best smile, say the right things to the right people and steadfastly avoid or ignore the wrong ones. It wasn’t just a full-time job; it was more like a full-life job.

“Charles,” my mother said suddenly, “are you listening?”

“Mostly,” I said, straightening myself in the velvet couch.

She responded by straightening herself even higher. That was my mom’s thing. Due to her looming height of six feet three, she even towered over me a good inch. Part of me suspected God had expressly made her tall so she could achieve her continued aim of looking down on people.

“I expect as much from your brother,” she said, tossing her hand toward Henry as if at a dog. Sure enough, Henry was on his phone, engaged in a noisy game by the sounds of it. “But from our future king and sovereign?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The way Mother spoke, it was as if I were the king of England when it was a colonial superpower that had settlements on every continent.

“My apologies, Mother,” I said.

Patience was something I had learned from Dad. When I was fourteen and it first became clear I was to be the next king, I had adamantly refused. I’d seen enough in the shadows under my dad’s eyes to know it was something I wanted no part in. And yet, on with it my dad had persisted. When we all went out to the opera, he’d lean over and just mention it, just a passing comment, another dribble of his patient work: “Our future king.”

Each time, the words made me feel sick to my stomach. At least, until one day while on vacation in the Bahamas somewhere. Henry had befriended a local kid, a younger boy with a mocha mop of hair and a gap-toothed smile. He and the little boy had been chucking handfuls of dirt at each other, giggling maniacally all the while. This behavior was only possible because my mother was taking a much-needed nap in our cabana. My dad and I had been sitting on the swing, half dozing off. I’d been too tired to want to join in on my brother’s antics. And, over the years, it’d gradually become clear that Henry was far wilder and more reckless than I would ever be.

That was when my dad did it. Leaning over, he said ever so casually, “If you don’t become king, then it’ll have to go to Henry.”

His gaze rested on the jubilant face of my brother. He didn’t say the rest because he didn’t need to.

Simple pleasures like that, like goofing off and being bad—Henry could never get away with it as the future king. If anyone was going to save him from a life that would become a prison, it was me. If I couldn’t become king for myself or for my parents, then I had to do it for Henry.

That settled it. Dad’s patience paid off and I dutifully marched into my expected role. Sixteen more years of learning decorum and saying the right things, going to the right places and rubbing shoulders with the right people, and here I was now.

“It is all right of course,” my mother said, betraying a tender little smile as she swiped a runaway curl off her forehead. “But I do have to get to tea.”

Rising, she settled the teacup she had just emptied on the side table.

I knew better than to ask Mother about her upcoming tea date with her friends. After flowers and good manners, tea was her next favorite thing. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the whole British connotation or because she genuinely liked tea, but whatever the reason, we had several whole cupboards in the pantry dedicated to it.

“I never got a firm answer from either of you as to whether you understood the events for the next few days or whether you’d be there for this Saturday.”

“I will be there,” I confirmed immediately.

Mother’s steely gaze fixed itself on Henry’s still phone-fixated form.

“Henry?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said over the sounds of shots and blasts emanating from his phone. “I’ll be there too.”

Clasping her hands together, she paused for a moment. I could already see her brow working over some angry retort. But then, suddenly, she swiveled and glided out of the room without another word.

“Phew,” Henry said, putting down his phone. “I thought she was going to crucify me on the spot.”

“You weren’t exactly making things easy for her, you know,” I pointed out.

Henry grabbed his phone, looking like he was considering playing on it again. Thinking better of it, he put it back down.

“My apologies, future king,” he said in a falsetto voice. “Only I had invested myself prior in blasting off the heads of flesh-eating zombies. You don’t want flesh-eating zombies to overtake London, now do you?”

I responded by chucking a pillow at his head, which he laughingly dodged.

“Cool it, bro. You don’t want to be a grandpa for the date.”

“You mean our date on Friday,” I corrected him.

Henry slapped his palm to his forehead.

“Tomorrow, right.” He gave a wicked half smile. “Must’ve mixed it up with my other date.”

I didn’t ask. At this point, I didn’t want to know, but Henry supplied me with the details anyway.

“You remember that redhead from the popsicle shoot?”

I nodded.

“Yep, her. Her place too.” He leaned back on the couch, his gaze spanning the ornamental ceiling with all its swirls. “And then there’s that blonde from the popsicle shoot, too, tonight. It’s going to be a winning hat trick week.”

I stretched out my arms, feeling drained just hearing about it.

“Don’t you ever get sick and tired of it all?”

Henry ogled me like I had just asked him what two plus four was.

“You mean like sick and tired of partying and girls?”

“Basically.”

Henry arranged his hands behind his head, which he shook with a carefree, lopsided grin.

“Nope.”

“But you will be there for Friday,” I confirmed, moving closer to him on the couch. “I promised Heidi you’d be there for her friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry said, getting out his phone again. “I just told you, it’s going to be hat trick week. Why would I ruin my own streak?”

I resisted the urge to jam the off button on his phone. Henry could be exasperating even in the best of times, but he was my brother.

“Although I still don’t know why you get the brunette from the popsicle shoot,” he said petulantly.

Suddenly, I had to resist the urge to chuck his phone across the room.

“We all get to have our fun,” I said evenly.

“I know,” Henry said to his phone obliviously. “Only I had two out of the three for fun, so if I want to have a full house—”

“Just drop it. Okay, Henry?” I snapped, jerking myself to my feet. If the conversation continued, I wasn’t sure what I would do. “Can you just drop it and slow down for once in your life?”

Henry thrust his phone aside, onto the couch.

“Need I remind you, brother, that this is what the younger royal brother does? Parties and whiles his time away with passing pleasures because he’s not much use to anyone?”

“Don’t take that bullshit stance with me,” I snapped back at him. “Dad has offered you a whole score of things to do, but the only things that interest you involve eating, partying, and sleeping around.”

“What’s the matter?” Henry intoned, his full lips twisting. “Jealous?”

Suddenly, it occurred to me just what the matter was. It was hearing him talk about Heidi like that that had set me off, especially now that I had her all lined up for taking her to the hidden house and the room and all that.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just sometimes stressful watching the way you rampage about. Mother has a point. If you keep going on like this, you’re going to get a girl pregnant, and then Mother really will carry out her threat.”

Henry glared at me as if I were our dear mother in question.

“Just let her,” he said. “Just let her.”

Clearly, that was my cue to leave. As I walked across the gleaming wooden floor, it occurred to me that was just what I thought about the whole Henry-Heidi situation. If he had been serious when he’d talked about making Heidi part of his hat trick, then he had another thing coming. Just let him.