This Johan guy is a piece of work.
It was their third meeting in three days—meetings alone, because Portia had made herself scarce. Last he’d seen, she and Cheryl had been squealing over some nail polish that had been sent to the armory for promotion, which had seemed strange to him, but Portia explained it meant he now had “internet capital.” She hadn’t explained more than that though, as she hadn’t spoken to him about much since they’d returned from the Bodotria Trail. She’d been strictly business since he’d come back to an empty parlor after walking Johan to the door.
At first, he’d thought something had happened when he’d left her and Johan alone—the guy was closer in age, after all, and charming and fit. He’d wondered if he was officially out of her system, which should have been the best-case scenario for both of them but the possibility alone made him feel like utter shite.
She’d finally sat him down and talked to him that morning.
“We need some boundaries,” she’d said, cutting to the chase unlike the last time she’d held an impromptu meeting. “Right now, we’re too enmeshed in each other’s lives, or rather I’m too enmeshed in yours, since you don’t know very much about my life at all, actually.”
Tav had wanted to argue otherwise—he knew about her parents and her sister, the pressures her family exerted on her and the even greater weight she placed on herself. He knew a lot about Portia, but in the end it wasn’t the same as the way his entire life and family history had consumed her time. He’d been worried for weeks but hadn’t pinpointed the reason why: Portia had given him much more than he had given her, though he was supposed to be her instructor.
She’d continued, looking ill at ease. “I came here to find myself but I feel like I’m losing myself instead. So, factory reset time. Our only official relationship is swordmaker and apprentice, and maybe knight and squire if we’re feeling frisky, and we’re going to have to stick to that. I’m leaving soon, after all.”
Tav had been hurt by the matter-of-factness in her tone, and surprised by his hurt. But he hadn’t said more than “Aye. Whatever’s best for you, lass.” What else could he say? The apprenticeship was over soon, and it had been a failure. She’d made one sword and gotten nothing but headaches and piles of work that had nothing to do with the armory.
A crumpled crisps wrapper bounced off of Tavish’s forehead and onto his lap. He rerouted his train of thought back into the parlor, where Johan sat across from him with his brows raised.
“Oh, did that manage to get your attention?” Johan was rightfully annoyed, though it was a quite refined annoyance.
Tav was having trouble following along because, well, nice as he was, Johan was no Portia. Tav hadn’t realized how easy she’d made all those lessons for him. Johan had zero interest in humoring him.
Tav grabbed the crisp bag and lightly tossed it onto the table. “Sorry, mate, I drifted off. What were you saying I should know about the Queen?”
“That she enjoys challenging people to impromptu arm wrestling matches and can beat most of the peerage fair and square. Don’t underestimate her—she has a pull-up bar installed behind her throne.”
Tav rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it, I’ll pay attention. It’s rude of me to waste your time.”
“Almost inexcusably rude—almost!—but understandable. We’ve been going for hours.”
“I honestly don’t even know what day of the week it is,” Tav said wearily, pressing his palms to his face and dragging them down. His stubble was dangerously close to “creeper beard” but he’d been too tired to shave.
“It’s a great day to pay attention to your better,” Johan said with a faux haughty smile that undercut his words.
“Aye? When is this better arriving?” Tav asked, which got a chuckle from Johan. The prince stood and stretched, a reminder that though he was making jokes he was also doing work. So many people were spending time and energy to help him. He needed to push himself harder.
“All right. I’m focused now. We can get back to this weird role playing because I need to be ready.”
He couldn’t disappoint Johan, or Jamie or Cheryl or the weans. He most definitely couldn’t let down Portia, who’d run herself ragged on his behalf.
“When I was a child, my advisors told me that learning to make small talk with the aristocracy is the same as picking up another language. It requires practice and time. I think that’s nonsense, though.” Johan stroked his sharp jaw and regarded Tav through narrowed eyes. “All you have to do is channel your international man of mystery.”
Tav scoffed and tugged at a lock of hair. “International? The last time I traveled outside the UK there was no gray in these strands.”
“Okay, your national man of mystery. Just be smooth, charming, and playful, like when you were flirting with Portia at lunch today. And yesterday. And the day before.” Johan’s smile had an edge to it now.
“I don’t flirt,” Tav grumped. “Man of mystery. What a laugh. This would be easier if Portia could just tell me what to say to these gits. Like Cyrano, but wooing aristos instead of a woman.”
“If you can’t even hold a conversation without Portia by your side to guide you, you have more problems than I can help you with.” The edge had crept from his smile into his tone, and his eyes were suddenly serious.
“I can chat just fine—I’ve managed it for most of thirty-eight years, mate. I’m just tired,” Tav said.
Johan tsked. “You’re going to be tired all the time in this new life of yours. Do you know who bears the brunt of it when a man given power gets tired?”
“Christ, look, if you have something to say, just say it. Out with it.”
Johan exhaled deeply, as if he’d been waiting for Tav to ask.
“Portia is not your walking stick, McKenzie. If you cannot do something without her, that means that when you do something with her, you’re bearing down on her with all your force. You’re a large man, and every walking stick has a maximum load it can take before it snaps. Adding romantic liaisons only decreases the loadbearing capabilities.”
“Fuck’s sake, what are you on about? We’re talking the physics of walking sticks now? Portia and I are adults, and we’ll deal with whatever happens.” He didn’t need a lecture from a guy whose exploits could make a list as long as St. Nick’s.
“I don’t do love or any of that foolishness,” Johan said. “But relationships don’t just happen. You both are making decisions, even when you pretend you’re not. Ignoring that fact is a fantastic way to get hurt, or hurt her.”
“Aye, well, I don’t think there will be any hurting, okay? Our relationship is strictly professional for now.”
“For now? Schiesse de merde. That’s cute, but I have intruded enough. Is there anything else you want to talk about while you have me trapped in this dank excuse for a parlor?”
“Nope. I’m about talked out.”
“Great. Back to work.” Johan stroked his chin thoughtfully, then snapped. “Oh! I just thought of something I wanted to talk about.”
“You’re a terrible actor,” Tav said with an aggrieved sigh.
Johan ignored him. “You know what I found very taxing when my mother became engaged to the king? Being in the public eye. There was all this talk of how to handle a step-prince, what my behavior was like, my physical attributes. I wasn’t prepared for it all, but I wouldn’t talk to anyone because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.”
He glanced at Tav with a knowing look.
“I said I was talked out,” Tav sighed.
“I know. That’s why I’m talking.” Another smirk.
In the treatises and medieval texts Tav had studied, Liechtienbourger knights were generally described as haughty, outlandish, and unexpectedly deadly because they were unmatched in persistence. It seemed this trait was still in the gene pool.
Johan was maybe the only person in Tav’s orbit right now who might understand how he felt. Jamie tried to be supportive, but he mostly thought Tav’s complaints were whinging. Cheryl was stressed about all the changes to their lives. Portia was too busy trying to make sure everything went smoothly for him. If Johan had something else to offer besides steering him through social situations and commenting on his love life, Tav would take it.
“Fine.” Tav poured himself more water.
“Oh, is something on your mind?” Johan asked like the cheeky bastard he was.
“I just don’t know how to take this all in,” Tav said. “I was just an average guy before and now—”
“I’m sorry, you make swords and travel around Europe to battle strangers at tournaments. That’s not quite average.”
Tav rolled his eyes. “Okay, I was a not-famous guy. Now I’m a meme on social media, whatever meme means. I’m in the papers. They’ve started calling me the patron saint of refugees, talking about my mum and everything that happened to her, and how I grew up in this diverse family that represents the best of Scotland, or the worst of it depending on who’s telling it. They’ve already started telling this story about me that doesn’t feel like me at all. What if I don’t live up to it? Or what if the story changes for the worse? Or what if everyone I’m close to gets hurt?”
“Those are all eminently reasonable questions that I do not have the answers to,” Johan said sadly.
Tav stood and walked over to the sandpaper and unfinished blade he’d been working on before Johan had entered his office. He started working the grit over the metal, but even that familiar, usually calming motion brought him no pleasure. It reminded him that though orders had gone through the roof, he was too swamped to get into a solid production mode and his apprentice was still a beginner because he’d been shite at training her.
“How does this all shake out, long term? I know it’s different for you, because I’m a lowly duke and you’re a prince.”
Tav was cut off by Johan raising a hand. “That isn’t true. You have more social standing than me, Your Grace. I’m not a prince. Though I am your better, I’m the stepson of a king and the stepbrother of a prince. I’m not in the line of succession, so the only title I actually own is Prince of the Tabloids, and that’s responsibility enough.”
“I’d honestly forgotten,” Tav said.
Johan scrubbed his knuckles over his jaw, the movement at odds with the refined and aloof air he usually had. “People only seem to remember at the most inopportune times. But keeping up the fantasy isn’t so very hard. The public wants a wild and carefree European prince to project their fantasies onto. I saw the position was open, and I took it.”
“So you lie then? Is that what I have to look forward to?”
“Some call it lying, I call it sculpting perception. I’m rather like one of the Renaissance masters if you really think about it.”
“The only thing you have in common with the masters is that they were also famous for bare asses plastered in public places,” Tav griped, and Johan barked out a loud, deep laugh, losing all pretense of refinement; it was the first time Johan had really let his guard down in their three days together.
Johan looked up at him, cheeks ruddy. “Okay. For that brief moment of joy, I’ll trade you perhaps the most important piece of advice in my arsenal.”
Tav leaned forward.
“Don’t eat the brussels sprouts at Buckingham Palace. They’re soggy, with not even a hint of bacon fat to give them some flavor, and they give you atrocious gas.”
“Johan.”
“Oh wait! That wasn’t the advice. This is it. Every person in your situation has to find the style in which they will wear the mantle that has been placed on them. Me? I court attention, I give the public something that they lap up like thirsty ostriches, but I don’t give them myself. I took that lesson from my mother’s example.”
Tav’s head was spinning. “Fuck’s sake. This really is like a full-time job.”
“People have expectations, Tavish. What you need to focus on isn’t how to fit in with the aristocracy, though it is a helpful tool. You need to figure out what you are able to give to the public, and what you must keep for yourself. Unfortunately for you, I still retain the title of hottest royal bachelor, now that Thabiso is married. What do you want?”
There was really only one thing Tav wanted, one person, but she seemed increasingly out of his reach. Was this how his biological father had felt, watching the woman he loved get crowded out by his title and responsibilities?
Tav closed his eyes for a minute. He’d thought he’d had what he wanted in the past—his swordmaking business. His family. His community. But now he had the opportunity to do so much more, even though the cost would be higher—emotionally, not financially. He’d once thought losing the armory was the biggest problem he could face, but now he was at risk of losing himself.
Portia’s face popped into his mind, wearing the expression she always made when trying to explain some internet shite to him. He thought of Jamie’s smile as he excitedly described his hopes for the future, and of Cheryl making her living with the culinary knowledge that’d been passed down to her from her parents. He thought of Syed, and his mother and father. Of Johan, who seemed so carefree and spontaneous on the covers of tabloids, but who rarely laughed.
Something was coalescing in his mind. He jumped out of the chair and went to the circular window in his office. Down below, he saw two paparazzi leaning against the building across the street.
“You know what I like to do when I need to think?” he asked.
“Throw logs, or something of the sort?” Johan ventured.
Tav turned to him. “I like to make weapons. Outdoors at the smithy. Get all sweaty and the like. A wise person once explained to me that the public found that sort of activity appealing. That sharing it online was called a ‘thirst trap.’ You ever make a sword before?”
Johan smiled with devious pride. “No, but I’m an expert at thirst traps. I’ll probably have to take my shirt off in this oppressive Edinburgh heat. It’ll look better on the front page.”
Portia had told Tavish he was a quick learner. He could only hope that this application of her lessons, with Johan’s advice, would go over well. He was a swordmaker. He was a duke. He had a lot to think on, but if he needed to create a version of himself that gave the public what they were after and honed what he wanted them to think of him, he’d forge it himself.
When he glanced up, Johan was already out of his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt, then he paused. “Wait, I’ll disrobe outside, lest we start an entirely different conversation than we intended by leaving the building in a state of undress. The last thing we need right before you’re officially given your title is a rumor that I’ve debauched you.”
“Aye. I don’t need your jealous fans coming at me on top of everything else,” Tav said with a laugh.
Tav cared piss-all about rumors, but there was only one person he wanted debauching him. He had to figure that out, too, and hoped some time hammering away at the forge would help him figure out just how to make it happen.