James knew he was running late. The fact that traffic was an absolute arse wouldn’t be seen as a good enough excuse, though. He was actually expected to do something important today, yet he was still screwing it up. He sighed and checked his watch again.

“Sorry, boss,” said his driver, Manjeet, apologetically from up front. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught James’s eye.

James shook his head and managed a reassuring smile. “Completely not your fault,” he assured him. Manjeet had been James’s driver for many years now and James considered him more of a friend than a member of staff. He was always patient with James, more often than not because James was running late.

Years in the Army had done little to improve James’s inherent unpunctuality. But today he had honestly got himself out the door of his residence at Kensington Palace on time. It was only around fifteen minutes to get to St James’s, and yet he was now at risk of being late to the ceremony he was supposed to be hosting.

His mother was going to be very impressed, he was sure.

James sighed and pulled out his phone. He skimmed through his contacts’ pictures until he found the right one. Then he waited as it rang a couple of times before it connected.

“Jimmy!” his younger sister, Olivia, cried. “How are you?”

James huffed. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he grumbled.

“Oh, do behave,” Livy chastised. “You were dying for something to do! Stop worrying so much and have some fun. This is exactly your kind of thing, right? Mingling with people?”

James allowed himself a half smile, but it came with a sigh. “I suppose I’m not terrible at it,” he conceded. Livy chuckled.

“Then don’t overanalyse everything,” she said. “You got the audio file with everyone’s names and photos, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you, that was a big help.”

“Then you will be fine,” she assured him. “You don’t even have to know their names. It’s merely a ‘just-in-case’. Simply shake hands, smile that dazzling smile of yours and enjoy the company of people who you would never otherwise meet.”

James chuckled. “When you put it like that, it does sound rather fun.”

“And you’ll be good at it,” Livy said firmly. “You need to be doing more of this kind of thing. Honestly, you can’t just keep rattling around the house now that you’re no longer on active duty.”

He couldn’t deny that.

“Thank you, darling,” he said.

He could practically hear her smiling on the other end of the phone. “I’ll speak to you later. Chin up!”

In truth, he was pretty chuffed at being asked to present the Queen’s Birthday honours. The people he would be meeting, however briefly, were making an incredible difference to the world. James admired them as much as he envied them.

He knew that was stupid. He’d lived a pampered life of luxury and been given every opportunity. It wasn’t right that he should feel this hollow, like something vital was missing. But life without purpose was damned hard at times. Once their call ended, James drummed his fingers on his knee and looked out the tinted window at the people walking by, out enjoying the summer sun in Hyde Park.

He’d tried his whole life to blend in and just be normal, at school and then during his military training at Sandhurst. But he was always Prince James. His grandmother was always the Queen of the United Kingdom. ‘Different’ was his nature. He couldn’t make a two-mile journey without a motorcade. Heaven forfend he suggested walking or taking the Tube.

His older brother and younger sister never seemed to struggle as much in this ludicrous bubble they lived in. Probably because at present, they were either already married with three kids or in the middle of planning their big wedding. What James needed was to find himself a nice girl and become so besotted he was distracted from all his silly problems.

If only finding a nice girl was as easy as finding a nice boy.

James drummed his fingers again before realising what he was doing and sat on his hand. His mother found the habit extremely irritating, so it was best to snap out of the nervous tick before he saw her.

The right girl was undoubtedly out there, somewhere. If only James’s social circles weren’t so restricted. It wasn’t so easy as going down the pub and bonding over a pint. He was frustratingly picky about the girls he was attracted to, anyway. But then they had to come from ‘good’ families and have the right kind of image. If he could stick to guys, he knew he’d have more of a chance, but…

Well, he was living in a dream if he thought that could ever happen. More distant royal relations could get away with same-sex relationships. In fact, some already were. James was happy for them. It was about bloody time in this day and age. But for him, he’d need the Queen’s blessing to ever get married and the controversy of her endorsing James coming out and having a boyfriend would be just too much.

Or so it had been strongly hinted, several times. Officially, nobody knew anything about James’s sex life.

The traffic finally moved and James blinked himself out of his melancholy. Dear lord, he needed to buck up. For once the sun was shining and for the people he’d been meeting later this was a momentous day. He was proud to be part of it.

If he was unhappy with his lot in life, he needed to do something to change it. He’d excelled in the Army, after all. Physical fitness had always been something he could throw himself into and achieve high. Just because his status made it impossible to be deployed without risking his and others’ safety didn’t mean he couldn’t find some other calling.

Today was a fine example. He was a patron to many charities, but perhaps there was a way he could be more hands-on in the future. Who knew? Maybe he’d find himself a nice wife if he moved in circles like those?

Manjeet worked his magic and nipped through the remaining traffic to finally pull up in the courtyard of St James’s Palace. “You’ve still got time, boss,” he reassured James with a thumbs up from the other side of the partition. “Good luck! I’ll be here where you’re done.”

“What would I do without you?” James asked sincerely.

He hopped out of the car and smoothed down his suit, hoping it might make him feel less nervous. Again, he doubted why someone with so few accolades to his name should be the one presenting awards to such successful people. But there was no backing out of things, so he would just have to suck it up.

Now he had more time on his hands, he’d decided he needed to be more proactive with his life. He would be a fool to ignore the advantages of his privileged upbringing. Being surrounded by golden staircases, marble floors, crystal chandeliers and paintings taller than him served as a good reminder. Yes, he faced restrictions, but he also had so much else in his favour. His destiny was his own to forge.

His mother’s pinched face and clicking tongue were quick to bring him back to reality again as he arrived into one of the side chambers next to the main ceremony hall. It was an unremarkable room with dark wood-panelled walls and a few nondescript shields and swords hanging up.

“You’re late,” his mother said with a tut. Her arms were folded over her slim frame clad in one of her usual pencil dresses.

She tapped a three-inch heel on the red carpet as James leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I do apologise. Traffic was an utter bastard,” he said.

“Language, James,” she said automatically, closing the door behind them. James did his best not to roll his eyes. They were alone. Or as good as.

“Your Royal Highness,” Ignatius Bellamy-Walters said with a slight bow as James approached. James shouldn’t have been surprised to see the Queen’s private secretary there. But he was peeved nonetheless.

“Bellamy,” he replied stiffly.

Officially, Iggy was the liaison between the monarch and the governments of all the Commonwealth, not just the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Unofficially, that meant he wielded a hell of a lot of influence on the Royal Family and seemed to have the final say on what was acceptable on any given subject. He and James rarely saw eye to eye on what was ‘acceptable’ given it was the damn twenty-first century.

He looked like he always did. Grey hair, grey pinstripe suit, and a moustache as thin as he was. He and James’s mother made quite the brittle pair. James didn’t have to hold eye contact with him for long, though, because he was soon accosted by a wild pack of rabid beasts.

“Darlings!” he cried.

He crouched down as the five Yorkshire terriers came tearing out through the door at the other end of the room, scrabbling across the rich red carpet to throw themselves at him as though he’d come back from the dead. He’d probably only seen them a week or two ago, but as far as they were concerned, it was a miracle.

“Oh hello, yes, hello,” he cooed.

Each of them had a different colour collar on, so even if he didn’t know their faces by now, they were easy enough to identify. Bertie, Bonney, Bouncer, Blenheim and Beanie. Each one trouble in their own special way. Bonney, in the yellow collar, greeted him with her customary yowl.

“Oh, do shut up, Bonney,” James and his mother sighed together in unison. It was the only way to make her be quiet.

Sure enough, she stopped grousing and joined the rest of the pack.

He realised that someone of his size and rugged demeanour probably looked ridiculous down on his knees fussing a bunch of dogs. But one of the advantages of being inside the palace walls was he didn’t have to worry about who saw him, especially in a private room.

His mother and Iggy obviously did not feel the same. “Please refrain from ruining your suit entirely, sweetheart,” his mother bit out, tucking a lock of copper-red hair behind her ear. “We’d like to keep you respectable at least long enough to meet the people.”

The way she said ‘the people’ had always and would always infer ‘dirty peasants’. Even before she had married into the Royal Family, Celia Grantham had never been a simple commoner. Daughter of a Lord, she had never yet needed to wrestle with the privilege she had been born into as far as James was aware.

Once James had rubbed all five little furry heads and tickled the pack’s tummies, he stood again. Unsurprisingly, Iggy had materialised someone out of thin air to immediately attack his trousers with a clothes brush. James was the only one to thank him.

“Is Grandma here, then?” James asked. It was a logical conclusion if her dogs were about. It would be nice to see her.

However, his mother shook her head. “She and the Duke of Edinburgh are in Canada. Your father insisted on dog-sitting.” It was obvious she felt about the same when it came to having the dogs around as she did interacting with commoners. But James loved them, as he illustrated by reaching down again and petting Bertie when he put his paws on James’s leg, his tail wagging. The poor valet looked pained, his brush raised again as he obviously itched to keep James fur-free.

“Sorry,” James mouthed at him.

His mother pulled his attention away from the dogs by shoving a stack of cards inscribed with what looked like names in front of his nose.

Icy coldness washed over James’s skin, his good mood vanishing. “I don’t have to read these, do I?” he asked, trying not to stutter.

His mother huffed and readjusted her cream pencil dress with perfectly manicured hands. “No,” she said, dragging out the word in exasperation. “One of the staff will announce each guest. You just have to shake hands and give them each a few words to tell them how special and important they are.”

“They are special and important,” James grumbled as the valet brushed down his trousers yet again. The poor man eyed up the other dogs circling James, as if daring them to fluff him up once more. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be receiving honours.”

“Don’t mumble, dear,” his mother said cheerfully, adjusting his collar.

“The cards are just in case you need any assistance,” Iggy said, offering James a cold smile.

Like hell they were. Iggy was just giving them to him to fuck with him. “None of the information has changed since Tuesday, has it?” That was when Livy has sent him the audio file of her reading everything out. He’d spent all of Wednesday and Thursday memorising it in preparation for this morning.

“No, I don’t think so,” said his mother absently. She was reading something on her phone.

Fine. James would do what he always did. He would listen to every single name said and commit them to memory as if his life depended on it. Hopefully they would match up with the ones he already knew from the recording.

He may not have had the opportunity to achieve much with his life so far, but in thirty years he had never messed up a public engagement. This ceremony meant something to all those attending. He wasn’t going to diminish that.

He slipped the cards into his suit pocket. He wasn’t wearing any of his service dress today, despite technically still serving with the Army. This was a civilian event, so he was sporting one of his custom-made suits from Savile Row. As nice as it was, there was something about his Blues and Royals regalia that made him feel battle-ready. Probably because that was its intended purpose.

The guests weren’t his enemy, though. Technically, neither was his mother or Iggy. Not unless he allowed them to be.

He rallied himself and pulled out some of his earlier resolution. The people he was about to meet were hard-working and had done exceptional things for their communities. It was his job to be the face of the Royal Family and congratulate them for their lifetime achievements.

He wanted to enjoy this day. Then once the festivities were over, he could go back to mulling over what precisely he was going to do with his life.

Or who he could possibly spend it with.