I tipped back the shot glass and felt the burn of the liquor scald my throat before slamming it back onto the bar-top to a chorus of cheers. I didn’t know why in hell they were all cheering, but for the past hour women had gathered around me and seemed mesmerised at the amount of drinks I’d downed. More the merrier, I say.

A quiet room at my private gentlemen’s club had been promptly cleared upon my arrival, and anything I asked for, including the female company I was keeping, was delivered at the click of my fingers. Normally women were forbidden in the main parts of the exclusive club—rules for the rooms above were bent a little—but extenuating circumstances were for once in my favour. I snorted a bitter laugh and licked the peaty whisky off my thumb.

A dozen or more glasses littered the scarred but highly polished bar top. A busty blonde to my right started to claim each one and stacked them up like a house of cards. Each time she reached out her shirt gaped open to reveal a great deal of her cleavage.

On my left a brunette was glued to my side, her hands roaming over my shoulder lazily, while up and farther along a redhead was sitting on the bar, making a great show of uncrossing then re-crossing her legs. I knew all I would have to do was snap my fingers and any of them, or all of them, a trifecta of pleasure, would be in my bed in a matter of minutes.

But right now I was content on just drinking. Alcohol made the pain dull some and helped my fuzzy mind separate itself from why I was in the bar in the first place.

I hadn’t seen the point of attending a private viewing of an empty coffin. Symbolism? Fuck knows, but I did it anyway and couldn’t quite shake the ghostly image of what he might’ve looked like had he been in the claustrophobic thing.

Now it would be in Westminster Hall for public viewing for two days. Already the flowers had started to arrive at the palace. They kept coming thick and fast, a kaleidoscopic carpet that just kept unrolling and expanding. The guards could barely keep up with the blooms. So much so the offerings had started to block the entrances, and the main gates were unusable now.

The entire family was sombre, keeping to themselves, tucked away from sight. Victoria was still in hiding and wouldn’t come out of her rooms. She’d been close to Frederick. Vicky and Ricky as I used to call them when they were together. The eldest and the youngest, just over a thirteen year difference, but that hadn’t mattered to them. They used to be thick as thieves. They’d struck up a loving bond over the years. And no matter what I tried over the last few days my baby sister, who wasn’t really a baby anymore, nearing her eighteenth birthday, wouldn’t let me in. I just wasn’t her Ricky.

I managed to dodge a flying china plate that she’d aimed at my head after I’d picked the old fashioned lock, but she soon barricaded the door with heavy future. She was small but God was she mighty when she wanted to be. I gave up trying to console her after hours of failure, waiting outside her door listening to her crying. Even Lottie wasn’t speaking to me and so I’d escaped to lick my own wounds. I couldn’t deal with it all. Perhaps things would get better when my younger brother, Robert, arrived. He would know what to do. He always did. Someone needed to take charge of the situation, and that certainly wasn’t a job for me.

I glanced up and caught sight of Frederick again and groaned. His picture on the television in glorious high definition. It seemed like every single channel, on all televisions everywhere, were broadcasting the news about my brother. Put up on a pedestal for everyone to see, as if he had already been king. They couldn’t get enough… the news were running never-ending stories, and interviews, about his death and who he had been on a constant loop. I fucking hated it all.

“Turn that fucking thing off!” I shouted with a slur to no one in particular.

A man, accustomed to staying out of sight, eased out of the shadows and did what was commanded. I wanted to forget that my entire world had fallen apart for just a few hours. Nothing but oblivion would be welcome.

“And get me another bottle,” I barked, the pain starting to rise in my chest once more. No matter how much alcohol I consumed, it never went away. I didn’t expect it to. But I could at least try to drown out the voices, the pressure… the guilt.

“Come on, baby,” the brunette said in my ear, her tongue tracing the shell of it. “Let me make you feel better.”

Normally I would have grinned and taken her up on her offer, a quick shag in the bathroom or the private apartments above to ease some of the tension, but not tonight. My heart wasn’t in it. Would it ever be again?

Why did I get to live and do all the things that he wouldn’t be able to do anymore?

I shook my head, which made me regret the motion as soon as I started.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, giving her a quick false grin that seemed more reactive than anything. The sensible thing would be to go home to my rooms at Durham House. But going home would be pilling on even more torture. Frederick and I had shared the majority of the rooms at Durham House as our official residence, along with Robert when he was stationed back home. And with both of them absent, I’d just be rattling around in there, with nothing but memories for company. Fuck that shit.

But it was probably for the best that I stayed out of the public eye for a while, at least until the funeral. It was going to be a lofty affair, with many dignitaries from around the world coming to pay their respects to my family and mourn for the man who would have made a great king someday.

Now England had to settle for me.

I snorted again. Poor schmucks.

The double doors inlaid with engraved privacy glass swung open with force and a woman blew in like a storm. Her long coat swirled about her legs as she entered. I watched as she lowered her hood, droplets of rain shaking free as she turned to scan the room. A member of staff followed behind.

“You can’t be in here. Miss, stop!” I heard him say. “This is for members only!”

She glanced at him and just as quickly dismissed him. “Take it up with King Henry. I’m here on official business,” she said in a no nonsense commanding tone. Whoever she was, she wasn’t messing about.

A faint recollection trickled down the synapses of my brain. I knew her from somewhere, though through my alcohol induced haze I couldn’t recall exactly where. Did she mention the king? She didn’t look like the usual kind of guard or security personnel my father would send to fetch me, and I had no idea where my usual security lot were, close by no doubt… but I supposed it was the twenty-first century, she could be an officer. Equal opportunities and all that.

Her clear determined eyes swept the room, ignoring all the women, until they landed on me. She made a beeline for me, a frown on her face. I couldn’t even remember who she was, but clearly seeing me had pissed her off.

The bottle I’d requested was plonked down in front of me and I quickly poured myself a large measure. What the hell, I thought, and grabbed another shot glass from the pile and filled it to the brim. Ready for my unwelcome guest that was obviously about to join me whether I liked it or not. She had that look about her: buttoned up. Rigid. No fun at all and in stark contrast to the other women in the room.

Her wheat-coloured hair was pulled up in a tight bun on top of her head, her eyes a stern cold blue. Her body was encased in an almost frumpy looking suit combo that belonged on a woman twice her age, right down to her shoes that reminded me of something my grandmother would wear. Then again… no, I didn’t think Princess Augusta would wear those ugly shoes. She had more style than that.

The woman kept advancing and walked over to my side as I took another drink, my little crowd of cheerleaders once again made approving noises.

“Your Highness?”

I ignored her but pushed the second filled shot glass in her direction without looking at her.

“Prince William?”

I set my own glass down and turned towards her, finding her eyeing the woman that was sitting on the bar.

“If you want to talk to me there are rules.” I nodded to the waiting shot. “Drink.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Drink or I’ll have you thrown out.”

She arched an eyebrow then narrowed her eyes, flittering her gaze from the glass back to me, trying to come to a decision. It didn’t take her long to decide that she wasn’t going to back down from my challenge.

Maybe she had balls after all.

She clutched the glass and swallowed the contents down in one. Then gave a little shudder. Her hand went to her hips, allowing me to get some semblance of the slim figure that she was hiding under all those layers. She held her stance and gaze as if to say ‘the ball is in your court now.’

“What do you want?” I asked with a resigned sigh.

“I’m Sophie, Sir. Sophie Mortimer—”

“Good for you… Is your name supposed to mean something to me?”

“Well, if you let me finish. I am, I mean I was your brother’s private secretary.”

Ah, I thought, that was where I knew her from. I didn’t spend a great deal of time at Rick’s office, but the few times I’d gone to visit him, she had been there, greeting me with a friendly smile. Though right now that smile was nowhere to be seen, instead her lips were set in a merciless line.

“Yeah, so?”

Sophie cleared her throat. “I’ve been appointed to be your private secretary and quite frankly we have a lot of work to catch up on.”

I chuckled. “You’ve been appointed to watch out for me? By who, my father?”

She didn’t have to answer; I could see it written all over her face. I leaned forward, closing the gap between us. “You can tell King Henry to fuck off. I don’t need a glorified assistant. I can look after myself. You’re dismissed. Go on. Shoo. You’re ruining the atmosphere.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted. Let her run back to my father, I didn’t give a shit.

“But,” I said, wanting to push the envelope to see if perhaps I could make her blush. “If you are looking for something other than pushing papers and want some fun, how about you take that stick out of your ass, shake your hair loose, and sit down, sweet-cheeks?”

The other girls giggled as Sophie's cheeks bloomed pink, looking completely out of her element. Uncomfortable and a word or two away from wanting to slap me.

“I-I really need for you to be serious about this. You’re now the heir.”

“You’re a royal?” the brunette breathed with a mocking gasp in my ear. All the girls knew who I was, but of course the club paid them handsomely to keep their mouths shut about anything that went on inside the exclusive rooms. “My, my, I think I just got even hornier.”

“Does that mean you don’t want another drink?” I said to Sophie, mid-pour, ignoring the brunette.

She shook her head.

“Then you’re useless to me. Bugger off… Sophie? Was that your name? Leave me be. Go find yourself some other sucker. I’m not playing their game.”

She gasped. “I can’t believe… are you daft? Really? You have this great opportunity just dangling in front of you and you are going to act like this? Frederick would have never…”

“Never what?” I challenged. The mere mention of my brother’s name twisted the knife in my gut deeper. “Never be in such a state? Never talk to you like this? You’re damn right about that. My brother, the golden boy of the royal family, was not the arse that I am. I’m not going to bend to you or my father’s wants. Get used to it.”

Her mouth set in a firm line, and her eyes flashed with red-hot anger. So there was a spark beneath all that frumpy beige she armoured herself with.

“Frederick was ten times the man you are.”

“Well, darling, you have that right at least.”

“Oh, I can’t believe this,” she answered as I grabbed for the bottle again, but I was too slow; she got there before me and pulled it out of reach, forcing me to look up at her.

“Don’t you know that everyone is counting on you?”

The shot glass produced a hollow sound as I slammed it down and moved off the stool, motioning towards her until she only had two options; stay put and have us crash into each other or let go of the bottle and back away. I supposed there was a third option; to whack me over the head with the half empty whisky bottle, but she didn’t look like she had the nerve. Shouting at a member of the royal family was one thing, but assaulting them… Nah, she wouldn’t risk it. Predictably she chose flight and ended up pressed up against the wainscoting wall.

I placed an arm on either side of her head, caging her in, my chest heaving with anger and pain.

“Listen here. I don’t fucking care who’s counting on me. Don’t come in here and preach to me about what I have to do. I don’t have to do anything, you hear me? I don’t answer to you or anyone else, except myself.”

She swallowed and I ignored the fact that the scent coming off of her body, bloody peaches and cream, was making my head spin.

“Frederick was right about you. You don’t care.”

Another type of pain lanced through my skull, one that made me pissed off. My brother thought I didn’t care. Just because I didn’t value the same things he did didn’t mean I didn’t have feelings. He’d meant the world to me. I’d cared a hell of a lot about him and now he was gone. No one could replace him. Not even me. I wanted to rail back at her, but instead I dropped my hands, shoving them through my hair roughly, then pointed to the door she’d come through only minutes earlier. “Get out. Now.”

She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it, sliding away from me and out the door with a bang. I drew in a ragged breath, wishing that for the thousandth time since I’d heard the news of Frederick’s death that I had been the one to die. It wasn’t like anyone would have missed me. My family fucking hated me, my friends wouldn’t understand my pain. I was better off skydiving without a parachute at this point.

Robert would make a fine king.

A blurry hour later I found myself walking towards Westminster Hall, towards my brother’s absent remains. My security detail tried to keep a respectable distance, but I could still sense them a few steps behind as I wobbled onwards. I didn’t even attempt to shake them off; I didn’t have it in me. Thankfully, it seemed they’d stayed outside the club while I drank but they weren’t going to let me out of their sight out here.

The lines had been long while the nation said goodbye to their golden boy. I had even watched my father and grandfather say goodbye publicly, as they would do again at the funeral. I was going, mainly because it was the right thing to do. Frederick would never renege on my funeral, one that I thought would come long before his ever did.

As I climbed the stairs to the hall, my feet felt like lead with each step. Each one was an almighty effort and had nothing to do with the alcohol swimming around my gut.

It was late in the evening and no one was around as I entered, except the guards commissioned to stand watch, a twenty four hour vigil that would end tomorrow when the procession would go to the Abbey where the official funeral would be conducted. It was going to be the second worst day of my life.

I approached the closed coffin, feeling slightly ill as I laid eyes on the polished box.

For the sake of—hell I don’t know, security, saving face?—the public hadn’t been informed that his body hadn’t been recovered. For all they knew, he was inside there, resting. But I knew better and it ate me up inside. What was the point of saying goodbye to an empty coffin? And yet I couldn’t stay away.

A spray of white roses graced the top of the slightly rounded surface; additionally his Royal Standard was draped across it, embellished with the pictorial grouping that defined his succession to the throne. I had one as well, but it wasn’t worth the fabric or thread it was stitched with.

One of the guards looked at me out of the corner of his eye, recognition flaring in his depths. He said nothing, but didn’t try to stop me as I skirted around the velvet ropes that kept the other viewers from touching the coffin and I laid my hand against the cool wood, kneeling before it.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” I whispered, my throat clogging up with the tears I tried to hold back. “I can’t fucking do this, Rick. I’m not you. I don’t want to be in this position. Why the fuck did you have to die? I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for this.”

There was no reply. No answer from beyond the grave. The hall was silent and I swallowed my sadness, gritting my teeth against the overwhelming pain that consumed me.

“I met your assistant or secretary today,” I said after a moment. “What a pain in the ass she is. But I see why you kept her around.”

There was no doubt she was going to be a thorn in my side, wanting me to step into Frederick’s shoes and continue on as if nothing had happened. Didn’t anyone understand that my fucking world had been turned upside down too?

“What do you think? Should I keep her?”

When again there was no reply—I didn’t know what I was expecting, a sign perhaps?—I dropped my hand and stood, looking down at the coffin, feeling foolish. There was no point staying. Rick wasn’t here. Part of me wanted to walk away for good, pretend that this never happened and disappear. Step out of my life and dissolve in an instant like Frederick had. Yet another part of me wanted to rant and rave at God, about how he could let this happen and demand he bring back my brother.

Decision time.

I gave the coffin a half-hearted drunken salute and walked away, back into the blustery winds outside.