I sat in the executive chair behind the desk, placing my hands on top of the wood as if it could provide some kind of supernatural conduit to channel Frederick.

I wished he were here. I needed answers that only he could give me. I had no idea what I was doing or why I was really there in his office. Except that I didn’t want to let Frederick down. Everyone else could go fuck themselves, but not Frederick. I would’ve done anything for him.

I patted the stiff envelope that was tucked away in my breast jacket pocket. Its contents only I had seen. I still didn’t know what to make of it. The sealed envelope with my name on it had arrived in the morning mail. It had sat on a silver tray in the breakfast room at Durham House waiting for me alongside a sharp letter opener after I returned from the hospital. I’d almost dismissed it, and had every intention of getting into bed after grabbing something to eat. But there was something familiar about the handwriting on the luxurious thick stationary.

Once I gave it my full attention there had been no more thoughts of ducking under the duvet any time soon. Frederick’s handwriting was crisp and practically stood out a mile away. I would’ve known it from anywhere.

After gazing at it while I ate buttered toast, debating with myself on what to do, I had finally wiped my fingers on a napkin, steeled myself then picked it up and popped the envelope’s seal with the opener provided.

A single folded over sheet of paper, equally thick and expensive as its counterpart, was inside. My fingers had hovered for a second. There had still been time to chuck the thing away and forget I’d ever seen it, because I had known there was going to be a world of hurt inside.

Nothing good would have come of me knowing what was in there. Ignorance would have probably be bliss. But I had kept thinking, what if it contained Rick’s last words? An echo from beyond the grave? And the curiosity had been too much to bear. If Frederick had seen fit to send me a letter before his trip then it had to be important.

I had to know what it said.

I’d pulled the letter out and unfolded it. Then sat heavy in the chair that had been thankfully directly behind me.

Each word upon the page had been a stab directly to my heart.

But one thing had been clear, Frederick wanted me to step into his shoes.

And so, a little on autopilot, I’d gotten up from the table, put the letter back into its envelope and proceeded to shower and suit up. Ready for a day at the office. On a bloody Sunday no less.

With a sigh, I leaned back in the well-stuffed leather chair and took a proper look around the office. Though I had seen it numerous times before it felt like I was truly seeing it for the first time.

This was to be my life now. Chained to a desk, trapped inside these boring four walls, and forced to wear a suit every day. I knew I was being melodramatic but I gave myself a moment. I owed myself at least that. To mourn for the loss of my brother and the life I’d known before.

Opposite the desk, there was a portrait of the family that had been commissioned years ago—it was almost ancient history. I believed it was originally for an official Christmas card or some shit like that. Digital copies were made, printed and sent to nobles and dignitaries.

I remembered we had to sit for it for hours only a few days after Charlotte’s sixth birthday. She’d squirmed so much that day, wanting nothing more than to play and marvel at her new baby sister some more. Victoria was an infant, just over a month old with wisps of blonde hair covering her tiny head that peeked out of her blankets. Both Rick and I were barely in our teens, Rob a couple of years younger, but all three of us had scruffy wild dark hair that was hard to tame; Charlotte’s was equally brown and bushy. And it was quite clear we were all still dressed by our mum. God, those frills, I thought, taking in the neck ruffles. We looked like over zealous choirboys. Not so innocent though.

The painting hung on the wall, proudly positioned in such a way that every time I looked up, I had no choice but to stare at it. But I didn’t mind so much. It was a nice painting. Most of us in the portrait looked happy. A little bored, but happy. The painter however had captured a sadness in my mother’s eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. It was the same pained expression she’d been wearing ever since hearing of Frederick’s accident. I tried to remember if we’d acted up that day, boys being boys and potentially upsetting her, but nothing came to mind. Maybe I was imagining it.

Over by the side, Frederick’s royal standards were hung. They were encased in a gilded frame that our late grandfather had given us when we turned eighteen. Mine, believe it or not, hung over my bed in my room at Durham House, and I had no intentions of removing Frederick’s from its rightful place. In fact, I had no intentions of changing anything in the office. It was still Frederick’s space, and Sophie was still his assistant. Private secretary, I corrected myself.

Scanning the room further, I looked down and was surprised to see a small frame on the edge of the desk. It had a prominent placement amongst the other items. I picked it up to view it closer. It was a photo of me and him that someone had taken with a camera phone the previous year. I’d talked Rick into going out on the water. We didn’t have a royal yacht anymore—the general populous saw to getting rid of that years before—so I chartered one instead. A small one.

We were both grinning and pretty sloshed given the way we were both leaning against each other, only my crooked nose telling us apart. It had been one of those rare days that he had taken off and cut loose.

“Bloody hell, Rick, why did you have to go and leave me all alone?” I asked softly, the pain coursing through my body.

In a flash I saw my future; miserable without him. Year after year I would slowly forget the way he laughed, or the horrid way he swung a golf club. I would forget the way he had slapped me on the back more times than I cared to count before pulling me into a brotherly hug. Or the sheer delight on his face as he enjoyed a fine snifter of scotch. Speaking of… I opened the drawer Sophie mentioned and pulled out a half empty bottle of the good stuff, chuckling as I found a tumbler glass beside it as well.

“Well I’ll be damned,” I said, happy Frederick had at least a few secrets and pleasures in life, as I unscrewed the cap and took a swing. The fiery liquid burned a path to my stomach. The shot was warranted today. My head felt like it was going to split open, the stitches pulling on my skin with every damn movement of my arm. But it wasn’t just my injuries that I wanted to drown out. I had to meet with my family as they outlined and planned the rest of my life for me. A little bit of Dutch courage wouldn’t hurt.

Picking up the calendar again, which was blinding with its colour-coded boxes of all things, I looked at today’s events. How Rick found time for all of this pointlessness was beyond me. I knew he had obligations, but this schedule was insane.

A knock sounded on the door before Sophie popped her head in. I still hadn’t quite figured her out yet. I’d anticipated a meek woman—she certainly dressed the part of an old-fashioned docile school mistress—but there was fire beneath that costume. And I was never wrong about these things.

“You’ve got ten minutes before you have to leave.”

“Thanks,” I said and held up the bottle. “Found the scotch. Fancy a glass?”

She shook her head, an amused smile on her lips. “You’re gonna be late.”

“One for the road then?”

“Don’t make me confiscate it,” she said glaring at me with her hands plated on her frame. There was definitely a fiery, stubborn streak within her.

I walked into the suite of rooms that my parents, as well as my maternal grandparents, used as their private offices, the scotch rolling in my gut.

As a child we used to play in the sitting area, climbing all over the antique furniture until either my mum or my grandmother, or both, would put a stop to it. We didn’t have jungle gyms or trips to the local park as kids, so we had to make do with what we had. One adult’s polished highboy cabinet was another child’s imaginary mountain, ready to be climbed and conquered.

My mum’s office was directly across from my father’s and often one could walk in to see them staring at each other from the doorways or having a conversation, a loud one, like it was a normal occurrence.

Today, my grandmother and mum were nowhere in sight, both of their office doors shut firmly. Instead my grandfather and my father sat in the sitting area, a teacart between them. I half expected the guns to come out with the looks they were shooting me, displeasure on my grandfather’s face, as I sat across from them.

“Good morning, William,” my grandfather, Prince Albert, said, setting his teacup on the cart. He was second in line for the European Bribenheim throne, as well as the Duke of Cambridge, but listing all of his titles would take far too long. “I heard you had a very exciting night last night.”

“It was very exciting in fact,” I responded, stretching my legs out before me. “More importantly it wasn’t my fault.”

The old prince frowned. “I heard that as well. Not that I believe everything I hear. Destroyed a rather expensive car too with that idiotic display. You could have been killed.”

I sighed inwardly, knowing he wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “But I wasn’t, and I am here today as requested. That has to count for something.”

“It counts for your unwillingness to listen to your elders,” my father added, his expression dark. “You can not race cars in the street like a commoner any longer, William. And I can not believe those words had to come out of my mouth. A prince, my son, racing in the street like some, what do they call those louts nowadays? Chavs?

“Regardless, it won’t do. You have to stop this childishness. There is a great deal that you need to learn going forth and your presence is required, not requested.”

My grandfather held up his hand, silencing my father as he looked at me. When I was growing up, I used to think that he was the only one who understood me, a legend, a risk taker in his youth. My mum would mutter constantly that I had inherited my grandfather’s genes.

“I’m sure William is well aware of what he did last night and what he can no longer do. But we should press on. You did not call this meeting for us to rehash what cannot be changed,” he said, nodding to my father.

“Quite right. I called it for us to come up with a succession plan for him,” the king replied.

I leaned forward, my hands lightly clasped together between my legs. “Can I make a statement?”

“This should be good,” my father muttered as my grandfather waved his hand.

I cleared my throat, feeling the emotion swell up in my chest. “As we all know, I am not Frederick. I will never be Frederick. I am, in fact, the complete opposite. Just because we look alike does not mean we were the same. And please don’t expect me to seamlessly step into his shoes like he never existed.”

“That is not what Henry is asking,” my grandfather replied, a hint of sadness on his weathered gaunt face. “Frederick’s memory will live with us for the rest of our days but it is time for you to become the man we know you can be. There’s a lot of potential in you, boy.”

The man I could be? I was the man I wanted to be. I enjoyed my life and was resistant to trade it for something that shouldn’t have ever been on the cards.

“You should just skip over me and have Robert step in.”

“Oh don’t think that we haven’t thought about it,” my father growled.

“But it wouldn’t be proper,” my grandfather added.

“Indeed,” my father said with a sharp singular nod.

“A scandal in its own right. No, that option is not a good one,” Albert continued.

I sat back and stared absently at the ornate ceiling. They had it all planned. I was merely a puppet to them, and they held all the strings. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of scissors right then, a way to cut the proverbial apron strings or umbilical cord.

“I assigned him Frederick’s secretary,” my father added, as if I wasn’t even in the room anymore. As if my part in the conversation was over. My presence was inconsequential. “Miss Mortimer is more than capable of keeping William on task and showing him the ropes.”

“Good, good, if she’s anything like her mother she’ll have him ship shape in no time,” my grandfather said. He turned his attention back to me. “This will all be yours someday, William. You’re expected to give it the same due diligence that both your late grandfather, my dear friend, and your father has done. You need to respect what has come before and carry on the tradition.”

I glared at them, knowing that my other life had ended in that exact moment. I was expected to be this, I was expected to be that.

It was my worst fucking nightmare.

After another round of the old men informing me of what was planned for me I was able to extricate myself, telling them I had other obligations to attend to. They shared a cautious proud look, passing between them as if they believed they’d finally got through to me. I was just grateful that Sophie had scheduled another meeting after the one with my father and grandfather, otherwise I would’ve been stuck there all day, listening to them map out my future like it was a military exercise.

So I was grateful for a short while, but that feeling soon changed.

I went to meeting after meeting as marked on the damn never-ending calendar, accepting condolences until I thought my head was going to implode. I barely understood any of the agendas of the committees or meetings; there was so much to catch up on and learn. I’d been thrown in at the deep end without so much as a lifejacket, let alone a heads up about the sharks circling me.

But after the gruelling events, I made it back to the office as the sun set in the distance, escorted by my new best friends (my security officers, Tweedledee and Tweedledum). My regular bodyguards were not far behind them, doubling up the security.

Thankfully I was welcomed with a cheery face. Sophie met me at the door but made no small talk and thrust a tuxedo into my hands as soon as I was over the threshold.

“You have exactly twenty minutes to get changed so we can go. Chop-chop, Sir.”

I pushed the tux back at her. “No, I’m done for the day. I’m not getting into that penguin suit.”

She clutched the suit to her chest and stubbornly followed behind me as I entered Frederick’s office. “No. You don’t understand. You have to go tonight. Frederick was supposed to—”

“Not fucking die!” I shot back, the bottled up anger that had accumulated throughout the day bursting free. If he hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be stuck doing this shit that I didn’t understand. I wouldn’t be hurting the way I was.

“I’m not my brother so quit attempting to boss me around like you would him. Pretty sure that’s my job… to boss you around. And I’m telling you I’m not going.”

She stared at me, her mouth hanging open as I noticed that she had changed while I was gone, dressed in a classic black dress with a string of pearls at her neck. Her hair was down around her shoulders, soft golden curls framing her face. Well hell, where did this Sophie come from? She’d finally gotten herself a new outfit. One with no hint of frumpiness anywhere. She looked good enough to eat yet still extremely pissed off at me. Which made her even more attractive to look at.

“Your Highness, I know you are not Frederick,” she finally said tightly, almost through gritted teeth. “You don’t have to keep reminding me of that. I am perfectly capable of seeing that and remembering.” She then turned and laid the tux on the back of the chair in front of the desk. I studied her soft curves, her behind encased tightly in that little black dress and felt a tug deep within my belly. I imagined what I would do to her if she was willing to obey me.

“Don’t move,” I whispered and took a step closer.

“What?” she said half turning, ignoring my command.

“I said don’t move.” This time the force of my tone kept her in place, facing away from me.

“Do I have something on me? Oh God, please don’t tell me there’s a spider in my hair.”

“Don’t worry, there isn’t,” I said as the tips of my fingers made contact with a few strands. Her hair was soft and smooth. And I stroked it, then let my hands slip down her spine as I moved closer, my mouth not far from her ear.

“Sir?” she asked, her voice breathless and totally unsure.

“Sophie, you’re here to help me, right?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then I want you to do something for me, ok?”

She didn’t respond but I could hear her breathing speed up.

“Bend over for me,” I whispered and put some light pressure on her back. I wanted to see her present herself to me, I wanted to pull up that dress, up and over her bottom and bury myself in her.

Sophie started to do as I’d requested, possibly just a reflex. She was used to taking orders without question. But suddenly she jerked to a stop, as if realising what she was about to do, then straightened back up. She slowly turned on her heels to face me, her expression unreadable. Yet there were two tell-tale circles of pink high upon her cheeks. She licked her bottom lip, then bit it as her eyes darted from just beneath my waistband and back up to my eyes.

“I’m not that kind of…” she said, trailing off as if she couldn’t bring herself to finish her thought.

“Not kind of what, Sophie? I thought you were here to help me.” I shifted my bodyweight forward, closing the gap between us even more, and her first instinct was to try and regain her personal space. But I filled that gap too. Over and over, she retreated and I advanced. Until there was nowhere else to go. The carpet under her feet had run out and she was trapped between my body and the polished wood panelling of the wall.

“I am here to help you, but not like this.”

“Really? Then why do you keep staring at my cock?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen the way you look at me. And right now I want you on your knees.”

Her chest rose and fell. She was almost hyperventilating. But she licked her lips again and I knew exactly what was going through her mind. It was just a case of her allowing herself to give into temptation.

“It’ll be our little secret,” I said and ran a finger down the side of her cheek, then trailed the tip over her bare lips. “Open,” I urged.

Her mouth parted, her eyes closed, and Sophie moaned as the tip of my fingers found the wetness of her tongue.

All of a sudden a sharp high-pitched trilling cut through the room. The noise was coming from Sophie’s hand. Her phone.

I cursed the damn thing as her eyes snapped open and she pushed me away hard, my finger popping out of her mouth, warm and coated with her saliva.

“You’re going to be late,” she said as if the last few moments had never occurred and silenced the ringing.

“Did you not hear me before? I’m not going.”

Her tone was even, controlled. Maybe too controlled. “Sir, you have to continue with Frederick’s duties. You don’t have a choice.”

“Get out,” I said in a low voice, done with this merry-go-round. If she wasn’t going take orders then she was no use to me.

Instead of running as I thought she would, it was Sophie’s turn to close the distance between us. She reached over and touched my arm briefly. “You aren’t the only one that lost Frederick, just remember that.”

I watched as she walked out, shutting the door softly behind her and closeting me in an office that wasn’t mine. I let out a breath, hanging my head. No one understood what I was going through. I was expected to jump right into Frederick’s place and carry on as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t do that. For one, Frederick and I had been vastly different people. And that couldn’t have been more clear to see that day as I watched peoples faces in the meetings I’d attended, and seeing the disappointment in their expression when they realised I was not a carbon copy; that I was a shadow version of him.

Glancing at the suit Sophie had left, I knew that the right thing for me to do was to get dressed and go to the damn museum. Suck it up and get on with it. But I hated doing what was right just because it was expected of me.

Sophie was going to be disappointed. But that was her loss. I could’ve rocked her prim little world if only she’d given into what she’d been clearly feeling.

I walked past the suit and out of the office ignoring Sophie’s calls, turning the corner to see my group of handlers waiting for me to arrive. “I’m going to get fucking drunk,” I told them. “I can either ditch your arses, and you know I can and will, or you can come join me and get hammered. Your choice.”

Pushing past them, I gave a little smirk as I walked down the hall. I knew they were going to follow. At least I had a ride to the club.