The Line of Succession

by Harry F Rey

  Something about that made Andrew stop dead. Just like Faisal! Until today, until the wink at the concert, he hadn’t thought about that moment for years. Faisal had left Eton a few weeks later and Andrew had forgotten he even existed until years later when he found out Alexandra was dating him. Ever since, the two of them had pretended like it never happened. A gentleman's agreement to cover a secret that offered only mutually assured destruction…

  “Hey,” Andrew said, patting Greg on the ass. “Let me get in there for a minute.” Greg relented, pulled out and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Andrew ran his hand over James’ ass, picked up the lube bottle from the bed and squirted a few dollops onto his own cock.

  James moaned as Andrew slid in, comforted by the familiarity of each other after the pounding from a stranger. Andrew went softer, smoother, hitting all the places he knew James liked, and reached under to stroke his cock.

  Andrew felt Greg press behind him. The young man kissed his neck and gently started to touch around Andrew’s hole. It flooded his body with memories of that day with Faisal. His legs started to go weak. Andrew had never bottomed since then, not once … a tongue from someone here and there, but nothing further. They were strictly top, strictly bottom, just as much as they were strictly commoner, strictly prince.

  Andrew reached behind him and grabbed Greg’s cock, still wet from James’ hole. He closed his eyes and pretended it belonged to Faisal. Slowly, he moved it into position. Greg licked the back of Andrew’s neck, then spat.

  The sensation overwhelmed him as Greg slid inside. No pressure, no pain … it felt like something he’d waited years for; a haunting memory, once lost, but now fucking him.

  The three of them moved in unison, Andrew into James and Greg into Andrew. Slow and satisfying … as James’ groans got louder, his hands gripped the sheets. Andrew started to pant. The feeling of fucking while being fucked was overwhelming him. Greg got faster. The sweat dripped down them all. James groaned. Andrew panted. Greg got faster. On and on, more and more…

  Suddenly, Greg yelled out. James, too. Andrew felt James shoot into his hand, just as he felt his own insides fill up from Greg. Then he lost it. Just like that moment with Faisal, his body gave out. Andrew shot deep inside James, who continued to moan as he continued to come. Greg bit down on Andrew’s shoulder, his cock still shooting, still deep inside, turning up things in Andrew that he thought were buried deep, deep down.

  Chapter Ten

  Lizzie sat at her kitchen table, staring at the cream envelope marked To my son; the tea she’d made for herself when she got home was long cold. Taking her makeup off and changing into pajamas had been the only thing she could think of doing. The whole night had left her out of sorts, especially as Andrew decided to abandon her twenty minutes into the concert without even a text message to explain. At the drinks afterwards, she’d nursed the same glass of champagne for an hour as she floated from group to group, never taking an eye off James. Outside of the eyes of the photographers, the royal couple didn’t seem too interested in each other. James existed inside a protective circle of his friends, while Katyn looked content to talk about her hair, her clothes and her tiara to anyone who gave her a passing comment.

  Lizzie flicked the envelope over in her hands, turning it over and over again. She couldn't get the questions out of her mind … the questions that would come the second she gave it to James. For fifteen years, she’d thought about it. For fifteen years, she’d failed to do anything. For fifteen years, she’d tried to find answers. Tried and failed … at least now she was sure her mother had been murdered.

  Richard had separated from Alice a year before, and the groundwork for a divorce had quietly been laid. As a seventeen-year-old Lizzie had known it. And she’d been perfectly aware of the consequences of the heir to the throne attempting to marry an Irish Catholic girl from Belfast, with crazy red hair, a freckled face, and an accent that terrified the establishment. Especially a girl who was also the mother of his first-born child.

  The envelope flapped open anyway, so she just tipped it and the folded piece of paper dropped onto the table. Once a year she read it, and since she was only going to put it back into the box of Calista Murphy’s belongings, she might as well read it again.

  My dearest son James,

  Happy birthday. You must never forget how much your mother and I love you. I know this year has been hard on you, and I know the years that come might not get any easier. I’ve watched how you’ve struggled over the last while, and it breaks my heart … your mother’s, too. This isn’t the life you want … to be second in the line of succession, with all the pressure and expectation it brings. I know you, my son. I know the struggles you face in your heart, and I don’t ever want you to have to choose between who you love and the family that loves you.

  Your grandmother wasn’t too happy with this idea, but it’s my decision and she will support me, even if reluctantly. Soon, and very quietly, we will ask the government to begin the process of changing the law to allow Alexandra to become my immediate successor. Constitutionally, the throne is yours by right of primogeniture as my first-born son, but Alexandra is older than you, if only by minutes. Were she a boy, you wouldn’t have been next in line, and it’s only fair that the eldest child, boy or girl, should inherit.

  But, it isn’t just because of fairness or feminism. It’s about what’s best for you … for both of you. Duty and service will always be a part of your life as part of this family. But it doesn’t have to be your whole life. It doesn’t have to stop you being who you want to be. You won’t be disinherited; you will still be a prince. And as third in line, if anything should happen, God forbid, to myself and your sister before she has a child, you will be King.

  I only want you to be happy, and I only want what’s best for you. As your father, I’ll always be there. I’ll always stand up for you and be by your side. Trust me that this is for the best. This is the right thing. And even though you may not be King, you will always be my son.

  All my love,

  Daddy.

  Lizzie read over the line again: it’s only fair that the eldest child, boy or girl, should inherit. She couldn’t agree more. Lizzie’s time of being a nobody was rapidly coming to an end.

  • • •

  Four months ago

  Christmas Day

  Lizzie stamped her high-heeled feet against the bitter, biting cold. Others outside the church were doing the same. They were all waiting for the Queen to arrive for the usual Christmas Day service at St. Mary Magdalene Church. The entire royal Sandringham estate was dusted in frost under a cloud of threatening white. But, it was still too cold to snow. She wrapped her gloved hands around herself, pulling the fur-lined coat closer to her body. It seemed to make no difference.

  A car pulled up to the brown-bricked, 16th century church and the frozen stones in the driveway crunched under the wheels of a black Mercedes. She hoped that, finally, it would be her parents. Well, adoptive parents. Andrew was inside the church carrying on a low volume, high intensity argument with James, so it was preferable to wait out here in the cold for the elderly Earl and Countess of Windsor.

  Instead, the slick jet-black hair and dark-skinned face of Faisal emerged from the car door on the opposite side, looking like he hadn’t slept. Whether it was from the children or the stress she knew he felt at royal events wasn’t clear. But she liked the fact that even he, a prince in his own right, felt a grating uncomfortableness in the clan of Queen Victoria II. The belligerent, seemingly indestructible monarch elicited fear as much as she did respect. The power of an old woman hell-bent on doing things her own way could not be underestimated.

  Alexandra now burst forth from the car, resplendent in a perfectly white winter coat tied in the middle. The screeches of two bored children dressed in uncomfortable clothes escaped from the inside of the car. Yet, as Alexandra caught sight of Lizzie, her expression refreshed from harassed mother to elegant princess.

  She turned back
to Faisal with a look so harsh it could only have come from her grandmother. “Sort them out, Faisal,” she said, slamming the car door on the now wailing children. “Lizzie, darling, how are you?” She greeted her with a warm smile and a perfectly made-up face. Their cheeks pressed against each other, exchanging warmth.

  “Freezing, Alex. How about you?”

  “Don’t ask,” she said, ignoring the fact that behind her Faisal was still trying to corral his children out of the car in a scene that was rapidly getting out of hand. “Come.” Alexandra tucked her arm through Lizzie’s, “Let’s get inside.”

  Stepping into the church was like wandering through the Christmases of her childhood. Every detail played out the way it did in her memory. Altar boys running around with antique radiators, trying in vain to heat the freezing building before the Queen arrived. The faces of the extended family members she only ever saw at royal set pieces dotted around the pews dressed in winter coats and fur hats. Lizzie hadn’t changed either. She was still Lady Elizabeth Windsor, still daughter of the Earl of Windsor, still a forgotten minor royal on the fringes of the family. What had changed though, is that she no longer believed the lie.

  The desire for vengeance, the need for absolution, the dream of cracking open the monarchy to expose its rotten, murderous core shrouded in pomp and privilege had only grown stronger. That had changed, and it had changed her. She would get through this day by imagining herself rising from the pew with the congregation, then slowly, almost casually, creeping up to the altar, unseen and unheard in the din of the hymns. She would lift the silver communion cup, filled with the Blood of Christ, and she would beat the Queen to a bloody pulp on the sacred floor.

  “I can’t believe he still brings Andrew to these things,” Alexandra said, snapping Lizzie back to life and gripping her arm tighter at the sight of James and Andrew standing in the shadows off to the side of the altar, furiously whispering at each other and jabbing fingers into chests. The two women walked arm in arm up the aisle of the church like some marriage ceremony in an alternate universe. Lizzie studied Alexandra’s face for clues, insights into the layers of her statement, constructed in a way that begged a thousand questions. She decided to push a bit further.

  “I can’t believe he’s going to be thirty soon and we’ve never had even the whisper of a girlfriend.” Lizzie let the soft words tempt Alexandra into revealing her cards. The princess glanced sideways at her; soft red lips parted with the slightest hint of a question. They sat down together on the pew, second from the front, taking in the heat from an ancient gas radiator pumping out heat to the pew in front where the Queen would sit, with James at her side.

  James was looking increasingly frustrated, as was Andrew. Lizzie knew her best friend. As soon as the service was done, he’d be on her for the rest of the day, griping and moaning about James. She understood he had no one else in the world to complain to, and also that he’d never take her advice about what to do.

  “You know Andrew very well,” Alexandra said, but not as a question, and patted Lizzie’s leg. “Why hasn’t he found anyone to settle down with yet?” Lizzie turned to face her, half hoping she could crack the façade with just a look.

  “You can’t be serious.” Lizzie responded with an almost excited air. She couldn’t not know, and she seemed willing enough to prod the pretense. Alexandra spread her gloved hands out in front of her with a shrug, abrogating her turn to answer.

  Over in the corner, Lizzie saw Andrew storm off through a side door, leaving James to sulk in the shadows alone. There didn’t seem to be much chance of a détente between them. It would be a long Christmas.

  “Do you and Faisal fight like that?” Lizzie asked, attempting a delicate way around the subject. Alexandra remained silent for a moment, her eyes on her brother, now fiddling with his phone.

  Finally, Alexandra turned to face her. “Don’t all couples?” she said, saying everything she needed to with her knowing eyes. Lizzie sank into the wooden pew, feeling an odd wave of relief wash over her. “Faisal pointed it out to me,” she added with a whisper.

  “Well, he was there when it started,” Lizzie responded. Alexandra turned in an understated sense of shock.

  “What do you mean?” she asked like a woman who’d just been confronted with allegations of her husband’s infidelity. Lizzie gulped back her surprise … not at the question, but at the urgency with which it was asked.

  “Eton. He was at Eton with both of them. That’s when they got together.”

  A knowing look spilled across Alexandra’s face just as the doors at the back of the church burst open. More of the family poured in, finding their seats in a muddle of coats and scarves. It meant the Queen had arrived, and things would be getting started. Alexandra stood up and Lizzie followed. The Princess peered past her, as if looking out for her grandmother, but leaned in to Lizzie’s ear and whispered, “Come find me later tonight.” Lizzie nodded as Alexandra turned on her royal engagement smile. “We’ll have a bottle … I think we’ve got a lot to discuss.”

  • • •

  “I liked him,” Andrew said, laying on James’ chest, the greasy smell of the pizza they’d just finished still wafting in from the living room.

  “Yeah? Me too. He really gave it to me good. You both did.” James kissed him on the forehead.

  “Yeah.” He hadn’t said anything about where Greg finished. James hadn’t asked. Andrew couldn’t bear to imagine what might happen if he even hinted at having taken Greg inside him, and to the end. It had always been a royal prerogative, a preference that over time had hardened to a rule … the law which enabled their relationship. James needed sex and Andrew provided it. Too much was in flux right now … too many things built on sand threatening to collapse around them to go picking at the bedrock of how they had sex. “I think I have a strategy. Maybe not a solution, but a long-term strategy I think might work.”

  James sighed. “Let’s hear it.”

  “We know you need an heir. We’ve always known that. And to have one you need to be married. But after the kid is born, who says you need to stay married? I mean, your dad separated from your mum. They didn’t divorce but they could’ve. Plus, the Church still frowns on re-marriage anyway, especially if you have a big royal wedding. So, the kid is born, we wait six months and then bingo; an heir and ex-wife. Who’s going to pressure a divorced prince to marry again? Who’s going to care? I mean, the country will have what they want, and you’ll be free. Freer than you’ve ever been before.”

  Andrew gently ran his fingers across James’ taught stomach, feeling him breathe, hearing his mind think over what he’d said. Andrew remained quiet until It felt like minutes had gone past without a response.

  “James?” he said, sitting up. “Are you asleep?”

  “No.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  James opened his eyes and turned to face Andrew. “I’ll do anything to be with you. Tonight, all today when we were apart, all of it just reminded me you’re what I want. Only you.” James kissed Andrew’s nose. “I think it’s a solid plan, really. It’s good. But it needs to seem real. I know Alex is ready to pounce on the first hint of anything. So…” James hesitated. “I think you need to stop working for me.”

  Andrew felt his lover’s hand run up his back and caress his cheek. He knew what would come next.

  “And I think you need to move out too.”

  Andrew sighed. Everything he feared most in the world had just come true, but in a way it felt like a relief. Real progress after years of just standing still…. “Yeah, I think so too,” he said. James started to sob, and Andrew pulled him close. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

  “I’ve never been apart from you. Never … not since we were fifteen and that night, that horrible night. I always wanted you. I can’t function without you.”

  “Hey, come on, we have a plan. We’ll get through this.”

  James tried to smile through the tears. “You’ll be here for me? Every n
ight you’ll be here? Because I will. I don’t care how, I don’t care when, every night I’ll be here, in our home, waiting for you.”

  “Shh.” Andrew wrapped his arms around James as tears dripped down his neck. “You’ll always have me. No matter what, we’ll be together, always. I don’t care what comes our way or who tries to stop us. Nothing is going to get in the way of me loving you, or you becoming king. I promise you that, James. I promise you that.”

  The saga continues in

  The Line of Succession 2:

  Acts of Treason

  Coming April 2, 2019

  About Harry F. Rey

  Harry F. Rey is a British born author and lover of gay themed stories with a powerful punch. His new M/M sci-fi series The Galactic Captains is available July 2018 from Nine Star Press. You can find out more about his upcoming releases on twitter (@Harry_F_Rey).

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