by Alyssa Cole
“Yes. And somehow it’s on the front page of the tabloids.”
“Someone must have taken it from my phone!” She looked at him. “I’m sorry. I should have deleted it afterward. I didn’t think I was important enough to have my phone hacked before, and then I was so caught up in . . . well, in you.”
“You’re sure you didn’t send it to anyone? Not to any friends?” He hated even asking, because that awful, needy part of him told him that it didn’t matter what she did. He didn’t want to lose her, and especially not like this.
“My only friends are Ledi and Portia, who would never betray our trust, and I didn’t send it, even to them.”
He nodded and sighed.
Her only friends.
“If you have no other friends, who was the person you were texting with?” he asked. “I saw a message from him, you told me he was a nice person, and Greta saw something disturbing when she held your phone. Something about overthrowing governments.”
He watched with dread to see if she cringed or balked or looked away from him, but instead she giggled and shook her head.
“Oh that! I told you it was a game. I can show you.”
Relief flowed through him, pooling in the cracks of his hardened anger, as she slipped out of bed to take her phone from the charger. He hadn’t truly believed she would betray him, and he was glad he had asked instead of making assumptions. Now she would show him and everything would be fine.
“Here is my friend,” she said, voice playful.
She handed over the phone and he saw . . . himself. A two-bit cartoon version of himself, with a silly, sly smile plastered on its face.
“What is this?” he asked, though something told him he really didn’t want to know.
“It’s One True Prince,” she said, taking the phone and scrolling. “It’s an immersive virtual dating game and—”
“And that’s me. You were dating a video game version of me?”
She paused, her head tilted with uncertainty. “No. I was playing a romance game. It’s not dating.”
He remembered her laughing when he’d given her love advice during their adventure capturing a goat. She’d been laughing at him.
“And when I asked you about this love interest of yours, several times, you didn’t think it wise to tell me about this game you were playing?”
He’d been ready to forgive her being some type of spy, meddling with his country’s affairs. This? This drained all the relief from him and replaced it with an amorphous hurt.
She rubbed one hand up her biceps. “It seemed kind of awkward to bring up. And it’s just a game.”
“If it was just a game, why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed.
She folded her arms over her chest now. “I did tell you. In this very room. When you asked me who I was getting messages from.”
“Just a game where you were dating some silly version of me. I see.”
“Why are you so upset?” she asked, and it seemed to be a genuine question. “The fact that someone stole a photo from my phone, and who knows what other information, is more pressing right now.”
He didn’t know why he was so upset. It was a game.
But he felt tricked, foolish. Nya had never seemed like she was particularly interested in his playboy persona. But she’d been playing that game, with the frivolous version of him, and she’d kept playing it, even after they’d agreed to the fake engagement. Even after he’d kissed her and thought he was going to burst from his heart being so full.
It seemed that needy part of him wasn’t satisfied with love alone. It needed Nya to love him for himself, and not because she was obsessed with some fake version of him. That was the thing with need—it was multifaceted and once acknowledged, just the tip of an iceberg of unknown size. If anyone had ever told him that he’d actually let himself fall this hard for a woman and then doubt her because of some video game, he would have laughed. And yet there he was, blindsided by a seemingly trifling blow that would leave a hell of a bruise.
“I don’t know.” He got up and began to pace. “I know this is ridiculous. Trust me, it’s the last thing I thought we’d argue about, but it’s not great feeling like all of this was just some game to you.”
His ability to speak so calmly surprised him; inside he was furious, mostly with himself. He thought he could read people so clearly, but he’d created his own fairy tale with Nya, one in which she’d seen behind his masks and somehow intrinsically understood who he was. But she’d clearly liked those masks and facades if she’d devoted so much time to the game version of him. She said she wanted him, Johan, but maybe she was just a Jo-Jo fan in sheep’s clothing.
“It was some game to me,” she said, her voice cool with anger. “I don’t know where this righteousness is coming from. You ignored me for almost two years. You pretended you didn’t know that I existed, or even my name. And I was supposed to just tell you everything? You’re not the only one who gets to protect yourself, Johan.”
He turned toward her, his movements carefully careless.
“And how was pretending that you had some lover desperately texting you protecting yourself?” he asked. His voice was harsh but he was unable to control it. He’d felt pure, undiluted jealousy about those messages. “I think that’s just called lying.”
“I didn’t pretend anything!” She was standing now, wrapping his sheet around those curves that had been under his hands all night. “You assumed. And you know what? I could have told you it was a game, but you were the first person who’d ever even assumed that anyone would take interest in me in that way!” Tears filled her eyes and her anger made her accent clip her words. “I was embarrassed, okay? I didn’t want to be silly, boring Nya, only able to find love in a video game. Especially not to you, who had looked through me for so long and could have anyone he wanted. I do apologize—for trying to save myself one more humiliation.”
Scheisse de merde, he was being an asshole. He was being completely, indisputably ridiculous after everything that had passed between them the night before. But he also couldn’t seem to get past this hurt because of everything that had happened the night before. He’d opened himself to her completely, thought he’d finally found the person who would see him as he was, love him as he was, and maybe all it boiled down to for her was a romp with a celebrity prince.
“If you want to talk about humiliation, imagine having to wonder if your . . . person cares about you or a fake version of you.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, leaving his hand tangled in the strands, and exhaled harshly. “This is absurd.”
“You told me you loved me,” she said, her eyes wide with hurt and anger. “I think it was you playing games. Because you went from ignoring me, to being everywhere I was, to charming me, to offering this fake engagement, to taking me into your bed. And now that you’ve gotten what you wanted, and the referendum is tomorrow, you conveniently find some reason to take a small error and turn it into an unforgivable one. I know this playbook. Maybe I was wrong to think you weren’t like my father.”
Johan dropped his head, shaking it. “No. I didn’t use you any more than you did me.”
“But you did use me, at the beginning. Because you wanted me, and you couldn’t admit that, so when you saw the opportunity to have me without actually doing the work of a relationship, you took it.”
He wished she was less perceptive.
“I didn’t think that far ahead,” he said. “It was an impulse.”
She made a sharp sound of frustration, one that was almost a sob.
“It’s not fair if you’re allowed impulses but I have to think ahead and predict how things will hurt you.” She swallowed hard, pausing for a moment to collect herself. “You know, I understand why you’re upset, but what am I supposed to make of this when you’ve already admitted to spending so much time trying to push me away? Will you always be looking for a reason?”
Johan didn’t answer.
Just end this now, he thought. Tell her you don
’t care and that this is over.
But that was a lie—he could feel the anxiety at the thought of losing her pressing at his chest, squeezing. And today at least, he would not lie to Nya, or to himself. She’d been lied to her entire life. Her father had used love against her and Johan could do the same, quite easily. Manipulation was his job. He could tell her that she had misunderstood the way he held her, the look in his eye, and the emotion in his kisses. He could tell her he didn’t actually love her. And she would believe him, eventually, because he could make people believe anything. But he wouldn’t do that to her, even if he paid for it later. And he wouldn’t do it to himself, because he deserved honesty, too. Just this once.
“I pushed you away because my interest in you was dangerous,” he forced the words out. “Love comes with loss, and I didn’t want to lose anyone ever again. I wasn’t lying when I said I love you, but I don’t know how not to be scared that I’ll lose you. I don’t know how not to be consumed by that fear. I was only just managing with Lukas and I messed that up, too.”
She walked up to him, and her expression was so distraught that he felt it all through his body, the pain he was causing her.
“You like being the conductor, making sure each instrument in the orchestra surrounding you plays just so in order to protect your emotions. I’m not your instrument, Phoko, just as you aren’t my weapon. I can’t have my happiness dependent on your fears. I will never live like that again.”
She’s leaving.
He reached for her through a haze of panic. “Look. Let’s just—”
Nya’s phone chimed then, a snippet of an upbeat pop song, and he glanced at it. “Is it me, interrupting me?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.
Maybe he could turn this around. He would just pretend that everything would be all right, and then it would be. He could pave over this hurt, inconsequential compared to most. He could ignore his fears. If this was the despair he’d been waiting on, it wasn’t so bad.
Nya had picked up her phone and was speaking quietly in Thesotho. Her expression had already been tense, but it went slack as tears slipped down her cheeks. Johan went to her and pulled her into his lap. Even if his feelings were hurt, even if they were in the middle of this strange argument, he wouldn’t let her cry alone.
She leaned against him and he could feel her shaking. “Okay. Okay. I will. Yes, Nkhono.”
She hung up and accepted the tissue he’d reached over and grabbed from the bedside table.
“My father has been moved to the prison hospital,” she said. “He really is ill, it seems. They’re worried he won’t make it.”
Johan rubbed her shoulders. “What will you do?”
“I should go to him,” she said.
“Do you want to?” The thought of her leaving before they could finish their discussion made his chest go tight, selfish as it was.
“No. And yes. But I can’t live with the regret of what would happen if I don’t.”
He nodded, forced himself to loosen his hold on her as she stood.
Nya started walking toward the door to her room and then paused, a shuddering tremble going through her. When she held out her hand, he stared at her, then slowly held out his own. The thin silver band she dropped into his palm was still warm.
Her expression was so close to crumpling, but she lifted her chin. “As you said, this isn’t a game. I’d rather return it now, because . . . because . . .” She shrugged, and he read everything contained in that small motion. Because she didn’t need to worry over two men who let their fears control them. Because he hadn’t truly meant for her to be his wife when he’d given it to her.
Because she had no reason to come back.
Johan held himself still around the pain that opened up inside of him, around his hopes for them collapsing like the walls of gingerbread houses.
“Okay.” He clutched the ring. “Well. It was fun, right?”
“It was a good adventure,” she said softly. Then she leaned down to kiss him on the head. “Good luck, Phoko.”
“I can arrange the flights and take you to the airport,” he said, trying to inject casual cheer into his voice. “I know you made fun of my car but—”
Nya shook her head. “My grandparents have arranged the flights. And I can get to the airport myself. You have to go meet your family and deal with the referendum. Make sure you talk to your sibling, okay? And listen, too. Lukas needs you right now.”
She turned and walked through the door, bedsheet trailing behind her, and she didn’t look back.
Johan wanted to call out her name, to throw himself at her feet, but he just sat there in numb shock. This was the despair. Seeing Nya walk away from him and not being sure if she would, or should, walk back.
It was better this way. If he lost her now, he wouldn’t lose her later. He drew his feelings back into the vault where he’d kept them, though somehow that vault could no longer contain them. So he did what he supposed most people in the world did; he got up, carrying his hurt like a weight that he tried not to stumble under, and prepared to face the day—alone.
Chapter 25
Today I found Johan upset again. He asked me why the mothers in fairy tales always had to die. He said it wasn’t fair. I didn’t know what to say because he already knew the answer. My sweet boy threw his arms around me and begged me to promise him that I would never die. I came so close to lying to him, to both of us. But I told him that I would die one day, as all things must, and that it would be painful for him. I told him I hoped that before I did, I got to see him grow into the beautiful man I know he’ll become. I told him I hoped I would see him fall in love. I told him that if I didn’t live to see those things, I would still be there with him. Every time he felt deeply: every time he laughed or cried or raged. Because feeling deeply is something he got from me, if it’s not too egotistical to say so. It is my gift to him. I hope he always remembers that.
—From the journal of Queen Laetitia von Braustein, Private Collection of the Castle von Braustein Library
After standing in the shower staring blankly at the tiled walls, he’d gone to Nya’s room only to find it empty. She’d packed at record speed, it seemed, the quicker to get away from him.
He’d gone to the parlor, the first to arrive after the serving staff had laid out their breakfast, and Googled One True Prince as he waited. It was clearly a popular game, and there were hundreds of screenshots and dozens of videos of playthroughs.
He watched through a video showing the game if you were in a romance with the character that was based on him, a frown on his face at the ways in which the character was similar and different from him. His character was trying to overthrow the systems of monarchies, which he found a bitter irony in, given how much he’d done to put Liechtienbourg’s in a good light, despite his disdain. The character Hanjo did it by collecting information about his fellow princes and giving it to the press, by committing small acts of vandalism like spray painting “Down with the monarchy!” and—
Johan sat up straight in his chair, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he stared at the screen. So many of the things this Hanjo character said in screenshots echoed what he’d read in the “vote no” forum, particularly from the commenter FloupGelee.
He remembered what Greta had said that morning—the IP addresses used had been at the palace . . . and at Lukas’s school. In focusing on Nya, he’d missed a rather important connection. One that he couldn’t bring himself to believe, but . . .
The door to the parlor opened and King Linus and Prince Lukas walked in. Linus sat and slapped his hands on his knees, his expression tense. Lukas sulked into a seat and sucked at the plastic tube of frozen yogurt that had been his favorite comfort food since he was a child, the Floup brand name emblazoned on the side of it.
“FloupGelee,” Johan said blankly, and watched as Lukas froze.
“What?” Linus asked, looking back and forth between them.
“Why?” Johan asked. “For years I’
ve—” He stopped, remembering what Nya had explained about her father, how he’d used his loving care of her to beat her down with. He softened his tone. “Why are you undermining the referendum?”
Lukas’s eyes narrowed in anger, but then he frowned and his eyes welled with tears.
“Please,” Johan said gently. “We can figure this out, but I need to know why before we can do that. I love you, and I won’t do anything to hurt you. I won’t get mad.”
That wasn’t a lie. Something must have driven Lukas to try to destroy his own future. Something he’d been too scared to tell Johan.
Make sure you talk to your sibling, okay? And listen, too. Lukas needs you right now.
Johan started to get an idea of what was going on, memory after memory slotting into place: Lukas’s distaste for the preppy look; Johan telling Lukas to stay out of their mother’s makeup; Lukas asking why some things were for girls and some were for boys, and the upset Johan’s answer of “Because that’s how things are” had caused. The fight they’d had just before Johan had left for Thesolo.
“I always pressured you to act a certain way, to project a certain image. Did you just get tired of that?”
Lukas put down the empty sleeve of yogurt and nodded jerkily.
“You always taught me what to do to be the perfect prince. To hide everything important to me and always show everyone what they wanted to see,” he said, his voice sounding so much like it had when he was small that Johan’s own throat roughened. Lukas’s clear blue eyes met Johan’s. “What you wanted to see. Football, and riding, and being popular with the boys. Whenever I talked about what I wanted you told me it was something people would make fun of me for.”
God, he really had messed it up. He’d thought he was helping, thought he was saving Lukas pain, but he’d overcorrected and began to push instead of guide. He’d always wondered why Mamm had let him act in ways that led to bullying and now he had his answer—she’d let him be himself. Johan had made Lukas think he should be someone else.
“I want to hide everything, which isn’t entirely healthy, and I think I didn’t make clear that you could do things differently,” Johan said, trying to find the words to begin fixing this. “I didn’t think that through, and I’m sorry. If this is about sexuality, you do know I’m not straight, right? I’ll be the last person to judge you on that.”
