“I don’t have to answer that question to you.”
“No, you don’t owe me an answer; I am not a loyal subject. Your subjects are the ones you owe answers to, not me. All the citizens of this country who work for a living, actually contribute, create, or save lives – it is to those people you owe the explanation.”
“You can save your ‘workers are heroes’ speech. I was worn born wealthy; I don’t owe you or anyone else anything, and I don’t have to feel guilty about it either.”
Astrid walked to the fireplace and watched the fire crackle and burn. She had not introduced the word ‘guilty’ into the conversation; Eric had volunteered that word. That meant he was not as tough as he appeared to be. Deep under that party boy exterior, he felt guilty about being wealthy and doing nothing to earn it.
Choosing not to dwell on that feeling, she changed tactics. “It is the judgment of your father that you would be the better choice for sovereign of this land. There are many who would agree. Your temperament, such as it is reported, is caring and compassionate, while your sister’s personality may not be so ideally suited for the position.”
“That sounds like something my father would say. He is old fashioned, and just wants me to rule because I am a man.”
“I doubt that; you don’t act like a man. Doesn’t that ever get old?”
“What? Does what get old?”
“The hangovers, waking up with strange women, being laughed at and ridiculed in the press as the pathetic prince?”
“I never gave it much consideration. I’m too busy having fun; you should try it sometime.”
Astrid reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She plugged in the code and opened an app. Handing the phone to Eric, she urged him to scroll through the media stories and headlines.
He snatched the phone from her hand and scrolled through a couple of stories before losing interest and dropping her phone on the table.
Not reacting to his attitude, she did not immediately reach or her phone, but taunted him, instead. “Couldn’t handle it, could you? What, is this the first time you’ve been sober long enough to read what the world thinks of your ridiculous behavior?”
“My behavior? No one thinks it’s ridiculous, except you and my father.”
“I can see you are ill-prepared to face the truth. It would seem that the headlines are quite correct concerning you, for a thirty-year-old prince you really are pathetic.”
“You can’t talk to me like that; I outrank you.”
“Not in any way that counts. Why don’t you man up and finish reading what the world thinks of you? That bad boy image used to be cute when you were twenty-one, but at thirty you look like a lush and a loser.”
The prince sat up and reached for the phone. He scrolled through the files so violently that he seemed determined to break her phone. After a moment, be began to slow down and process the stories and pictures she had collected about him.
A few minutes later he handed the phone back to her. “The world thinks I’m loser, so what? On my boat, or on a tropical island in the Pacific, I am king and no one cares.”
“Only because you pay them not to care. If you were a brick mason or a doctor, could you buy anyone’s loyalty or good opinion? Eric,” Astrid said in a soothing tone, as she sat down on the couch beside him, “No one is asking you to change who you are, no one. You can still party, cruise the oceans of the world, and have a good time. But you owe it to yourself to see what else you can be. Whether you become king or not, you can’t keep going on like this. Do you want to be in rehab or dead before you turn thirty-five?”
“Don’t be ridiculous; that won’t happen.”
“Ridiculous, you think so? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“If you look in the mirror you might have to confront the truth. It’s the same truth those headlines in the media are saying – you are heading for oblivion, and how sad to never know who you are, or could have been, what you could have done.”
He gave her a testy glare. “It sounds to me like the only choices I have are to be a drunk, or become king. I already know which option I’ll take.”
“What about the Eric who could make a real difference? Isn’t there anything you care about? You have a vast fortune, fame, and a title; maybe you could do something for someone else before you drink yourself to death. In your travels in third world countries, you can’t tell me you haven’t seen children starving in the street, disease, poverty, people begging for change? Have you chosen to ignore them, to turn a blind eye to their suffering while you squander several fortunes in your pursuit of a good time?”
“Hey, that isn’t fair. I always give the kids money – and the old people. You can’t say that about me.”
“You could do more than just throw them some change now and again. You could make a real difference and still have fun. What if you could use your fame to help these children, or any number of their charities that your care about? How about here at home; is there any cause you care about? Are you willing to take responsibility for the privileges you have?”
“That’s a dirty trick you’re playing right now; don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. You want me to admit I care about something, to make me think.”
Astrid smiled at the prince. “It’s not me who wants you to say you care about others – that’s all you. You know it’s true. It isn’t anything I have done.”
“What happens if I play ball, if I go along with your demands? Why do I feel like a hostage in my own life?”
“Nothing happens. You act like a prince for once in your sordid life, and depending on how convincing you are, you get your life back with all your property. You even get to keep your allowance from the crown’s treasury.”
Sitting beside the prince on the couch in the library as he mulled over his prospects, Astrid became aware that she was in close proximity to a handsome man. He was not only handsome, but the prince of a land she shared loyalty to as well. It was an unusual honor to be in his presence, but she could never let him know that.
A strand of blond hair fell across his face, and Astrid valiantly resisted the urge to reach up and brush it out of his eyes for him. The urge to touch his face, to reach out and hold his hand, was strong. In that moment, Astrid knew that he was not going to be the only one who would be tested by this challenge.
Chapter 5
The private jet landed at Kyoto and was met by a diplomatic entourage. Astrid understood how much depended on how well the prince handled this visit. Departing the plain behind Eric, Gunter, Hans, and Balder, Astrid was not convinced by the prince’s sudden willingness to cooperate.
Eric was older and wiser than a majority of her previous royal charges and she wouldn’t put it past him to use any means at his disposal to discredit her in the eyes of his father, or to placate her just to return to his libertine lifestyle. Turning to smile at her in a way that Astrid was sure he meant as reassuring, Astrid played along, never dropping her guard for a second.
A small army of dignitaries and armed guards waited in the hangar for the prince and his entourage to disembark. They were flanked by two beautiful women dressed in traditional kimonos that Astrid immediately recognized as geisha. It was an honor to be received by artisans of that caliber and Astrid hoped all the work she had put in with Eric had not been in vain.
The dignitaries and geisha bowed to the prince and he returned their bows. Pleasantries were exchanged, and the papers of the entourage and staff were examined. All necessary details were handled in an efficient manner, and the royal party was escorted to a limousine. Astrid slid in last as the fifth member of the party, just behind Gunter the bodyguard. An uneasy silence descended on the inhabitants of the limousine as the motorcade made its way from the hangar to the Chrysanthemum Palace, a royal residence that was now being used as diplomatic accommodations for visiting dignitaries to Kyoto.
Gunter was A
strid’s closest ally among the clique that Eric called his friends. Gunter, like Astrid, was on the King’s payroll and after the tongue lashing he received at the palace this last visit, it was unlikely he would continue to let Eric behave like a spoiled child – or at least that was what Astrid hoped. With men, she had learned they were not always the most logical of creatures.
Not wasting any time, Astrid whipped an IPad out of her travel bag. “Your Highness, the greeting went well. Have you finished reading the material I prepared for the afternoon tour of the temple and the Gion district?”
Hans was the first to speak. “The Gion district? Isn’t that where they keep the geisha? I’ve heard stories about them and their formidable talents,” he said with a leer and an elbow jab into Ben’s side.
“Yeah, Gion. It’s been on my bucket list for years. Eric, how long do we have to shake hands and kiss babies before we can cut out, see the town?”
Eric nodded to Astrid. “Ask my nanny over there. I’m sorry – my press secretary and public relations guru, Willoughby.”
“Your Highness, after your official functions are checked off your itinerary, I see no reason why you should not be allowed to enjoy Kyoto. However, there is a gala dinner in honor of the visiting foreign dignitaries such as yourself, which you must attend.”
“Gala dinner, just another way of saying boring dinner, filled with aristocrats and ambassadors talking about trade and tourism. No thanks,” said the Prince as he opened the fully stocked bar.
“Our hosts would be greatly insulted if you declined their invitation at such short notice. The dinner is non-negotiable,” Astrid answered.
At this point, either the prince was going to acquiesce and try to save face in front of his friends, or he was going to stand up to her in a bid to appear manly. Calmly, she waited for either reaction. Eric shrugged and poured a drink, instead.
Taking a sip of a scotch on the rocks, he handed the bottle to Ben. “Hey Ben, check this out – single malt, very rare. This bottle is worth more than our dear press secretary will make this year.”
Ben cracked a smile and took a swig from the bottle. For a duke, his manners were nothing short of appalling. With friends like these, Eric was assured of never having to act his age. Astrid was neither upset nor embarrassed by Eric’s attempt to discredit her. Smiling, she thought about what was next for Eric if he didn’t learn better manners.
By the time the limousine arrived at the Chrysanthemum Palace, the entire bottle of scotch was history. Astrid had suspected that Eric would test the limits of her authority, but she had optimistically hoped it would not be on this trip. The Snow Blossom Festival was an occasion marked with tradition, a festival she hoped to successfully negotiate without a major diplomatic mishap.
The Chrysanthemum Palace was widely considered by many architects to be a priceless example of traditional architecture in a city that was a living tribute to the history of Japan. It was an honor to be invited to reside at the palace during a state visit, and it was an honor lost on the men in the group as they loudly announced their arrival at the palace like fraternity boys on spring break.
Astrid accompanied the prince to his suite, sliding open the rice paper doors to reveal a garden covered in a light dusting of snow. The effect was stunning, and Astrid marveled at the beauty of the garden as she listened to the prince clumsily looking for the bar in his suite. Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention to her charge.
“Eric, what is your problem? We’ve been in Kyoto less than an hour and already your behavior is reprehensible. Honors that you do not deserve have been extended to you and your band of ungrateful friends, and all you can do is plan how you are going to destroy the goodwill between this nation and yours in one state visit?”
“I don’t care what you or my father think, I just want to have a drink and then hit the town.”
Astrid did nothing to hide her repugnance. “Look at yourself! Thirty years old and rebelling like a sixteen-year-old who gets an earring to make his father mad. The people of this country – and your family – deserve better than you. You disgust me.”
“Like I said, I don’t care what you or my father think of me. I was doing just fine without either of you meddling in my affairs.”
“As you wish. You can do as you like. I will attend the functions in your place, as representative of Rogandal. But just so you know, you will not receive another penny from your father.”
Astrid walked out of the suite and went to her own quarters. Being an aristocrat, her suite of rooms was well appointed and she was pleased with the accommodations. She was not pleased with Eric. His behavior stirred up feelings deeper than annoyance; his actions repulsed her.
Sending an update to the king, she dressed for the afternoon’s tour of the temple. If he would not represent Rogandal, she would do everything in her power to minimize the damage caused by the spoiled prince. She was confident he would not find her next course of action to his liking.
Astrid gave the necessary excuses for the prince and accompanied the dignitaries and diplomats on a tour of Kyoto. Kyoto in Winter was breathtaking and she found the preparations for the festival to be held the next day to be fascinating.
Without once checking on her charge, she returned to the palace to prepare for the gala. Later that evening she went alone to the dinner, and was pleasantly surprised by the attendance of many British aristocrats of her acquaintance. Slipping into bed that night, she was pleased that the day and evening had gone well for her, and for the nation of Rogandal.
The same could not be said for Prince Eric and his entourage.
* * *
Astrid woke before dawn and immediately checked her messages, email, and social media for any news of the official state visit, or signs of trouble. Turning on the television in her suite, she found a channel that was covering the Snow Blossom Festival and was pleased with her appearance and choice of wardrobe. It was the following report of the prince’s activities that made her blood boil.
As she watched the television and simultaneously scanned social media, she saw pictures of drunken revelry and read news of the prince’s latest embarrassing behavior. Reading an incredibly detailed report on the news site, Planet, she felt slightly queasy. Scrolling, she saw several pictures that seemed to be taken from cell phones, and others from security cameras. Planet had all the juicy tidbits, and more compromising pictures than she cared to see of the prince in various states of drunkenness at bars, hostess cafés, and ultimately being escorted out of one of the Gion district’s well known geisha houses.
She immediately texted the king, Your Royal Majesty, you will undoubtedly receive news and pictures of Eric’s latest activities. I believe you have a bigger problem than just Eric. You have a large information leak that needs to be plugged immediately. Have I your permission to do whatever is necessary?
Calculating the time difference in her head, she hoped the king would still be up. Her phone buzzed and the king texted her back: What now? Do whatever you have to get him under control. That is an order.”
Astrid was prepared to do just that. Dressing quickly, she left her quarters and marched to Eric’s. Prepared to find the prince unconscious, she was not prepared to find him absent. Looking around, she found his clothes and his belongings. Walking out into the corridor, she was striding towards the concierge when she received a text from the king. Eric was being held by the police.
Less than an hour later, Astrid and an emissary representing the imperial family of Japan met with a police detective in a small, cramped office downtown in the business district of Kyoto. Inspector Tanaka smiled and spoke in perfect English. Astrid was grateful she would not require a translator, as this was going to be difficult in any language.
“Lady Willoughby, we are honored by your presence at our precinct. May I arrange a tour of the facility?”
“Inspector Tanaka, your offer is generous and I appreciate your gesture. May I schedule the tour for another time?”
> “Yes, another time would be best. In what capacity do you represent the government and royal family of Rogandal?”
“I have the full diplomatic authority of the crown and the confidence of His Majesty to act on his behalf.”
“That is well; there are many concerns that must be addressed,” said the emissary, a man impeccably dressed and devoid of all but the gravest of expressions.
Astrid refrained from showing any emotion. “I am aware there are concerns. His Majesty offers his profound apologies to your people and your nation for the behavior of his son. He hopes that it will not be taken as a reflection of the genuine regard the people of Rogandal have for this nation and her sacred traditions.”
The inspector interjected. “There has been damage to several structures of great historical significance. There has been embarrassment brought upon the houses of notable persons in Kyoto.”
“Gentlemen, I believe you are both in a unique position to understand what is at stake here. The prince behaved badly, as men often do when they are enjoying a night on the town with friends. I offer my deepest apologies that this evening resulted in destruction and embarrassment. I am prepared to offer monetary compensation for all charges and the assurance that the prince will no longer be representing the interest of the nation of Rogandal in this beautiful country in the future. Have we reached an agreement?”
The inspector turned to the emissary as Astrid waited for their decision.
“The agreement is acceptable with one further stipulation: a formal apology must be issued by your government regarding the embarrassment caused to our living treasures, our geisha, and their honorable houses.”
“Yes, I will issue that apology myself immediately. When may I expect the prince to be released?”
“He and his accomplices will be released immediately.”
“Accomplices?” asked Astrid sweetly. “I am not interested in his accomplices. They alone are responsible for their actions. My government regrets their involvement, but as private citizens, their actions are not the responsibility of my sovereign.”
Taming the Rebel Prince: The Royals of Rogandal Page 5
