Bring Me Edelweiss (Five Points Stories Book 2)

by Kyle Baxter

  Frederick wanted to argue the point, but it was clear the decision was already made and it was long in coming. He saw it on each of their faces. To a one, they were broken and sad. No one wanted this.

  ❖

  Leaving his father’s office in a daze, Frederick looked up and found himself at the bottom of the main staircase. He made his way up to his old room. Everything was much as he left it when he was a teenager: football player posters on the wall, video games, and Blu-rays in their cases on the shelf. He picked up his Xbox controller, randomly pressed the buttons, then set it aside.

  A picture of the four of them—Karl, Alois, Astrid, and himself—when they were kids hung on the wall. He took it off its hook and turned it over in his hands. God, Joel was right. I really was an unfortunate-looking kid. He laughed despite himself. His eyes misted.

  He ran a finger over Alois’s face in the photo. Such a sweet, kind man. Tall, blond, handsome, and so smart. Smarter than Karl, and he always suspected that Karl resented Alois a little for that. Frederick looked up to him; Alois was everything he wanted to be. He was so good.

  Frederick remembered the night he got the news from his mother and how broken she sounded. He was deployed overseas, so the news reached him before even the queen was able to get through. The BBC broke the story, and it made its way to his camp at Al-Husab in record time. He saw a lot of death, but Alois’s and Noah’s coming only months apart devastated him.

  It’s not fair. It’s too much. It’s just too much. There was a pit in his stomach, like a hunger pang. Panic welled up inside him and his hands shook. He reeled. Deep breaths. Take deep breaths. He counted backward from one hundred in threes. That always helped.

  Now Karl was ill. This fucking life. Poor Karl. Already at university when Frederick grew up, his brother was always a distant figure in his life. But he was kind to him and called him his little prince, much to his chagrin.

  Maybe the family curse was real. He realized he was crying and dried his face with a sleeve. Look at me, he thought with a dry laugh. Some trooper I am.

  But was he crying for Karl or himself? He couldn’t be sure. He did not want to be crown prince, but what choice was there? He was the next in line. Duty. It’s my duty.

  Well, tomorrow, the lessons started. Long, boring meetings with his father and Karl on the current affairs of the state. Then the economic lessons. He grunted. God, I hate economics.

  Astrid would guide him through long, detailed history briefings. Those he would enjoy; history was always his forte. Plus, he’d get more time with her. They had barely spoken since he returned. Busy with her own family while he was busy with Joey.

  Joel. The name shone brightly through the fog of his thoughts. He desperately wanted to talk to Joel, to hear what his friend thought of all this. More than that, he wanted to feel his arms around him. He felt safe in those long arms. Yes, let’s go find Joey Baby.

  Turning off the light, he closed the door to his childhood. He raced down the stairs and to the back door of the keep, where the limo waited.

  “Home?” Luc held the car door open for him.

  “No, the hotel.” Fredrick didn’t explain which hotel. Luc would know.

  “Sir?” A mixture of admonition, sadness, and pleading filled the older man’s voice. A lot of work for one word, but he managed it.

  “By the back door, please.” Freddie slid into the car and pulled out his smartphone.

  “But, sir—”

  “Luc,” Freddie said. “I wasn’t asking.”

  “Yes, sire.” The man closed the door.

  The trip down the hill was quick, and they let him out at the employee entrance. Coming in the front would be too public at the moment, so he called the hotel manager and waited to be let in. Frederick raced up the fire stairs to the third floor and Joel McIntyre’s room. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Where could he be?

  “The gentleman is still in the restaurant,” said the hotel manager. He followed him up. “His server said he ate dinner, then talked with his father for a bit.”

  Silly to think he’d be waiting for me. “Oh, I guess I should go down.”

  The manager passed an electronic key fob over the entry plate. “Oops.” He gave his prince a wink.

  “There’s a good man. Don’t tell him. This is a surprise.” Frederick patted him on the back and let himself in the room.

  “Yes, sire.” The man gave him a little bow and backed away.

  It was odd, having someone do that for him. He never really had that happen when he was a kid. He never wanted it. If he was going to be—he felt dizzy again—crown prince, there was going to be a whole lot more of that. Alley never dealt with it; he had a job at a hedge fund in Britain. That was why they were okay when Frederick thumbed his nose at them and ran off to join the military. Karl was the crown prince, Alois was the standby, and Freddie was nothing, the afterthought. Now here he was. The last hope.

  A delirious giggle escaped his lips. He was using his position to sneak into a guy’s room. A guy’s messy room, he thought, looking around. Does he just throw his bloody clothes around? He bent down and picked up Joel’s shirts and socks and tucked them in the clothes bag in the closet. Small room, he mused.

  He jumped onto the bed, settled in, and fired off a quick text.

  Number 34: You just going to sit in the restaurant all night or are you going to come up and give us a proper snog?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Do You Want to Dance

  Joel sat in the restaurant, drinking wine and texting his best friend, Larry. He desperately needed his perspective on all this craziness.

  Larry: So, you and your prince were helping at a soup kitchen. The paparazzi showed up and you ran away to his loft?

  Joel: Basically.

  Larry: • • •

  Larry: I just found a picture of Frederick in his uniform. I RLY hate you.

  Joel: IKR? Of course, before anything happened he got called to the castle for some emergency.

  Larry: You realize how crazy this sounds?

  Joel: I do and I don’t really know how to process it. What do I do?

  Larry: Listen to me carefully, this is a good man who likes you. Enjoy it.

  Joel: But what if . . .

  Larry: No, what-ifs. Enjoy this. You deserve it. And I know you. Quit second-guessing it.

  As if that’s possible. Before Joel could type more, another text popped up on the screen.

  Number 34: You going to sit in the restaurant all night or are you going to come up and give us a proper snog?

  A wide smile broke over his face. He’s waiting in my room! He couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up and escaped him. A handsome guy was waiting on him. A handsome prince, he corrected. What do I do with this? Joel fired off a quick text to Larry.

  Joel: He just texted from my room. What do I do?

  Larry: What do you do? OMG You get up there! And text me later, bitch!

  Joel: :-)

  He switched to text Number 34.

  Joel: OMW

  He paid his bill, signing it to the room, and ran out. Fearing the elevator might take too long, he raced up the stairs. Outside the door, he stopped to take a deep breath and gather himself. Be cool, be cool. He knocked before he opened the door.

  The lights were dim, and his clothes picked up off the floor. Huh? He sat his jacket on the back of the chair, not daring to look over to the bed.

  “You are a slovenly mess,” a voice said. “What am I going to do with you?”

  And there he lay, sprawled out on Joel’s bed in his stocking feet, still in his khakis and pullover from the day’s outing. Freddie moved quickly to him and swept him up into his arms. His insistent lips parted Joel’s and his heart beat faster and faster. As their tongue’s met, Joel went weak in the knees. Shivers ran down his body to his toes. Yes. Everything but the two of them in this moment receded into the background.

  Freddie smelled of sweat and cologne. Did Luc spritz him? I
bet he did. Woody and earthy with a hint of patchouli, it was at once pleasant, sharp, and fragrant.

  Joel held the kiss as long as he could. The prince’s thick five o’clock stubble irritated his skin in tantalizing ways. His head was swimming when he finally pulled back.

  “Hello, you,” Freddie rumbled.

  “I’m glad you came.” Joel sat on the bed and patted the mattress. “You look . . . bothered, sad. You want to tell me what happened?”

  Freddie took his hand and kissed the palm, then went to the table. A bottle of wine sat where one hadn’t been before. He was stalling, taking his time, and Joel let him.

  Whatever it is, it must be heavy.

  After opening the bottle, he poured them both a glass and sat back down. Joel sniffed it, then took a sip and swizzled it around in his mouth.

  “Do you like this?” Freddie sat beside him. “I had the hotel send it up. It’s from my brother Alois’s winery. It was his pet project.”

  “It’s really good.” Joel took another sip, letting the wine slide across his tongue before he swallowed. “Earthy, I like it. Alois had excellent taste.”

  “Yes, he was a good man.” Freddie’s voice dropped. “I really miss him.”

  Joel put his arm on the man’s shoulder, pulled him toward him, and kissed the side of his head. “I know. I’m sorry.” He sat his glass on the nightstand.

  “Not your fault, Joey.”

  “I meant—”

  “I know. Sorry, reflex.” Frederick took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “At Heathrow . . . is that why you gave Maeve’s son, Noah, the edelweiss Alois gave you?”

  Freddie nodded. “It seemed right somehow. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I think I do,” Joel said.

  “Gott, I miss them. And there’s more.” The “and” sounded a lot like “und.” Freddie’s Etreusteiner German accent came out for the first time since Joel knew him. “The news reports were true: my brother Karl is ill. He has multiple sclerosis.”

  Joel’s mouth fell open. He started to say something but . . . What do you say? All that came to mind was, I am so sorry. How . . . how is he doing?

  Freddie’s mouth turned down and his face darkened. “He’s started using a cane and sometimes even a wheelchair—”

  “He is in therapy—treatment, I assume?” Joel sputtered and rubbed the prince’s broad back.

  “Yes, they are sparing no expense, of course. But it is progressive, and as time goes on, it will get worse. So . . . Karl is stepping down from the line of succession. I will be crown prince. They’re—we’re—announcing it at a press conference in the morning.”

  Joel stared at him wide-eyed. The curse! Holy shit!

  Freddie must have read the look on his face—did he know him so well already?—because he laughed a little and said, “Yes, I agree . . . Karl was always such a strong, active man. When I walked in and saw him in that wheelchair, I almost lost it.” Putting a hand to his face, Freddie wiped away a tear. “Sorry.”

  “Never apologize for tears.” Joel took the empty glass from Freddie’s hand and sat it next to his own. Pulling the prince into an embrace, he held him for a long time.

  Nuzzling his neck right below the ear, Freddie then pulled Joel into another kiss. Their mouths moved together, not hungrily but purposefully, comfortably. It didn’t feel desperate, but sure.

  “This is nice,” Freddie murmured. “I wish I could stay here forever.”

  “What are you going to do?” Joel hated to ask. He knew he was breaking the spell, dispelling the fog that lowered every time Freddie held him, but he had to know. And he thought Freddie probably needed to talk about it. Becoming crown prince had to be daunting. Freddie was going from soldier to future ruler almost overnight.

  He deserves it. He’s a good man.

  “What can I do?” The prince sat back, disengaging from the taller man. “I am going to do my duty. I’m a soldier, and I’m part of the royal family. That’s what I do. That’s what I was raised to do: serve my country.”

  “But what do you want to do?” Joel pushed. He understood duty and service, but Freddie needed something for himself.

  “What do I want to do?” Freddie stood, and turning in place, he rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “What do I want to do? Joey, I want to take your hand and run back to the British Museum and get into long arguments with you. That’s what I want to do.”

  A smile broke over Joel’s face. “That would be amazing.” Freddie leaned down and took Joel’s face in his hands and gave him a quick kiss. Joel asked, “Is there any way for that to happen? I mean, do you have to take the crown?”

  “Yes, it has to go to a male heir.” Freddie sat down in the chair next to the bed opposite Joel and put his head in his hands. “If I don’t take it, I believe it goes to a cousin in Germany.”

  Joel nodded slowly. His eyes narrowed. “And that would be bad?”

  Freddie’s head shot up. “Yes, he doesn’t know the country—never even visited here.”

  Joel resisted pointing out that Freddie hadn’t lived here in years himself. It would hardly be helpful.

  “Besides,” Freddie continued. “He’s a jerk. I don’t want that prat becoming king of my country. I’m scared of what he might do.”

  “What about your sister?” Joel asked. “Isn’t the fact that she’s being passed over kind of . . .”

  “Backward?” Freddie smirked. “Yes, it is. But this is a very conservative Catholic country, and my father is . . . Well, let’s just say he’s not as enlightened as you or I. Unfortunately, he’s only grown more conservative as he’s gotten older.”

  “That sucks.” Joel frowned and scooted backward onto the bed and motioned for Freddie to follow.

  “I agree.” Freddie climbed after him. Joel chuckled and retreated until Freddie turned, lying beside him, and they were spooning. “Is it okay if we just lie here a while?” the prince asked softly.

  “Frederick, that is always okay.” Joel put his arm around the former trooper. Freddie took Joel’s hand and pulled it up over his heart. “Hey, is Lady Julia going to the press conference?”

  “Duchess Julia,” Freddie corrected. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just thought . . . You said she’s an old friend and it’s bound to be a tense situation—I assume,” Joel said. “It would be helpful if someone was there who knew your diagnosis.”

  “In case I have PTSD panic attack?” Freddie asked. Joel only went mmhmm in reply. “It’s a good thought,” Freddie muttered. “You know, they’re probably already planning my wedding.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Joel kissed the back of his head. And what did he feel about that? Whatever else, Joel wanted Freddie to be happy.

  “I’m scared.” Freddie squirmed. “If they’re planning the rest of my life out, what will be left for me?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Your Man

  Joel woke up the next morning when the alarm rang. With a smack, he turned it off. Reaching a hand to the other side of the bed, he found it was cold, Freddie long gone. His absence was like an ache.

  A note on hotel stationery in tight, architect-style print lay propped up against the wine bottle on the table. Spider Boy, left for home, had to walk the dog, will talk later. XXOO—Freddie.

  Joel looked at the bottle of wine again, reading the label. The logo incorporated the edelweiss, naturally. It was a Blauburgunder, or Pinot Noir, and Joel loved Pinot Noirs. Had he told Freddie that? It seemed like he told him everything over the past few days.

  Briefly, he considered texting or calling the man. But Freddie was a prince and was probably busy doing Prince Frederick things. Whatever they were.

  Freddie is the crown prince. He’s going to be king. The guy I shared a meal with at Heathrow is going to be king . . . I can’t believe I kissed a future king! He cringed at the thought and upbraided himself. You shallow twit. As king, Freddie will be able to do real good for his people. He’ll have real agen
cy.

  But it wasn’t what he wanted, and no matter what job Freddie held, he would still help people. Bottom line, Joel wanted the man to be happy. He deserves it.

  Staring into his own eyes while shaving, Joel decided he was right not to reach out to him. Leave the man alone. Going from soldier to crown prince, Freddie would have many things to occupy his day.

  Last night proved that he needed to take it one day at a time. No matter how much he liked the man, Freddie had responsibilities. This thing between us might be nearing its sell-by date. They’re already planning his wedding, and I’m pretty sure it isn’t to me.

  He snorted at the thought. Yeah, as if. It was never going to be a long-term thing anyway. Freddie made that clear on the train and later in the stairwell. Besides, Joel and his family were headed to Paris in a couple of days. Etreustein was just the first stop.

  And now I want to stay! A sharp change from his mood in New York, and it made his stomach queasy. He was going to have to say goodbye to Freddie soon. That’s going to be tough.

  Stepping into the shower, he remembered how he blanched when his father initially told him the itinerary. Why would he want to visit this little hamlet when Paris and Rome beckoned? Now his appetite for them had all but dried up. They didn’t hold a candle to spending time with Freddie.

  Careful, he warned himself; he was sounding like a romantic. And what’s wrong with that?

  And Joel liked Freddie’s plan, his want. Take the man’s hand and run off to a museum. It sounded like heaven at the moment, but it was a fantasy.

  After drying himself off, he stepped into the bedroom and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He guessed at the time in New York. It was still the middle of the night there. No way could he call Larry or Robert now.