by Lucy Lennox
Then I would take his place. Become the true monarch of Liorland along with all of the duties and expectations therein. As well as the scrutiny. The press would be all over me, poking into every aspect of my life. Any small amount of freedom I’d enjoyed as prince would be over.
I would be the new king.
I staggered back and collapsed in a chair by the door. I was twenty-nine—mature enough to realize my Iggy-fucking days were over. Hell, my days even thinking about sex with men were over. There was no way in hell the monarchy could survive two such scandals. Suddenly I was being forced to make the tough decisions I’d been punting all my life. My parents had been pressuring me to choose a wife and settle down, to prepare for the stable life I’d need to have when it was my turn on the throne.
But I’d resisted, still in denial about the conflict between my sexuality and being heir to the throne. If only I had a brother to pass the crown to, but I didn’t. I had a younger sister, who’d known from birth that Monaco’s Liorland crown passed only to the male heir. As archaic as it was, the rule had been around for a thousand years. Not that it mattered. Henriette was twenty-six and single. She had no more stability than I did.
“And you’re willing to throw everything away for her?” I asked my father. “She’s forty years younger than you!” I felt my voice rising and clamped my lips tight.
“What’s done is done,” my mother said stiffly. I noticed she’d barely glanced at my father once during the entire discussion. I hadn’t even thought about what this change would mean for her. How much this would upend her life as well. She’d been queen for more than a decade.
“Mom—“ I started to say.
She cut me off with a tight shake of her head. “You should get some rest. I’m sure the next few days will be busy for you.”
I wanted to protest but I could tell by the rigidity of her shoulders that now wasn’t the time. I stood and kissed her cheek. I had no idea what to say to either of them so I just left, saying nothing.
Later that evening, after my mother had reassured the council officials awaiting word about my father’s health, she found me sipping a lukewarm cup of tea in the kitchen of their residence. My father was back in his own bed, sleeping soundly while my mother and I were left reeling from the day’s revelations. My father seemed to have abdicated not only the throne but any respective repercussions from the decision.
“You all right, darling?” she asked, walking up and cupping her small hand against my stubbled jaw. It was an uncharacteristic maternal move, and I felt myself leaning into her touch.
“No, of course not,” I muttered. “It’s shit.”
“Language, dear,” she said out of habit. She sat down on the love seat next to me and let her shoulders slump just a bit. Despite the awful, middle-of-the-night wake-up call she’d had, her suit was still pressed and fresh as if she’d had hours to primp.
“What happens now?” I whispered into the quiet room. “What the hell? How are you even handling this?”
“Does it matter? It’s done. She’s pregnant. He wants to announce within the month.”
Holy fuck.
“No,” I breathed. “You’re kidding. Say this is all a joke.”
She shook her head with a small laugh. “I wish.”
I clenched my hand into a fist. “That fucking bastard.”
Usually she would admonish me for speaking about my king in that way but she remained silent. Which was pretty much confirmation she agreed with me.
I let out a long sigh. “I’m not ready for this,” I admitted.
She turned to gaze into my eyes. “It’s time for you to grow up and take his place, Lior.”
I felt a thick lump form in my throat at the sound of my name. My mother had only ever called me LJ. To her, Lior was a name reserved for the king. My mother, with her American ways, had jokingly referred to me as Lior Junior from early on, while my father and everyone else called me Lio.
“I don’t know if I can,” I said.
She shifted on the edge of the love seat next to me and sat up straight again, all signs of fatigue slipping away with a clearing of her throat. This was the queen of Liorland in all her glory.
“Whether you can or not remains to be seen, Lior. The fact of the matter is… you will.”
Chapter 2
Felix
When I woke up, I was pretty sure a band of malicious teens was slamming my head in a door. I heard snickering and giggling, which only made it worse. Way worse.
“Fuck,” I mumbled. Someone’s nasty breath just about knocked me out until I realized I was shoved face-first under a pillow, alone. Which meant it was my own noxious breath, and clearly my head wasn’t being slammed in a door. It was a hangover, something I wasn’t overly familiar with.
“Fuck.” This time it was more of a whimper.
“Open up, buttercup.” It was a voice as familiar as a sibling’s would be if I had one. My older cousin Hudson was a pain in the ass.
“Go ’way,” I croaked. “Dead. Dead and dying.”
The door next to me opened more fully. I recognized the furnishings of Doc and Grandpa’s bunkhouse and I blinked, trying to remember how I’d ended up here, especially since I had a permanent bedroom in their house as well as my own small cabin on the property. The night before had been the big annual holiday party with all my family and half the town in attendance. I’d probably decided to stay near my cousins by taking one of the beds in the bunkhouse.
I regretted the decision the minute the pillow was snatched from my grip by an overeager morning person.
“Wake up, sleepyhead!” Hudson’s smiling face needed to be shot point-blank.
“Fuck.”
“Damn. Here I thought maybe you had a man in bed with you. Didn’t get lucky last night?”
“Last time I got lucky was three years ago in grad school,” I mumbled. “And that shitty Grindr hookup you and West arranged last year doesn’t count.”
“You said the guy sucked you off,” Hudson said with a laugh. “How does that not count?”
“I was too worried about disease to enjoy it. I’d been studying glass disease that day, and all I could think about was the chemical process of crizzling and how it was described as glass syphilis. So I made the guy use a condom, which… just ugh.”
Hudson’s laugh was way too loud for me, and I groaned.
“Thanks for that mental image. I’m going to try to pretend you didn’t say that. Felix, it’s after ten. If you stay in bed any longer, you’re going to miss breakfast before it’s time to drive into Dallas to catch your flight.” Hudson sat on the side of my bed and put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to miss you, you know.”
I peeked at him through the tiny slit of one eye. His face was sincere, and his eyes were kind as usual.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It’s gonna be weird spending Christmas and New Year’s without you guys.”
“Grandpa was telling us all about your trip this morning. It sounds amazing. Are you excited?”
I closed my eyes and imagined the two weeks ahead of me. It was time to finish my doctoral dissertation, and I wanted to do it surrounded by the subject I’d spent years researching. In the process of studying art history and the fine art of stained glass during my undergraduate and master’s education, I’d become obsessed with discovering the real identity of one of the most mysterious, intriguing glass artists in medieval history.
The unidentified stained glass master of Gadleigh.
Gadleigh Castle was an old historic keep located on a tiny island in the North Sea off the coast of Scotland. Known only for its boutique line of specialty glass, the castle was primarily a summer tourist destination. People came from all over to visit the castle and enjoy the unique colors found in the glass made from the special sand of the island’s nearby beaches. The combination of mineral deposits on the island couldn’t be found anywhere else on earth, and the glass colors created with it were exquisite.
While
the middle of winter was probably the worst time of year to visit Gadleigh, I had personal reasons for going there over the holidays.
Namely, my infamous mother, the award-winning actress Jacqueline Wilde and her looming blockbuster release. Every time she had a film come out, the media descended upon her estranged son, and my life as I knew it disappeared until the press got bored or distracted with another target.
Because of this impending media frenzy, Doc and Grandpa had agreed to fund the final step in the research needed for my doctoral dissertation: an on-site study of the famous stained glass at Gadleigh. It was like a dream come true, regardless of my original reasons for wanting to skip town.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Yes, for sure. Very excited. But first, I might need to puke or something,” I said in a rough voice.
Hudson put his arm around my shoulders and began pulling me to a standing position.
“Come on, Felix. Up you go. Let’s get some pancakes in you, and then I’ll help you finish packing. I offered to drive you to the airport, but Doc and Grandpa refused. Apparently they’re sending you off themselves even if it means four hours of needless driving back and forth.”
I made a quick pit stop in the bathroom before pulling my clothes back on from the night before and following Hudson to the house. Most of the giant Wilde family was still lounging around the kitchen when I came stumbling in.
“There he is!” Doc handed baby Pippa off to my cousin West before approaching me for a big hug. “Today’s the day, huh? Oh Jesus, what did you eat last night?” He pinched his nose in disgust and backed away.
“Chili,” I muttered, shooting daggers at Grandpa, who stood behind him making pancakes on a huge griddle. “And like… a million shots of Jager.”
“Oh god,” my cousin Hallie groaned from somewhere in the sitting area. “Don’t even say the word.”
I saw a pair of socked feet propped up on the arm of the sofa and assumed they were hers. “You too?” I asked. “Who the hell even brought that crap?”
“Grandpa made the chili. And can we not talk about it please,” she whined. “As for the shots, blame my damned sister.”
I spied Winnie sitting at the breakfast bar and shot her an accusatory glare. She shrugged and went back to tapping her short fingernails against the screen of her phone.
The television mounted above the fireplace was showing some kind of tabloid news show when Hallie suddenly sat up and reached for the remote.
“Ooooh! There he is. That prince guy,” she squealed. “So fucking hot.”
I looked up to see who she was referring to, but the video showed only a pair of panda bear cubs.
“What prince?” I asked, grabbing the glass of ice water Hudson had poured for me.
“You know, that hot guy from Monaco who’s always in the magazines. The one whose sex life they love to speculate about. He always has some A-list celebrity chick on his arm whenever he’s spotted at red-carpet shit. Hey, didn’t he go to Georgetown or something? Wish he’d come back to the States. Let us Americans have a chance at him.”
Hallie loved pop culture and celebrity gossip. The kind of thing I avoided like the plague.
I ignored her ramblings and turned to my aunt Gina. “What do I have to do to get some of Grandpa’s pancakes?”
Doc fussed over me until I had a plate piled high with food. Apparently, most everyone else had already eaten. Aunt Gina sat next to me sipping her coffee, but every once in a while, I caught her peering at me in my peripheral vision.
“What?” I finally asked.
“I’m worried about you,” she admitted in a soft voice. “Have you talked to your mom lately?”
“No.”
Her arm came around my shoulders and squeezed gently. “Honey, don’t you think you ought to let her know where you’ll be over the holidays?”
“Why? So she can manipulate me into going on a publicity tour with her? No way.”
I noticed Grandpa reach out for Doc’s hand as they both looked at me with worried faces. I let out a sigh. “Guys, stop. I’m fine, okay? This is my usual thing. Just let me disappear for the movie release. Otherwise, you know how it’ll be. Paparazzi in town, photographers on your front porch, people dogging me for my opinion of her movie, digging into my life. I just… No. Not going to do it this time.”
“Is it because of Chris Corbin?” This question was from my aunt again.
“Not really. But that just gives me even more reason to want to duck out, you know?”
Chris Corbin was a notoriously outspoken conservative TV news host who ranted and raved against anything remotely connected to Hollywood. For the past few months, he’d apparently been seen in public with a certain actress on his arm. Why my mother thought dating that egotistical rabble-rouser would help her career was beyond me. And the fact that she was now intimately connected to someone who actively sought to damage the LGBT community pissed me off to no end.
But Jackie Wilde was like that. She did what was best for her. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what it meant to anyone else, including her very gay son and gay fathers.
Doc reached out and squeezed my shoulder with a large, warm hand. “We worry about you, Felix. You sure you don’t want us to come with you? I’m a pretty good note-taker.”
I snorted. “You have typical doctor’s handwriting.”
Grandpa let out a laugh. “He’s good at rubbing tired feet.”
I put my finger to my chin as if contemplating it. “Hmm, now that bears consideration.” I winked at my aunt before continuing. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m actually excited to be by myself. I’m going to a place I’ve only ever dreamed about to study my absolute favorite topic. I promise I won’t spend time wallowing in bed. I’ll be sketching and photographing as many of the windows and glass pieces as they’ll let me, and taking copious notes. If anyone came with me, they’d be bored out of their minds. Not to mention frozen solid.”
“Promise me you’ll let yourself experience new things, Felix,” Doc said. His face was kind and full of affection.
“I will,” I promised.
“Sex things,” Grandpa added in a teasing voice. “Don’t be afraid to live a little, Fee.”
I felt my face heat up. “Jesus, Grandpa. I’m going to an island in the North Sea in the middle of winter to study stained glass. It’s hardly a club in Amsterdam.”
Doc put his arm around my shoulders and leaned his head in as if imparting critical wisdom.
“What happens in Gadleigh stays in Gadleigh. Go have an adventure. You deserve it.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it,” I said, mostly to get them off my back about it. The topic of my love life was one I studiously avoided, primarily because it consisted of a big fat goose egg.
Once my family dropped the subject, I realized I must have done a better job faking confidence than I truly felt. To be honest, I was terrified.
I’d never been so far from home, much less by myself.
As a child, I’d been toted around Hollywood by my young, unmarried mother. Always sitting in waiting rooms or lobbies while she auditioned until she finally got her big break and decided having a kid was crimping her style.
I was nine when I came to live with Grandpa and Doc in little Hobie, Texas. By then, I’d visited a few times and was familiar enough with my grandfathers and their ranch to know I’d enjoy living with them a million times more than in the tiny one-room apartment in Los Angeles with my mom.
It wasn’t until much later I learned some of those lobbies I’d sat in were for porn production companies, and my mom hadn’t brought me to Hobie voluntarily. Doc and Grandpa had found out what was going on and demanded custody of me.
Since then, the only time I’d been out of Texas was when my mom had tried to lure me back to California as a teenager. After only three months in LA, I’d discovered she only wanted me with her because the man she was dating at the time was casting the next big teen film. My mother had mista
kenly assumed that my DNA and looks would be enough to get me the part. Once the callback hadn’t materialized, she’d thrown a massive fit and shipped me right back to Hobie.
So that was it. The sum total of my travel adventures. Los Angeles; my hometown of Hobie; Austin, where I’d gotten my undergrad and master’s degrees at the University of Texas; and Denton, where I’d begun my doctorate program at the University of North Texas two years ago. Now I was preparing to fly to Europe.
Alone.
Chapter 3
Lio
Once my father had woken up later in the day, he immediately began voicing his opinions and bossing the rest of us around. When my mom insisted on sending me away for some time to reflect on my upcoming reign, my father suggested heading to the hunting cottage a few hours away.
I shuddered at the reminder of how little he knew about me. My father hadn’t exactly been the parental type. He’d been old-school, leaving the raising of the children to my mother and a team of professional nannies and tutors. I’d never really blamed him for being hands-off. I’d assumed it came from long-standing tradition rather than a lack of love on his part, and part of me had known he loved me just fine in his own way.
So when he suggested his favorite hideaway, I tried to see it as a gift.
“You’ll love it there,” my father said. “Fresh air will clear your head. Prepare you to come back strong and ready to lead.”
Instead of correcting him about my chosen location for a hideaway, I simply nodded before meeting my mother’s eyes across the room.
“Tell Mari hello for me,” she murmured with a nod, acknowledging that at least one of my parents knew the place of my heart.
It wasn’t the hunting cottage in the French countryside. It was Gadleigh Castle, far away in the North Sea.
The green grass around the island was patchy with snow as the small jet came to a wobbly landing on the small runway. A sport utility vehicle sat ready to transport my small crew of guards and luggage to the castle itself.
