by Avery Wilde
“I’ve lost nothing,” I said. “Don’t you get that?”
“People have fought wars to get what you’ve lost!” Michael snapped back.
“Well more fool them!” I replied. “Take it from me, they’d have been a damned sight happier if they’d stayed at home, found themselves a nice girl and had some kids. Trust me, every king who spent his life clawing his way to power over the bodies of others, once he got to the throne, he found himself wondering what happened to the girl he left behind in the little village he grew up in and wishing he could trade his kingdom for her.”
“Nonsense!”
“One day that’ll be you.”
“I’ll happily take the Kingdom,” Michael said. “That’s what matters. That’s what makes a person matter.”
“What makes a person matter is how they are, not who they are.” The sentiment was my mother’s, but it had never meant more to me than it did now. I laughed again as I realized that in not wanting the crown, I’d become so much more worthy of it, because I’d realized how little it mattered when held up next to the people whom it symbolically represented.
“You think the crown matters? You think we matter? We don’t! We’re just…we got lucky,” I continued. “I don’t want any part of this crown if it’s going to ruin Keira’s life, or our baby’s life. I don’t want any part of it at all. It’s toxic. I want out. I came here to speak to Mother, to tell her that I would give up my birthright if I had to, because that’s how much I want to be with Keira. Now? I’m giving it up either way. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be King, I don’t want to be royal, and I don’t want to be any part of this hateful tradition; this classist bullshit that looks down on decent people and drags down its own!”
“Is that right?”
For a single, stupid moment, I wondered how my brother had spoken without moving his lips and how he’d made his voice change. Then the more likely explanation dawned on me, and I turned to see our mother, standing in the open doorway to her office.
“The walls of this castle are extremely thick, built to withstand cannon-fire I believe, but they are not quite thick enough to soundproof them against the raised voices of idiots.”
“Sorry, Mother,” Michael said.
“It doesn’t sound like you should be the one apologizing.” Her eyes turned to me, one eyebrow raised in question.
Shit. Had I meant to say all that? I’d gone far beyond what I’d wanted to say, and what I’d planned to say—but did that mean it was untrue? I’d never really felt royal. I’d enjoyed the privilege because a person would have to be an imbecile not to, and I’d enjoyed the opportunities that my birth had given me. But the stuff I’d enjoyed was the stuff I wasn’t meant to be doing. The stuff I was supposed to be doing was the stuff that I spent my life avoiding, and I didn’t enjoy being royal; I simply enjoyed the easy life that being royal afforded me.
How could such a person be cut out to be King?
My brother had done everything right. He’d done his duty and picked up the slack for me, and it had turned him into a bitter and hate-filled individual. Perhaps I took some of the blame for that, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Look at what being Queen had done for my mother; she was a hugely intelligent woman with opinions of her own that she was most often unable to express because protocol forbade it. What could she have been, what contribution could she have made to the world, if she had renounced her birthright?
“Is everything I just heard true? Did you really get Keira pregnant with a bastard child?” my mother said when I hadn’t responded yet. Her eyes were cold, and her tone was even colder.
“The fact that you just called my unborn child a bastard pretty much makes up my mind about what I need to do next,” I finally said. “The final straw, if you will.”
I’d been prepared to take this step as a last resort if my mother tried to say that she would never approve of my desire to marry Keira. Now it seemed like a last resort of a different kind.
“I renounce my claim to the throne. Also, I’m marrying Keira. I just proposed to her a few minutes ago,” I continued. “Have fun being King one day, Michael, and goodbye to the both of you.”
Without waiting for any response, I turned on my heel and strode out.
Chapter 24
Keira
“I can’t let you do this.”
They were the first words out of my mouth when Andrew filled me in on what had happened with Michael and his mother. I couldn’t believe the sacrifice he’d made for me and our unborn child; couldn’t believe he’d given up his birthright and place in line to the throne, all for the sake of our soon-to-be family.
He really had changed, and while he’d become an amazing man, I still felt incredibly guilty that he’d given up so much for me.
“Are you disappointed that we won’t be living in a castle?” he asked. “That I’m not rich anymore?”
“No, of course not!”
“Didn’t think so. So what’s this ‘I can’t let you’ stuff, then?”
“Well…” I began to speak but got no further. I knew he’d done what he’d done for a good reason, but I still felt awful. I felt responsible for tearing him away from his family, although to be fair, they’d done a lot of that tearing themselves.
“I’ve had a life of people telling me what I’m allowed and not allowed to do,” Andrew said. “Mostly not allowed. And although I mostly didn’t listen to them—even when I should have—I’m sick of it. In fact, I think the reason I spend most of my adult life doing dumb things and getting myself on the front of tabloid newspapers is because there were so many things I wasn’t allowed to do.”
“I’m not telling you what to do,” I said.
“Am I misinterpreting ‘can’t let you’?” Andrew asked, raising his eyebrows. “It’s my decision, Keira. But I’d really like to make it with you.”
“Isn’t it a little late for that? You already renounced your claim as next in line.”
He nodded, acknowledging that this might be the case. “But my point remains: I want us to be equals. I don’t want there to be rules. Or if there are, then they should be rules we arrive at together. I didn’t renounce my family because I had to, I renounced them because I wanted to after all the crap they’ve hurled my way in regards to you…like assuming that you’re nothing more to me than a passing fancy, simply because you don’t come from some sort of high-society aristocratic family, and threatening to go the media and drag you through the mud, just to wreck your life.”
“That was mostly Michael.”
“No, my mother assumed the same thing about you—that it wouldn’t last, simply because of your supposed ‘station’ in life. That’s why she didn’t immediately fire you when I told her about us. Like our relationship was just that much of a joke to her; she couldn’t take it seriously enough to care even for a second. And then she called our baby a bastard. I just couldn’t take that sort of ‘family’ anymore. You and blob,” he pointed at my stomach, “are the only family I need now.”
“We’re not calling the baby blob.”
“There you go with your rules again. Maybe you should take my place as King, huh?”
“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes and smiling for the first time since he’d told me the shocking news about what had occurred with his family.
“My sense of humor is still just as bad as ever, so you’ll have to accept that,” he said. “Now let’s go off and make a new life together.”
All things considered, that sounded pretty damn good to me.
Chapter 25
Keira
The Palace was more than happy to let me go from my job at short notice; in fact there was a tacit sense that if I hadn’t requested it, I would’ve been fired anyway, for obvious reasons. Some of my effects remained at the old apartment I’d been housed in when I was still working back at Richmond Palace, and so, the following day, Andrew packed the bare essentials of his own belongings into his car, and we m
ade the drive back there.
It was a pleasant journey, but the conversation kept returning to one question: what now? I was delighted that the answer Andrew suggested was the one I’d been thinking myself: America. I had family and friends there, and it was a good place for a fresh start for an ex-royal.
“America is where persecuted Brits traditionally go, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Actually, that story’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Andrew said. “There wasn’t any real persecution at all.”
I shrugged. “Well, once we’re over there, I’d keep that to myself if I were you. People are pretty defensive of their history.”
“Tell me about it,” he replied. “Look at the family I come from.”
“So what do we do, until we can get flights?”
“Shouldn’t be more than a night,” he said. “Two at the most, I guess. We can afford a hotel room for one night, I would think.” Our funds were limited, because Andrew hadn’t wanted to take too much of anything that wasn’t his outright—his money was royal, and he no longer was. “How much does a hotel cost?”
I pulled a face. “I could tell you how much an American hotel costs, but over here I haven’t got a clue. I’m still getting used to your money.”
“We really make a pretty useless pair in many ways,” Andrew said with a grin. “But we’ll survive.”
“Once we get back to the States I can be more useful,” I said “I’ll show you how to be a normal person.”
“I’ll fit right in,” he replied. “I’ve told you before how ‘street’ I am.”
“If you put air quotes around street, you’re not street.”
“Well, if that’s the only thing holding me back, then it’s easily fixed.”
I laughed. The truth was that, however ‘street’ he might fail to be, Andrew would fit in. One thing being royal taught you was to be equally at home amongst anyone and everyone, and Andrew was very personable. That was something his family couldn’t take from him.
“So where did we land on the hotel?”
“We’ll make it work,” Andrew said. “I hear good things about the ‘Travel Lodge’. I mostly hear them from their own adverts, but still. Now, there’s a few bits and pieces I need to pick up from the palace, and it’s on the way, so we’ll drop by there first, before we go to your old apartment.”
“Sure.”
We headed to the palace, and I was delighted to be met by Rogers.
“Valencia,” he said in formal greeting, the corners of his mouth very nearly inflected into a smile.
“Hi, Rogers,” I said with a wide smile.
“Mr. Arlington,” Rogers greeted Andrew. Another man might have stuck to ‘Your Highness’ out of habit or politeness, but that wouldn’t have been good form, and Rogers was all about form.
“Call me Andrew, Rogers,” Andrew said.
“No, thank you,” said Rogers. “First name terms should be mutual.”
“I could call you by your first name.”
“No, thank you.”
“Do you even have a first name?” I asked. I was in oddly high spirits, and seeing the man who had helped me so much in his formal, quiet way was making me slightly giddy.
“I do, Valencia.”
“Keira.”
“No, thank you. First name terms should be mutual.”
“You’re really not going to tell us your first name?”
“Correct, Miss Valencia,” said Rogers, allowing that small concession.
“So are my things still in my room here?” Andrew asked.
Rogers shook his head. “I took the liberty of taking your things to Keira’s old apartment, just in case. It was still empty.”
“I see. Well, we’ll go and pick it up, and then I suppose we’ll try to find that hotel.”
Rogers held up a hand. “It occurred to me, Mr. Arlington, that you and Miss Valencia might not yet have settled on your plans for the future. And since neither of you is any longer in gainful employment, you might need a place to stay.”
My mouth opened in surprise. “Wait…you’re letting us stay in the apartment?”
“Precisely.”
Andrew frowned. “Rogers, you could get in serious trouble for that. The apartment is supposed to be for staff only and…”
Rogers held up a hand. He was nearly as good as the Queen with the silencing gesture. “I am aware of that, Mr. Arlington. But I am happy in taking the risk.”
I impulsively hugged Rogers. “Thank you, so much.”
“Glad to be of help, Miss.” It was a sign of how comfortable Rogers was in his chosen way of life that he slipped so easily from me being a member of his staff to me being a guest who needed to be treated as such.
“Thank you, Rogers,” Andrew stuck out a hand, which Rogers took and shook. “I wonder if in the past I’ve…perhaps I’ve not been…”
The hand again brought silence. “Merely a gesture.”
We strolled back to the car, chatting as we went.
“If I may ask,” said Rogers, as conversationally as his formal manner could manage. “What are your plans?”
“We’re going to America,” I said. “The day after tomorrow.”
“Of course,” said Rogers. “I’m sure you will be very happy there. You won’t miss your family?” This was directed at Andrew.
“I think they’ll be glad I’m gone,” Andrew replied. “I’ll generate less gossip on a different continent.”
“Families can be most…” Rogers sought the right word, “excruciating.”
“Mine certainly can.”
“I couldn’t possibly comment,” Rogers said before noticing that we’d finally reached the car. “Well, good luck, Miss Valencia.”
“Thanks, Rogers.”
“Might I have a word before you go, Mr. Arlington?”
Andrew nodded, and he and Rogers stepped away. I strained to hear what passed between them without success, but it seemed an amicable conversation and ended with the two men shaking hands once again.
They returned to the car.
“Goodbye and good luck, you two,” said Rogers.
“You’re really not going to tell us your first name?” I asked, smiling slyly.
Rogers drew a deep breath. “My first name is Lemuel.”
“Lemuel?”
“There is a P. G. Wodehouse story,” Rogers explained, “in which the name features as a joke on the man whose name it is. My father thought it would be funny to emulate that joke. He was wrong.”
“Rogers it is.”
“Thank you, Miss. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Rogers.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in the old apartment, and it was nice to be back there again. It was a place in which I’d been quite happy, and returning to it seemed to neatly top and tail my British adventure. Still, a new adventure beckoned, and Andrew and I were keen for that to begin.
We spent the next day packing and planning, making those important decisions about what to take and what to do when we arrived. Thanks to Rogers, we’d saved some money on accommodation, and that had proved to be just as well as the plane tickets set us back practically all the money we had.
“My family really doesn’t pay its maids enough,” Andrew said, only half joking.
When we arrived, we’d be met by Sarah, and she’d said we could stay with her in my old room until we’d found jobs and a place we could raise a child in. In truth, although we were anxiously looking forward to our new life together, we were also very aware that things were going to be tough. Art historian and ex-prince were not qualifications for which the average employer was searching, and if it had just been about ourselves, then we wouldn’t have worried—we would’ve lived in a van as long as we could be together—but there was a baby to consider and babies were unavoidably expensive.
I couldn’t help reflecting that, until a few days ago, the child currently growing inside me had been second in line to the British crown and would never have to worry about
anything its entire life, and now it was being born into nearly nothing. Had Andrew really made the right decision in renouncing his family, if it meant disallowing our child all those opportunities he or she would’ve had if he’d stayed?
On top of these concerns, it was hard for me to ignore the slight change in Andrew. Outwardly, he remained the happy-go-lucky man I’d always known—loving, attentive, and eager for our future together. But every now and then, I would catch him in moments of atypical introspection, staring out windows or into space. I didn’t ask him about this, because I didn’t need to. I knew exactly what it was about.
To this point in his life, Andrew’s future had been a given, and now everything he had ever known had been thrown out and replaced with uncertainty. It was exciting for him, but it was also scary. But that was only part of it. The larger part was his family. He had never been particularly close to his family; he didn’t get on with his brother and there was an unavoidable distance between him and his mother. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t love them, and perhaps he’d underestimated the effect that cutting them out of his life would have upon him. Though he tried to hide it, I also knew that he was hurt by their apparent acceptance of his decision. They didn’t seem to have tried to find him and change his mind.
At all.
His mind was made up, but it would’ve been nice to think that they cared, if not about the future of the throne, then about him and about our baby. For all our happiness in being together and the prospect of becoming parents and starting a new life together, there were also moments when I wrestled with what I’d inadvertently made him give up. Not the crown or any other aspect of his royal future—he seemed pretty sanguine about letting that go—but his family.
