His Royal Favorite

by Lilah Pace

  "How do you suggest we do it? Parade around like show ponies every day, never doing one genuine thing or saying one sincere word? Then again, I guess you're used to that."

  Fine. If Ben wanted a row, he could have one. "How the hell would you know what my public life is like when you won't have anything to do with it?"

  "If you think I'm going to be led around on collar and leash"--for some reason that phrase made Ben choke on his words, but he pushed past it--"like one of the bloody corgis, while you flirt with a whole new set of boys the entire time, well, think again."

  The rest of the argument, largely repetitive, lasted about five minutes. To James it felt more like five hours. He usually worked to avoid conflict, not seek it out. Until this moment, he'd thought nobody but Richard could ever make him this angry. Worse yet was seeing that Ben was even angrier.

  But just as James was on the verge of well and truly beginning to scream, Ben beat him to it. "Do you really not see it?" His voice was hoarse, every muscle in his body tense. "Do you not see what they've done to me?"

  That phrase broke through it all. For the first time, James realized Ben's anger had relatively little to do with him, save for his obliviousness about Ben's plight. Ben had done such a good job of pretending to be blithe in the face of public mockery and condemnation that James, stupidly, had believed him. He'd wanted to believe it so badly, to believe in Ben as someone so courageous and worldly that gossip had no effect on him--that he was above it all. But even Ben, his heroic and beautiful Ben, could get caught in the mire.

  When James looked at Ben now, he glimpsed the shadow of his mother. Behind all the anger was only exhaustion and sorrow.

  "I see," James said quietly. "I see it, darling. I do."

  His sudden surrender caught Ben off guard; clearly he wasn't done being mad yet. "This is insane. You see that too, don't you? That the way you live is completely insane?"

  James nodded. "I'm sorry." They were standing almost precisely where they'd stood on the night Ben had confessed his love and sworn to stand by James no matter what. That had acquired its own kind of irony. James had known even then where this would lead, yet he'd been swept up in the moment. Now Ben's life was forever damaged. "I should have known--I did know--and I tried to say so but I let myself forget it--"

  "What, is this the part where you say 'I told you so'?"

  James couldn't even defend himself. This wasn't an argument any longer. It was a confession. "I did," he said miserably. "I told you someday you'd hate me for letting you come out by my side."

  All the anger went out of Ben in an instant. "James, no." It had been easier to look at him in his fury than to see his expression crumpling. "I don't hate you. I never could."

  James shook his head, unable to speak.

  "I don't hate you. I love you--so much, you don't even know. More than I did when I first told you, more than I ever thought I could love another human being. I love you, but I hate this." Ben took a deep, shuddering breath and repeated, "I hate this."

  "I love you too. But I can't change who I am."

  "I know."

  They stood there staring at each other for a long, awful moment. Then Ben sat down heavily in the nearest chair, and James knew they needed nothing so much as a moment alone.

  He took himself off to the kitchen. The dogs were in there, dozing in front of the Aga. It was comforting to look at them as he put on the kettle. How lovely, to be a corgi and face no hardship greater than a bath. To believe that the world was full of love, and all you had to do was greet it.

  Once he'd made the tea, he took a sip from his own cup, then went out to offer Ben some. Ben laughed softly. "You love your coffee, but in a crisis, you always turn to tea."

  "It doesn't solve every problem, but it never hurts."

  They sat quietly together for a few minutes. James composed but rejected many defenses and many pleas. Some more angry words bubbled up, but these he left unspoken. Finally, he said the only thing worth saying. "Can you bear this? Or are you leaving me?"

  Ben's face contorted into a strange, twisted grimace that James only belatedly realized was an effort to hold back tears. He'd never seen Ben cry. "I don't want to leave you. You know that."

  James's heart sank further. "But."

  "But I don't know if I can live like this forever. I don't even know if I can make it much longer." Their eyes met, and the raw emotion James saw there tore at the little self-control he had left. "And do you--do you even still want me?"

  "What?"

  Ben shrugged. "There are so many other men you could have. Virtually any gay man in the world, I'd bet, and probably some straight ones could be persuaded to cross the fence."

  The small joke was funnier than it should have been. They both laughed, sharp and loud, their bodies grateful for any emotional release. James said, "I'm in love with you. Not 'any gay man in the world' or any straight ones, either."

  "But there are men who would fit into this life better than I would. Who would be able to manage it."

  "That doesn't matter to me."

  "Maybe it should," Ben said heavily.

  James wanted to keep reassuring Ben, but he forced himself to look at it objectively. Most of his life, he'd assumed any male partner of his would be unacceptable to the British public. However, while his coming out had been far from painless, the reaction had been less fraught than he'd ever dreamed possible. Most of the negativity that wasn't pure homophobia was focused on James's future role within the C of E--always that, forever that--and on Ben.

  The public could accept a gay man. Awkwardly, sometimes even grudgingly, but still: They were accepting him. As difficult as James had found this to believe, he now knew it to be true. They might yet fail to support James as king, but they had not rejected him as a person. Ben, however, they were rejecting. They could perhaps endure a man by James's side, but not a foreigner. Not a man with an ordinary job. Not a Jew, or, more to the point for most Britons, not a man who wasn't Church of England or at least Christian. And not anyone who avoided the public eye even more severely than Indigo did.

  In the strictest terms, Ben was right. James would do better to find someone else.

  To hell with the strictest terms! his heart cried.

  "Please don't do this tonight," James said. "Don't rush into anything. If you just walked out of here, I couldn't--Ben, I couldn't."

  Ben looked even more tired than James felt. "I didn't say I was leaving."

  James gave him a look. They had to get past this constant fibbing to spare each other's feelings. He knew he was at least as guilty of it as Ben if not more so, but it wasn't doing either of them any good.

  With a sigh, Ben surrendered. "We need to think. Both of us. That's what I meant."

  "I suppose we do." He ran one hand through his hair. "Well, I'll be in the Netherlands for six days. That gives us each some space."

  "Right. That's good." Ben sipped some more of his tea, staring into the mug, perhaps to avoid James's eyes. "Maybe I could even--I could slip back to my place for a bit. Even the most rabid paparazzi will have given up on staking it out by now."

  "Probably so," James agreed, though the thought of Ben returning to his old flat speared him through. Ben had referred only to a quick visit, but at the moment it felt like any departure might prove permanent.

  Yet it was Ben's choice to make, and James had to accept that.

  They allowed their conversation to trail off into inconsequential things: What time tomorrow Glover and Paulson would appear to pack for James, the details of taking a private plane, what groceries Ben should request, and other such minutiae. It was like grabbing a quick, desperate breath before diving back underwater--a relief, but a brief one.

  Finally they both walked back toward the bedroom areas. James already knew they shouldn't make love, but he very much wanted Ben to sleep in his room with him--and yet he also wanted Ben to be the one to suggest it. When they reached the space between their separate doorways, Ben paused
, and James's hopes rose.

  Then Ben said, "It comes down to this. I got involved with you because you were the only person who fit a very narrow set of requirements. You may have had different requirements, but still, that's why you got involved with me too. We created a relationship built on limits."

  It stung, mostly because it was true. "Aren't we past that?"

  "I thought we were, but--"

  "It's not enough," James finished. "Even being in love isn't enough on its own."

  When their eyes met, the desolation he glimpsed within Ben nearly broke him in two. To judge by the way Ben again struggled for composure, James assumed he looked just as wretched.

  "I'll see you in the morning," James said, freeing Ben to retreat to his own room. But he kissed Ben quickly before turning to go. He needed that kiss too badly to give Ben a chance to refuse it.

  ***

  Everything sucks.

  This was not the most profound revelation Ben had ever had, but it seemed to be the truest.

  James had left that morning. They'd kissed each other good-bye almost desperately; Ben imagined it was not unlike the way couples had bid each other farewell as the lifeboats were launched from the Titanic. He had a feeling he wasn't the one in the lifeboat.

  Ben didn't even attempt to write. Truth be told, he'd made pitifully little progress the past couple of weeks: double-and triple-checking source material instead of writing, using "thoroughness" as an excuse for procrastination. Although he'd met with the trainer shortly after James's departure, even showering after exercise felt like a chore. Tomorrow, he thought, he'd probably just tell the trainer to skip it. As he didn't intend to leave Clarence House or even the private suite, Ben didn't bother shaving. He was alone with the dogs and his thoughts.

  You should have gotten out of this earlier. You should have listened to James when he warned you what this would be like. You could have escaped while you still had your job, your career. You could have left before you were the punchline to bad comedians' dirty jokes. You could have gotten out untouched.

  But that was the hell of it, wasn't it? Untouched. If he'd left James earlier, Ben would never have known what it meant to love someone like this. The shell that had formed around him nearly two decades ago when Warner left the first time--it would never have been cracked, just hardened until it became a tank, a prison.

  Ben had fallen in love with the only man who would ever get through his defenses . . . and the only man he could never live with.

  If I leave him, it's for his own good. He'd get over it, eventually. I might not, but James would. Ben believed this completely. Out of all the aristocratic gay Hounds currently pursuing James, at least one had to be a decent man. James was so warm, so loving, so devoted, that this theoretical decent man would wind up falling in love with him. Ben didn't see how anyone could help it.

  Maybe such a man would have one eye on the throne the whole time, but Ben now realized that too might be for the best. Someone ambitious would also be someone capable of dealing with the consequences of life in the royal fishbowl, a feat Ben seemed unable to accomplish.

  Certainty settled into Ben's gut, as heavy as dread. Yes, James would ultimately be all right.

  As for Ben, though--

  By now he understood the tabloids well enough to know that they wouldn't disregard him the moment he and James broke up. If anything, their interest would intensify. They'd keep following him, and as he would no longer have access to Clarence House or the security team, they'd be everywhere: His flat, the Tube, any clubs he tried to go to, even fucking Sainsbury's. There would be explicit offers of thousands upon thousands of pounds to talk about his relationship with James in lurid detail; his refusal of these offers would only mean that they would keep coming for years, and that the tabloids would invent their own reasons for the split, the more scandalous the better.

  As for his career, well, sources weren't magically going to start taking him seriously again anytime soon. Yes, he had the books, but even with his newfound notoriety, Ben knew he was unlikely to sell enough copies to ensure any economic security, at least not enough to cover the price of a London flat.

  He pushed back his laptop and walked back to his room. It felt like a good time to "take a nap," i.e., lie still and refuse to deal with reality for a while.

  Ben stretched out and looked up at the floral silk tapestries hanging from the bedframe, his souvenirs of the life he'd led in Thailand, so free and unencumbered. Could he go back to Thailand? Even there, they would have heard of him, but to the Thais the English monarchy was only a very small detail of Western life. Maybe he could get his old job back. It didn't pay much, but there, he wouldn't need much.

  It wasn't much of a plan, but it was something to think about.

  He stared up at the silk, willing himself to remember the man he'd been when he bought them, the beautiful boys he'd brought back to his flat. Instead he just kept remembering that James had unpacked these and hung them up himself, in the hopes that Ben would feel at home.

  ***

  "Are you sure you're well, sir?" Kimberley said as their sedan slipped through the streets of Amsterdam. "You haven't been yourself on this trip."

  This was her infinitely tactful way of inquiring why he was suddenly snappish and cold with her. James sighed. "No, I suppose I haven't. Please forgive me, Kimberley. In no sense does my mood reflect on you. What's next, again?"

  "The Anne Frank House, sir."

  They rode in silence for a few more moments. James had no intention of venting to her about his personal life. He'd dashed off a letter to Cass the night after he'd left, but other than that, he'd have to keep his problems with Ben to himself. As his letters were personally delivered, he knew them to be safe from prying reporter eyes. Still, every second he wasn't busy was a second he was worrying miserably about what Ben would do.

  Well, then, let's deal with the only topic as unpleasant as my potential breakup. "I've been thinking about the succession. The way the polls haven't budged."

  Kimberley brightened, obviously relieved to have something to do besides keep him on his official timetable. "I agree that it's problematic, sir."

  "I've been out for more than two months now, which seems enough time for the dust to settle."

  "Hardly, Your Royal Highness. Public opinion will remain highly changeable for at least eighteen months, I should say. Yet I also would have expected more movement in the polls, in one direction or another."

  James looked out at the rain-swept streets, at the people who stood and stared at his car, more out of momentary amusement than any reverence. That was how it usually went. "It all boils down to the Church, really."

  "I suspect you are correct, sir."

  "Richard has had at least three meetings with the Archbishop of Canterbury that I know about. He's no doubt arguing that I cannot lead the Church."

  "Have you considered meeting with the archbishop yourself, Your Royal Highness? I could certainly arrange that."

  "It would be enormously improper for me to go to the archbishop and campaign for my throne."

  Kimberley's face took on a rather determined look. "If Prince Richard can do it, why can't you? Sir."

  "Because Prince Richard has nothing to lose. I have everything to lose. Therefore, he can afford impropriety while I cannot." With a sigh, he leaned his head back against the seat of the sedan.

  "May I make a suggestion, Your Royal Highness?" Kimberley leaned forward. "I should like to commission a private poll. In-depth, confidential, results for our eyes only. We only glean so much information from various news organization surveys. What we need to know more about are the roots of people's objections. How those who resist you as head of church and state really feel, and how we might persuade them to feel differently. That would give us something more substantive to work with, sir."

  James considered it, then nodded. "Excellent idea. Let's get to it right away, though. Word has it the king is feeling rather spry again. The remainin
g length of my regency can probably be measured in weeks rather than months."

  He didn't have to say the rest. Kimberley understood that once he was no longer head of state, he would become far more vulnerable.

  What if it all falls through? James thought, as he always did when he allowed these fears to claim his conscious mind. What if the public's acceptance doesn't stretch far enough to accept a gay king? What if I never succeed to the throne?

  Then the words came through his mind again, not in fear but in hope: What if I never succeed to the throne? Then Ben wouldn't have to choose. Then we'd be free.

  After a while--probably a long while, but still, eventually--James and Ben would become less of a priority for the tabloids. Yes, the fascination would never entirely vanish, but a future king was a far more tempting target than a never-king. Ben might be able to bear a few more years of this if he knew a change would someday come . . .

  But no. If James lost the throne, Indigo would be next in the succession. How long would she retain her position? A month? A week? The public had no faith in "Mellie," believing her to be an addict. If Indigo wouldn't speak to a counselor about her problems, certainly she would never confess the truth about her mental health to the general public. Richard would be right there, urging her to step aside--not even only out of his own ambition, as rapacious as that was, but also because he would be so smugly sure neither she nor anyone else could handle the role of monarch.

  Indigo would believe that too. She'd surrender the throne in her turn, and from that moment on--no matter how much James or anyone else tried to convince her otherwise, she would always, always believe herself to be a failure. Her self-worth was already so fragile and tattered. After stepping down, would she have anything left?

  James couldn't do that to her. He couldn't spin lovely daydreams of a free life for him and Ben to share, not if Indigo had to pay the price of that freedom.

  Besides, given how his relationship with Ben was going, they might not even make it long enough to find out whether James would survive a challenge to his succession.

  So James put it aside, as he did with so many things. The possibility of a post-royal life with Ben remained in his mind . . . but buried deep, its potential still as silent as a seed beneath the snow.