by Lilah Pace
"Which I haven't got." James tried to say it lightly, but he knew his voice sounded strained.
"The polling group ran it several different ways, Your Royal Highness. Should the Archbishop of Canterbury raise no objections to your coronation, you survive this. Even a slim majority of those who harbor antigay sentiment apparently feel more strongly about supporting the tradition and the institution of the monarchy. However, if the C of E voices official disapproval, your numbers go south fairly quickly."
He didn't need Kimberley's handy animated charts to tell him what the graphs in red meant. "Separation of church and state works well enough for the Americans."
Kimberley gave him a look. "If the relationship between the sovereign and the Church changes, then the Church changes. People don't want it to change. The recent controversies over gay marriage prove that, sir."
Indeed they did. While there had been little political opposition to legalizing gay marriage, there had been a strong pushback against the idea of the Church of England being forced to solemnize such marriages. Canon law held that marriage was between a man and a woman; people no longer wanted the state--or the king--to be able to change canon law. Only the assurance that canon law would remain intact had prevented official opposition from the Church to the legalization of gay marriage, which in turn might have changed everything.
The king was Supreme Governor of the Church of England. This wasn't the same as being the head of the Church, but that role was powerfully symbolic. Attempting to separate the throne from its place within the Church would puncture the delicate balancing act that had kept the monarchy viable for the past century.
"Christ." James stood up and walked across his office to stare out the window at the gardens. A footman stood out there with Happy and Glorious, having taken them outside to have a piddle. It was raining gently, hardly more than sprinkling; the footman held a black umbrella over his head as he waited patiently for the dogs to finish. Afterward, he'd clean the garden if needed, bring the corgis inside, and personally dry their paws with a towel: standard service for the Prince Regent's pets.
No wonder people think my life is absurd, James thought. No wonder they might decide my services are no longer required.
"Although people's feelings about the Church will be difficult to budge, our PR efforts have proved successful on virtually every other front." Kimberley had to have seen how disquieted he was, and yet she kept up her usual brisk efficiency. "Even Mr. Dahan's approval ratings have gone up a tick. Granted, they really had nowhere to go but up. Still, Your Royal Highness, it's progress."
"That seems of little consequence now," James said, still staring at the garden.
"If we continue to strengthen your public profile during your regency, it can only help, sir. Even Church leaders listen to opinion polls to some degree." Kimberley paused then, long enough that James finally turned back to look at her. "I feel certain you have no plans to do this, Your Royal Highness, but . . . should it come to it, I must advise you strongly not to contest the Archbishop of Canterbury's position."
"A fight for the throne? Me versus God? I think we know how that ends." James shook his head tiredly. "No, Kimberley. While I appreciate the warning, it's unnecessary. If I'm handed my leaving papers, I'll go gracefully."
"Of course I hope very much it won't come that, sir."
"As do we all." Except Richard, James thought. "It seems ridiculous to say this after what we just discussed, but--any further business?"
"There is one item, sir." Kimberley frowned down at her iPad. "A reporter from an American tabloid called me late yesterday. He didn't have anything much; I could tell it was a fishing expedition. However, we might have another false-lover report on our hands."
James could have sighed. Five of these had surfaced so far; they'd been easily shot down, thanks to an official schedule that documented his every hour, going back for years. "Which now?"
"They were asking questions about a former employee of the palace, sir. A Niall Edgerton who worked for the Keeper of the Privy Purse."
In the first second, James couldn't react, couldn't even breathe. Carefully he put his hands behind his back. "I'm afraid that one is legitimate."
Kimberley was unfazed. "Very well, Your Royal Highness. What is he likely to say?"
"Nothing. He's dead. Died years ago in a motorcycle accident."
Her hands paused their endless tapping at her tablet. "Then I don't like the fact that we're hearing about him now, sir. Whom else did he tell?"
"No one, I thought." It was as though every blood vessel in James's body had tightened. His throat felt constricted; his ears did not want to admit sound. His body was attempting to wall him into fear. "But I have to tell you now that he blackmailed me for a period of a year, from the time of our breakup until his death."
"I knew I ought to have gone over this with you," Kimberley murmured, clearly more to herself than to him. James understood what she meant. He had not undergone the rigorous questioning about his past that Ben had, because even a staffer as senior and as trusted as Kimberley Tseng simply did not ask certain questions of the Prince Regent. Really he should have volunteered the information, he realized, too late. "Sir, did Mr. Edgerton have anything to blackmail you with except the fact of your homosexuality?"
"Not per se. But . . . I believe he made certain recordings. As insurance." James had thought Niall had already made him feel as humiliated as it was possible to feel; he'd been so stupidly wrong. "I don't know whether anyone else might have found them. Or whether he, ah, whether he shared them."
James imagined Niall showing off their most intimate moments, James's naked body, his genuine abandon, his naivety in believing himself adored. It made him almost sick to realize it was exactly the kind of thing Niall would have done.
But Kimberley shook her head. "Had he done so, you'd have been exposed before now, sir. Either a friend or a so-called 'fail-safe' would have gone public with the recordings after his death, had anyone access to them. My guess is that Niall had reached out to the Enquirer before his death, attempting to find out the market price of his information without tipping off a British tabloid that might have pursued its own leads more aggressively. When he didn't follow up, the Enquirer probably wrote it off as some sort of stunt or prank, Your Royal Highness. Then someone went through old files, found this, and is digging around anew."
Could that possibly be true? James could hardly bring himself to hope. "What are you going to tell them?"
"I will confirm that the late Mr. Edgerton worked at Buckingham Palace and tell them I have no further information However, I will also review any and all available information about Mr. Edgerton to make certain we need fear no other disclosures. Like as not, Your Royal Highness, any recordings he made were lost years ago."
"Thank you, Kimberley."
Mercifully, their meeting was the last of his day. James felt numb the entire way upstairs to the private suite. The shell around him only cracked when he walked in to see Ben sitting on the sofa, already changed into jeans and a turtleneck; the automatic flush of happiness James felt laid him open to the other emotions swirling around him--fear, doubt, regret. Ben turned toward him with a smile, but James must have looked like hell, because instantly he said, "What's wrong?"
At first it was a relief to vent the entire story to Ben, to blurt all of it out as Ben helped him out of his jacket and tie and pulled him down onto the couch, into his arms. But nothing could take away from the fundamental horror of Niall crawling from his grave with one last threat.
"I'm going to wind up with my own sex tape," James said miserably.
"For what it's worth, I'd trust Kimberley's instincts on this." Ben stroked James's hair. "If the tabloids had the footage, by now you'd know it."
"I want to believe that. But I don't know. It brings it all back. The way I trusted Niall, the way I felt when I found out he'd been playing me from the start."
Ben's voice was low and soft. It never ceased to su
rprise James how so fierce a man could sound so gentle. "He was a fool if he didn't see what he could have had in you."
James leaned his forehead against Ben's cheek, trying to soak him in. "He couldn't have had what we have, because he wasn't you. Niall wasn't a tenth of you, Ben. It simply took me too long to realize that."
"We all make mistakes in love. Mine was at least as bad as yours." Ben kissed James's hair, then sat back, clearly hoping to cheer him. "Enough Warner, enough Niall. You're going to be all right. No sex tapes, no recordings, absolutely nothing to embarrass the future king."
Good God--he'd actually forgotten for a moment. "Oh, yes. About that."
Ben frowned. "About what?"
"The future king. I'm probably not it." Enough glibness: James ran one hand through his ever-longer hair, steadying himself. "Kimberley and I also went over the in-depth polling. Basically, I don't survive disapproval by the Church. Thanks to Richard, the Church is all but certain to disapprove. And that's the end."
"What?" Ben looked as completely at a loss as James felt. "What do you mean, that's the end? They can't--just--can they?"
"There's not much modern precedent for it, but trust me, they'll work something out." What legal form would it take? Would he have to sign away his rights to the crown, or would they come up with some act or ruling to simply bar him? "I will of course accept the decision of the Archbishop of Canterbury."
Although Ben looked astonished, he was apparently still well able to read James's moods. "You don't have to be the prince here. Be yourself. No limits, remember? Tell me what you're feeling."
What was that, precisely? It was difficult to find the words. Finally James said, "I feel as though I've been caught off guard. Like I could've prepared myself for this but never did. My whole life, I thought if people found out I was gay, they would reject and hate me. Then I decided, no, times are changing. I owe the public the truth, and maybe they can accept it. Once I believed that, I believed people might rally around me. Respect me. Call me brave, you know."
"They have."
James shook his head as he smiled at his own folly. "What I mean is, I prepared myself to succeed brilliantly or fail absolutely. I never prepared myself for this. For the public to say, yes, all right, very well, you're gay, be happy, but you shall not be king. Everything else is fine, but not that. Not that."
"I still haven't caught up to this. Is it final? Is it certain?"
"Neither final nor certain, but more probable every day. With Grandfather's recovery again on track--well, let's put it like this. We'll have our answers soon, and they're unlikely to be the ones I was hoping for."
"But the public's getting used to it. They are," Ben insisted. He seemed even more stunned by this turn of events than James was himself. "Given a little more time, even the Church is going to come around."
"We don't have a little more time. Rumor has it the king's beginning to walk around the House on his own. It's not going to be long at all before the regency ends. My first and only reign, as it turns out." James closed his eyes. "If this all falls on Indigo, I won't be able to live with myself."
Ben shook his head. "It's not your fault. I know this is the last thing your sister needs, but you're not the one putting her in this position. It's the fucking homophobic Church that's--"
Swiftly James put two fingers over Ben's lips. "I know what you feel. And you know what I feel. But if anyone ever asks me if you've tried to influence my thinking on the Church of England, whether you've tried to diminish its authority in my eyes, I need to be able to say no. I must be able to do that truthfully. All right?"
That earned him a scowl, but one meant to be slightly humorous. Ben had already learned that he also couldn't talk about the Israeli/Palestine conflict or Northern Ireland either. There were some subjects they'd forever have to work around, and Ben accepted that.
But they could be more honest about the most important things, the most intimate things. That was why James could now ask, "Tell me honestly, Ben--aren't you just a little bit glad?" He gestured around them, taking in the whole palace with that gesture. "You hate this life. Well, it turns out you won't have to live it forever."
"I didn't say that."
"Ben. The truth. It's all right."
After a pause, Ben said, "I'm not glad yet. Like I said, I still haven't wrapped my mind around it. I hate that it's being taken from you, if only because I hate the reason why. I don't celebrate the triumph of prejudice, ever."
"Fair enough." James's temples were throbbing.
"You're exhausted," Ben said. "We'll deal with this later, okay?"
James glanced up to see the genuine concern in Ben's expression--and nothing else, nothing behind it. As much as Ben hated this life, he would defend it just because it was what James had wanted. He was truly angry on James's behalf, so much that his own feelings didn't even enter into it.
He whispered, "My God, I love you."
Ben didn't say it back, didn't ask why. He just pulled James close, and it was easy to pretend that he was safe in Ben's arms, that nothing could touch him now.
***
James might not become king. As much as Ben tried to accustom himself to the idea, he couldn't manage it.
He lay in bed next to James, the hour well past midnight. Neither of them could sleep but they had settled into a mutual pretense of it, curled together in the hopes that their exhaustion would triumph over their concerns.
Half the time, Ben found himself regretting that Niall had died years ago, long before Ben would ever have had the chance to punch him in the face. James was so guarded, so careful, until he let those walls drop, and then he was as utterly tender and hopeful as anyone Ben had ever known. To think of anyone seeing that gentle side of James and then cruelly using that for his own profit . . . it was disgusting. What kind of vermin did you have to be, to do a thing like that?
How lonely James must have been. He was a discerning judge of character, most of the time; a cheap hustler like Niall Edgerton could only have fooled him because James had wanted to be fooled, because he had needed so badly to be loved.
But that anger merely riled Ben without meaning anything. Niall's recklessness had turned him into roadkill years ago. Ben trusted Kimberley Tseng's judgment on potential media pitfalls, so if she wasn't too concerned about this, he assumed he probably didn't need to be either.
Besides, their other great worry was so much vaster that it dwarfed anything Niall could have done in life or death.
James had spent his whole life learning to become a king. He'd been denied a normal childhood and adolescence, been denied any privacy, all of that, just so that he might someday fulfill the artificial and antiquated role of monarch. Now that he had dared to tell a normal human truth about himself, that destiny was being snatched away.
The old Ben, the man he'd been in Africa, sneered in his mind: It's not like he's had it so hard. Living in a palace, being a millionaire.
But he now knew it wasn't as simple as that. No amount of wealth or privilege could entirely compensate for--Ben struggled for the right words--for the way James had been made to believe that his own life did not wholly belong to him.
He stroked his fingers through James's hair. James murmured, "This is hopeless."
"We have to try to sleep."
"I know. But it's still hopeless." He turned over to face Ben, so that they lay chest to chest, thigh to thigh. James's soft cock and balls rested along Ben's pelvic bone. "I know I ought to be more worried about my crown. A hell of a lot more worried. But instead I keep thinking about Niall, about what's on those recordings of his. I realized I don't much care if anyone sees me naked or hears me having an orgasm. What I can't bear is the thought of everyone in the world seeing just how big a fool I was."
Ben kissed his forehead. "Everybody's a fool for love."
"Not you."
"Especially me. I daydreamed about you for months and then hooked up with you again because I thought I could just walk away
unscathed. Tell me that's not foolish."
It worked; James smiled a little. "You ought to have realized this would be a mess."
Ben shrugged. Anything he said would have to be an acknowledgment that they were, in fact, in an enormous mess, which was a point they didn't need to belabor if they were ever to get any sleep.
James said, "A fool and then a prince no longer. Well. Still a prince: My title by birth can't be taken away. But no more Prince Regent, and no more Prince of Wales."
"They shouldn't do that to you. You should get to be king."
"Oh, come on, Ben. You've never believed in the monarchy, not really."
It took a few moments for Ben to be sure of his answer. "I don't believe in the idea of a king, no. But I've come to believe in the king you could be."
"That may be the loveliest thing you've ever said to me."
Ben rolled James onto his back, grinning down at him. "You turned me into a monogamist and a monarchist. Forget being king. Maybe you should be a magician."
"Abracadabra," James whispered.
They kissed gently, then more insistently. Ben felt James's cock twitch against his groin, then thicken to full hardness so quickly they both smiled through the kiss. Ben murmured, "As long as we're not sleeping . . ."
"Mmmm." James pulled Ben down against him. "Don't you mean, as long as we're up?"
By now Ben was getting hard too. "Your weakness for bad jokes--oh." James had just wrapped his hand around Ben's erection. "Oh, yeah."
It was swift and sweet, the lovemaking of people who were both very devoted and very tired. Ben lotioned them up as quickly as he could without fully disentangling himself from James's arms. His fingers interlocked with James's as they pressed their cocks together, thrusting into their shared grip. Ben let his head fall against James's shoulder, shivered as he heard James's groans change pitch as he came closer to the edge, and came into James's palm with a warm rush that drowned out every other thought in his mind.
In the sticky aftermath, James finally fell asleep, but Ben lay awake a while longer, watching him.
Once he had wondered what the point of monogamy was. Having sex with only one person the rest of your life? It had seemed dull at best. Yet with James Ben was discovering different shades and flavors of pleasure, those that only lay on the other side of deep knowledge and deeper love.