by Alyssa Cole
“Really?” Linus’s eyebrows were raised high. The king was having quite the morning, it seemed.
“Thanks. But it would be hard for me not to know when you’re literally famous for your . . . exploits,” Lukas said with an eye roll. “I know you kind of hide that, or lots of people look past it, but what if the most important thing to me right now is something it hurts to hide? What if . . . I’m not a prince?”
“Are you a princess, then?” King Linus asked carefully. “That’s fine! People love princesses!”
Johan shot Linus a gently quelling look. “Let Lukas talk, Papp. Please.”
Linus’s eyes went wide, but he nodded. “Go on, s—ah, child.”
“I’m neither,” Lukas said, then inhaled sharply. “I’ve always hated the idea of being a prince, and having to act how princes are supposed to act all the time. And though I do sometimes want to wear a dress and I like pretty makeup, I’m not a princess. It seemed like I could only choose between those two things! I mean . . . there isn’t even any other option. I felt so trapped and then the referendum came up and I saw a way to get out of this without hurting anyone, or having you hate me for being difficult and—”
“Lukas.” Johan walked over and knelt beside his sibling, running his fingers through Lukas’s soft hair like their mamm had done to him and Lukas both. “I would never hate you. Never. You understand?”
Lukas hesitated, then nodded.
He thought of Lukas’s outrageous behavior, and Nya’s assessment.
No one tries this hard to get a reaction out of someone they don’t want to talk to.
“Even when you told me to sit and spin. I was mad, but hate was never even an option and never will be.”
“Even though Nya left because of me?” Lukas asked pitifully. “I took the picture from her phone because everyone was starting to say they were going to vote yes. I didn’t think you’d send her away! I’m sorry, bruder.”
Johan sighed. “I’m not okay with you violating her privacy, but that’s not why she left. She had to go see her father, who is ill.”
“She wasn’t wearing her ring.” Lukas was observant. “I like her. She figured out what I was upset about and made me feel better. And she was right—she told me you wouldn’t be mad at me.”
Of course. Because Nya had always assumed the best of Johan, when no one else did. She was kind enough to search for goodness in him, even when he’d tried to hide it.
“Lukas . . . do you still want me to call you that?” Linus asked. “I’ve seen reports about this on the news but I’ll admit I don’t entirely understand.”
Lukas explained preferred pronouns to their father, and though Linus was clearly confused, he took notes and stayed quiet apart from encouraging his child.
“Let’s think about your options,” Johan said. “We’re about to do a press conference. There was going to be a lot of talk about the referendum and blah blah blah. But you have something that you don’t want to hide anymore and we’ll have a captive audience waiting to have their opinions molded. We’ll tell them what you need and make it clear that giving you what you need is the only logical response.”
“‘If you fall, make it seem like the only thing that could have happened was you falling.’ You do have some good advice tucked in with the lying and faking,” Lukas said. For the first time since Johan had returned to Liechtienbourg, his sibling smiled at him instead of scowling. “Sorry I told you to fuck off.”
“I deserved it.” This wasn’t about Johan’s own feeling, but when he thought about how long Lukas had been hurting in silence a band of guilt tightened around his chest. How much pain had Lukas been in that “sabotage the referendum” had seemed like the best course of action? “I’m sorry I put so much pressure on you to hide yourself away. I’m sorry I didn’t see you.”
Lukas shrugged, but their eyes were bright. They leaned back in their chair. “Well. Can you see me now?”
“Vividly.”
“Good.” Lukas grinned. “Just . . . please don’t go all cool brother now, sending me dresses and stuff like that?”
“Let’s go over what you want to do at this press conference. You don’t have to give them everything.”
He heard a sniffle and then glanced over at Linus, who was stalwartly holding back tears. “I have more questions, I’ll admit. And, Lukas, we’ll have a stern talk about undermining the monarchy. But . . . you two, right now? Laetitia would be so proud.”
It still hurt Johan that Mamm wasn’t there to give Lukas her own advice, but not as much as it usually did. And yes, she would be proud of her two children plotting to change the course of the kingdom’s history—if the monarchy survived the referendum.
APPROXIMATELY AN HOUR LATER, after discussing what Lukas needed from family and kingdom to be comfortable, Johan, Linus, and Lukas took their seats before the royal press pool. Lukas had added a thin strip of pink to their hair for luck, and wore a sparkly lip gloss Nya had given to them without asking questions and without judgment. Johan didn’t wonder why she hadn’t told him anything—she hadn’t wanted to take that decision away from Lukas.
“I know that usually Johan and I handle the press, but today we are going to let Lukas speak,” Linus said to the gathered journalists, who began to clamor at that.
Johan’s body vibrated with nerves. He’d tried to shield Lukas for so long, and watching them step in front of a crowd of reporters to discuss something that would surely make international news and create a whirlwind of unnecessary speculation, was like having to sit still as fire ants marched over his body. He wanted to make a naughty joke. He wanted to stand up and rip off his shirt and sing an aria.
He sat still, except for the smile he directed at his stepfather. Linus had said Laetitia would be proud, but that meant he was proud, too, didn’t it? Johan had been thinking a lot about how his trying to prevent his own hurt could hurt others. He placed a hand on Linus’s shoulder and squeezed, and got a pleased smile from Linus in return.
Linus leaned in toward Johan’s ear. “You called me Papp earlier.”
“Don’t get a big head,” Johan whispered back. “It’s just a word for a man who raises you and who you happen to love.”
Linus made a gruff noise, still trying his damndest to maintain the von Braustein stiff upper lip.
“Hallo,” Lukas said quietly into the microphone. Lukas glanced at Johan, who gave his sibling a firm nod and threw in a wink to remind them that they had nothing to fear. Lukas turned back to the crowd. “It’s been noted that my behavior has been a bit strange lately. And this is true. I was acting out because . . . I’d decided that I didn’t want to grow up to be a king. I didn’t want to be a prince either. I’ve never been one, really.”
The journalists buzzed and camera flashes went off and Johan saw the instant Lukas’s expression shifted to something slightly vulnerable and slightly cunning. They were their own person, and would deal with the press as they wished, but they hadn’t thrown out everything Johan had taught them.
“Let me explain this. First, I’m nonbinary. Our language and our culture are very much focused on masculine and feminine, but I’m neither. I prefer that the pronouns they/them be used when talking about me in any future publications, starting with the reporting on this press conference,” Lukas said firmly. “This shouldn’t be very difficult for a group of intelligent journalists like yourselves. It should be even easier when writing about royalty because we already have the royal we. The royal they isn’t very different, is it?”
Lukas looked out at the crowd, smiling a bit when most of the reporters shook their heads. “If you happen to slip up, I won’t banish you or even get angry. I just ask that you try to remember for next time. I will not be explaining this aspect further because all of you possess access to the internet, which is free in our great nation, and you can look it up.”
There were murmurs among the reporters, but Johan shot warning glares at anyone who seemed likely to shout something out.
Johan tried not to look like he was about to fall out of his seat from a mixture of pride and anxiety. He looked into the audience to find Krebs wiping away a tear before readjusting his camera to snap a photo.
“As I stated, my preferred pronouns are they and them. In addition to that I will no longer be referred to as Prince Lukas.”
They looked at Johan, who held up a large photo of Lukas making a thumbs-down sign with one hand and frowning. The word PRINCE was written in large letters, meme-style, and crossed out with a thick red line.
“I will heretofore, if the monarchy exists after the referendum, be referred to as Prinxe Lukas.”
Johan held up an image of Lukas giving a thumbs-up and grinning, with PRINXE in large letters along the bottom.
“King will likewise be Xing, though I hopefully have some time before I have to worry about that one. Now, if there are any questions that aren’t questions about pronoun usage or how to replace a c or a k with an x, I’ll be happy to answer them.”
The reporter from the Looking Glass Daily raised his hand. Lukas called on him.
“How does your brother feel about this?”
Johan rolled his eyes and leaned forward toward his mic. “My opinion is irrelevant, but since you asked, I feel glad that Lukas trusts the people of our kingdom to respect their announcement. I love them as much as it’s possible to love anyone, and I couldn’t be any prouder of them.”
Lukas’s eyes softened and their cheeks went rosy. Between the von Braustein stiff upper lip and Johan’s obsessive desire to keep his emotions to himself, love had been shown more through actions than words in the castle. But sometimes people needed to hear how important they were, and maybe that was something else that could change moving forward.
Nya had told him she loved him, and it had been like being freed from a tower. Johan didn’t think he could change entirely, but he could stop hoarding his most precious emotions.
The rest of the press conference was Lukas ignoring people who hadn’t respected their directive about questioning, and answering those who asked about their vision for the future of Liechtienbourg.
Johan knew there would be some people who responded with ignorance when the word spread, but they would handle it together as a family. And when he thought of family, he also thought of Nya, no matter that their engagement hadn’t been real. His feelings for her were. He’d told her, but his actions hadn’t backed it up, and he was going to fix that.
He’d gone over all the grandiose public gestures he could make—his specialty really—but none of them felt right. After the press conference, and making sure it was okay with Lukas and Linus, Johan made a call to Greta as he packed a suitcase. He paused to rummage around in his costume trunk, where he kept his captain’s hat and mermaid tail, among other things.
“Clear my schedule for the next few days. I’ll be heading to Thesolo.”
“But what about the referendum?”
“Honestly? The referendum isn’t my priority right now. I can retain my title of Tabloid Prince with or without a monarchy, and I don’t really think I want that crown anymore.”
Greta made a sound of consideration. “I see. Well, good luck, Johan. I hope you get what you need.”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 26
Phokojoe knew to expect the maiden. He knew what she would ask of him. He should have swallowed her whole before she opened her mouth, but he had come to love the maiden. He would give her anything she requested, even his own life.
“Phokojoe, I have nothing to offer you,” she said when she stood before him, her skin lustrous like a dark pearl under the moonlight.
“You have treated me well and I will never forget that. What is it you most desire, lovely maiden?” he asked.
She bowed her head, so close to him that her floral scent filled his nose, and whispered her wildest dream into his ear.
—From Phokojoe the Trickster God
Nya stood in the waiting room of Thesolo’s only prison, which was surprisingly nice given the ones she’d seen on American crime shows. It was decorated with plush couches and stocked with drinks and snacks. Like the orphanage where Nya had worked, the goal was to make it an environment conducive to growth, and—as with this waiting area—to not make people feel like castoffs in their time of need. Having a loved one in prison was hard enough, was the prevailing thought. Why make visiting them a hardship as well?
Nya’s nerves jangled as she waited to be escorted to the hospital wing of the prison, where her father had been taken after collapsing. Ledi and Thabiso had offered to join her, but she needed to do this alone. Her grandparents had been forced into deciding whether to see the son they’d raised—or to forgive the man who had almost killed them—and were at a stalemate.
She still wasn’t sure what she would say to him. She wanted to tell him how he’d stolen her dreams for so many years, had kept her trapped in a cage instead of letting her fly free and return of her own will. How he’d made her sick, threatening her health, had lied and manipulated and gaslit her so that she hadn’t known what normal was or how to achieve it.
She’d thought she’d spend the flight from Liechtienbourg figuring out her script, but her worries had been so overwhelming that she’d simply fallen asleep, as if her body had simply said not today, Satan and gone into hibernation mode.
Or perhaps she’d been exhausted from her night with Johan, followed by her fight with Johan. Her ring finger felt odd without the silver band she’d grown used to in such a brief period of time, and she kept thinking of what Johan would do with it, when the obvious answer was give it to someone else, eventually.
She had no reason to go back to him. The referendum was currently being tallied, she imagined, and whatever had passed between her and Johan had been meant to be temporary. She didn’t fool herself into thinking that just because they’d been silly enough to fall in love it would change anything. People who’d loved each other deeply and earnestly for years sometimes parted ways; she couldn’t expect a relationship that had lasted a few weeks and was based on lies to stand the test of time, no matter how much she wanted it to.
The prison nurse came out then, clad in his white uniform and looking uncertainly at Nya, and she braced herself for bad news.
“Ms. Jerami?” he asked, beckoning when she nodded. “Right this way.”
“Is he stable?” she asked. “My grandparents were told that his organs were starting to shut down from lack of food, and that he’d collapsed.”
The nurse’s steps slowed, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Who told them this?”
“They received a call from the prison doctor yesterday.”
The man’s brow wrinkled. “It appears there has been some miscommunication. Your father is in here.”
He opened the door to the room and the sorrow Nya had been bracing for was replaced by shock.
Alehk Jerami lay on the bed in the clean infirmary room with his legs crossed comfortably at the ankles, his eyes trained on the comedy show playing on the large TV hanging on the wall. He chuckled and bit into the apple he held in one hand.
He looked . . . well, he looked great. He’d grown a short gray beard and though he had lost weight, it wasn’t from starvation. It had been replaced with muscle, as if he’d been hitting the gym. And then his head turned toward the door.
His did a double take and then quickly tucked the apple under his pillow, swallowing audibly. His expression began to droop and his shoulders hunched, and his
languid repose morphed into one stiff with agony. When he spoke, his voice was weak and pathetic.
“Ah, my daughter, my child. You have finally listened to the will of Ingoka and returned to the path of obedience.” He held out his arms as if expecting a hug. “I am so glad I will get to see you in what may be my final days.”
“Um.” The nurse glanced at Nya in confusion.
“It is okay,” she said. She wasn’t even angry. She knew what her father was like, and still she had come. Still she’d thought that maybe she would detail the pain he’d caused her, and he’d repent, and, like a pumpkin turning into a carriage, would transform into a father who was good and kind and loved his daughter without trying to break her. She remembered what Johan had said.
I don’t know if you can ever really hurt a man like that.
He’d been right. He’d also been right that, sometimes, happily-ever-afters don’t exist. She thought of how Johan had envied her openness and her ability to say what she felt. She thought that maybe he’d learned from her, even if they weren’t meant to be together. Well, she’d learned from him, too. She’d learned that sometimes a lie was what would protect you from being crushed by the weight of your pain. She’d learned that lying was another tool picked up on a quest, and this tool could help her vanquish this final monster.
“Hello, Father,” she said softly, inclining her head to show respect. “I am so sorry that I strayed from the path you have tried to guide me on for so long. But I am here now.”
“It is okay, my child,” Alehk said, eyes gleaming as he took in his victory.
“It is not okay, Father. As you said in your letter, I have dishonored both you and Mother with my actions.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes.
He took her by both hands; what should have been a loving gesture seeming like manacles closing around her. She resisted the initial urge to tug her hands away.