by Kyle Baxter
“You have?” Mariah asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah, in a magazine. Can’t mistake that face.” Joel reminded himself again that his own adolescence was one long ugly duckling phase.
“That kid is really wealthy,” Mariah explained with a sneer. “This country may be small, but the royal family has billions. Etreustein is kind of a tax haven, so lots of businesses have offices here. The princess and the younger prince will both be at the party tonight, and Dad wants to get a contract for his company. So check the attitude.” Mariah playfully smacked him in the back of the head.
“Hey, I don’t have an attitude. I just call it as I see it. Why are they coming to the party?” Joel asked.
“Well, as I understand it, the princess is very involved in government and everyone at this party either does or wants to do business with the Crown—like Dad. It’s a meet and greet.”
“And him?” Joel scrunched up his face and examined the portrait more closely.
“I don’t know. I just assumed he’s coming,” Mariah said. “We are going to the castle after all. Where else would a prince be?”
“I guess all that money does make up for some of his shortcomings.” Joel nudged her and she fell over with a horsey, snorting laugh.
Their mother hated that laugh, always chastising her when she let loose, Laugh like a lady. But Joel loved it. It was honest and real.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “You’d never care about such things, Joel.”
“Or you, I hope. But it’s not like either of us is going to be in a position to worry about it.”
Chapter Eleven
Just Fine
“Tell me again why we’re going to the palace?” Joel asked as he and Mariah joined his parents in their suite back at the Sonne Hotel. Caty was trying on outfits in her room and occasionally rushing in for thoughts and approval. He plopped down on the sofa.
“We didn’t come here without reason—” Dad started.
“And here I thought it was a family vacation.” Joel gave his mother a smirk. She just shook her head.
Dad took the bait; he usually did. “It is, but I have an opportunity here for my company.” Walking over to the sofa, he then handed Joel a glass of wine. “I promise, it won’t be long, and we’ll be in Paris in a couple of days, and then Rome.”
“You work with a fracking company,” Joel said with distaste as he took the wine. “Thank you.”
Dad sat down opposite him and pointed a scowl in his direction. “A fracking company that put you through college—”
“Hector, he’s teasing you. Joel knows all this.” Mom picked up her own glass. “Joel, quit being a pain in the ass.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He took a sip of the wine. “This is good. What is it?”
“A Pinot Noir from the royal vineyards,” Mom chirped in her squeaky voice, rolling the wine around in her glass. “It’s very good. Aromatic and fruit-forward but without being overpowering.”
“Oooh, rank does have its privileges.” Taking another sip, he sloshed it around in his mouth, letting his tongue enjoy it before he swallowed. “But again? Fracking? Here in Etreustein? Really?”
“Yes, they recently discovered shale deposits on land the royal family owns.” Dad took a drink from his glass.
“Well, they do own most of the land,” Mom chimed in, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
His father’s glance darted away. “Yes, well . . . and as they haven’t completely ruled out fracking here, like some European countries, I’m here to plead our case. King Leopold is open to the idea or is at least willing to have someone meet with me. I brought environmental impact studies and everything.” Dad gestured to a bulging briefcase.
“But why do I have to go to the palace?” Joel whined, falling back on the sofa, careful not to spill his wine—he was raised right.
Mom tsked. “I told you, it’s a castle, dear, not a palace. And the whole family is invited. Don’t be so self-involved.”
Joel took the gentle reprimand. “How did we get this invite?”
“They do this every quarter,” Dad said. “They invite top leaders and new investors for a business roundtable—I think it’s an attempt to impress visitors with a meeting with the king and queen.”
“We’re meeting the king and queen?” Joel sat up. That would be something.
“It’s why I arranged our trip to come here before Paris. I hoped they’d include us. And they did!” Dad smiled at his own cleverness. “Mind you, tonight it’s just the princess and maybe the younger prince. The king and queen are out of town, but there’s a proper royal reception with the entire royal family in a few days.” Dad rubbed his hands together. “That’s two invites! I think it’s a good sign. It means they’re interested.”
“Or they’re inviting everyone.” Joel side-eyed his father.
Dad let out a sigh. “Thanks for the happy thought, son.”
“Anytime, Dad.”
“I really hope we get to meet the king and queen!” Mom clapped her hands. “I always wanted to meet a king and queen! Joel, did you bring a dinner jacket?”
“Of course.” Joel waved a hand in the air. “I am gay.”
“I’m sure that will be more than good enough. You don’t want to outshine the royal family, after all.” Mom winked at him, then moved to leave the room. “Now remember to set an alarm. We’re having breakfast every morning.” To Joel’s groan, she added, “It’s a family vacation, Joel. You can make time for breakfast with us.”
“I’m going to buy a new suit.” Joel stood and picked up his jacket off the back of the sofa. “I’ll need a tux if I’m going to a castle. I did not come prepared for that.”
Dad looked up at him. “Here, take my card.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Joel shook his head and held up a hand. “I have my own money.”
“Joel,” his father said in that unmistakable do not argue with me, young man tone.
“Fine,” Joel grumbled as he accepted the card. He double-checked to make sure he had his room key and his phone and then bolted for the door.
“And don’t be late!”
❖
Joel texted Larry as the car drove up the steep hill to the castle. The rest of the family went ahead without him—only on the sworn promise that, yes, he was coming.
Joel: I can’t believe I have to go to this party.
Larry: Why are you complaining? Is it because you’re going somewhere you can’t get away with wearing a Superman shirt?
Joel: No, I just . . .
Larry: What? You want to sit alone in your room, miss your soldier, drink, and feel sorry for yourself?
Joel looked at that line. Larry hit the nail on the head. Any other night, going to a place like this would excite him. But all Joel wanted was to see Freddie. He liked spending time with him and certainly didn’t want to waste his time at a boring business party. He dealt with enough events like that with Five Points.
But how do I find him? His attempts to google him did not pan out. And Freddie told him before that Special Forces eschewed press and social media. He was a ghost. I miss him. He was also embarrassed with how they left things and wanted to apologize. He cringed at the thought of it. I should have let him finish talking before I went all drama queen. God, I’m an ass.
Joel: Maybe.
Larry: I get it, but tough, deal with it. Live a little . . . and if there is a next time with your man? Have sex with him. Let him rotate your tires. God knows you need it . . . clean out the cobwebs up in there.
Joel typed furiously.
Joel: Enough! I promise I will let soldier-man ravish me, if I ever see him again.
If he even wants to see me.
Larry: One more thing, be sure and tell me how this unfortunate prince you mentioned grew up.
Joel sputtered with laughter, making the taxi driver look at him in the rearview mirror. “Sorry.”
Joel: Will do.
The car let out in a circular drive inside the ga
te. Joel got out and gasped when he looked up at the castle with its buildings set in levels on top of a steep hill. His mother was not exaggerating: “medieval” was definitely the right word. It was clearly a fortress at some point, but he expected something more ornate than this stronghold of gray block buildings and towers. Something more King’s Landing and less Winterfell. Their gabled roofs surrounded one tall, central tower. Doctor Frankenstein would be at home haunting the grounds. Oooh, there have to be secret tunnels! God, I want to go exploring.
A man after his own heart, Freddie would appreciate this. The trooper was just as at home in a museum as him and Mariah. Yeah, I may take Robert’s advice and have that vacation affair after all. If I ever see him again. If he wants to see me, and if he’s still willing. Lotta ifs . . .
He walked up the long red carpet to the entrance. A queasy, giddy excitement built in his stomach. Okay, I’m going to a party in an actual castle! He looked up at the towering stone edifice and his mouth dropped. This is amazing. I’m so glad I didn’t stay in the hotel.
After running a handheld electromagnetic wand over him and examining his passport, security waved him through. A banquet server escorted him through the gatehouse and into the courtyard. There, a walkway led him to what he assumed was the main building of the castle. More security flanked the entrance. Idly, he wondered if they were local or if the royal family hired an outside security firm. It wasn’t a big country, after all. They checked his ID again, then let him pass.
Another cater waiter led him through the small foyer and into the Great Hall. He was agog. The room was longer than wide with a staircase leading up on the right. Five crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the parquet floors were polished to a high shine. But it was more understated than he expected. No banners or heraldry hung from the ceiling, but it was tastefully decorated. Green, white, and blue, the colors on the country’s flag, were the favorite theme in the décor on the cocktail tables, but there were no outstanding flourishes. Tonight, it was apparently all business.
He felt overdressed in his new tux. Everyone else wore blazers and sport coats. But it’s a castle! You should get dressed up to come to a castle.
The space was chillier than expected, and he wondered if it was in anticipation of the body heat of the crowd raising the temperature. It was a medieval castle. Maybe there was always a chill in the air.
Perhaps a hundred people were in attendance, and the party bustled with excitement. Because Joel arrived late—naturally—he missed the entrance of the young prince. At least that was what he gathered from the snippets of conversations he heard. A throng of people gathered to one side and he assumed the man in question was in the middle.
His nose led him to the opposite side of the room and the tables laden with food. The rich aroma of beef drifted his way, making him salivate. Joel made a quick pass-by, his strafing run. He liked to get the lay of the land before diving in. There was local grass-fed beef, according to a sign lettered in tight script in German, Italian, and English. And on the next table lay poultry and vegetarian options. The last held bread and cheeses. He didn’t see desserts and looked around the room.
There they are! He made his way to the far end of the Great Hall, passing by a septet playing classical music. He took a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter with a nod and a “thank you.”
“Ohmigawd, I can’t believe you missed it!” Caty squealed as she rushed up to him. “The prince is so cute—and built! Didn’t you think he was handsome?” She pulled her sister over with her.
“Very handsome,” Mariah agreed, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose. “Though not very tall.”
“Mariah,” Caty hissed, but Mariah only chuckled.
“That’s nice.” Joel grinned at Caty’s enthusiasm. He looked around, hoping to spy the prince. He liked handsome and built. That must be him in the moving crowd . . . Maybe later then.
“Dad’s looking for you.” Mariah took his arm and turned Joel away from the crowd. “Hide.” Joel drained his glass and set it on a cocktail table.
Caty came along, taking his other arm. “He’s angry at you for being late.”
Joel exhaled loudly and shrugged. “He’s always angry with me.”
“Quit. Being. Late.” Caty gave him a poke in the arm, punctuating each word.
“How could Joel be so irresponsible.” Mariah’s voice dropped in an imitation of her father.
“Exactly.” Dad came up behind them and they all flinched. Mom was with him, smiling warmly. The wine was doing its work. Her makeup looked flawless and she sparkled in a red cocktail dress. Mariah shrank back a little and her mother gave her a nudge and a smile. His father motioned for him to follow. “Now, come with me. I want to introduce you.”
“That’s really not necessary.” Joel stopped and made his father turn full-on to look at him. “I just want to hang out and eat. Maybe have some canapés.” He gestured to the tables laden with food.
“I’d skip the canapés and go straight to dessert,” came a familiar bari-tenor. The voice was rich and dulcet and achingly familiar.
Joel froze in place, scared to turn around. It can’t be. His body started trembling. He’s here? How can HE be here? Joel took a long breath and told himself to calm down.
“Son, this is His Royal Highness Prince Frederick of Etreustein.” His father gestured to the man behind Joel. “Sir, this is my son, Joel McIntyre.”
Slowly, Joel pivoted on a heel and looked down into sparkling green eyes framed in a handsome face, its lantern jaw newly shorn of a beard. The wavy auburn hair lay trimmed, parted, and swept back. Flawlessly coiffed and no longer disheveled, but it was him, his trooper.
Freddie.
Prince Frederick gave him a mischievous wink. “Hey, Joey.”
Chapter Twelve
Something to Talk About
Joel gasped. “Freddie.”
“His Royal Highness Prince Frederick,” a stern voice corrected in heavily accented English. Joel looked behind Freddie to see the tall patrician man the voice had come from. He was older but still fit. Was he security?
“I . . . apologize.” Joel shrank a little. His head swam and he was warm. Was this happening? This is crazy. Freddie is a prince? What the actual FUCK? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”
Joel put his right hand up to his chest and bowed slightly while raising his left. He’d seen the gesture on TV and thought that was the way to bow to a royal. He heard a cough from his mother and a chuckle from someone beside Freddie—Frederick—one of the gaggle of lookie-loos following him around. Did he do something wrong?
“This is my handler, Luc.” Frederick gestured to the man beside him, the one who corrected Joel. “He’s here to keep me from embarrassing myself.”
The older man put his nose in the air and sniffed. “Bit late for that,” he said, almost under his breath. Joel was sure only he and Freddie heard.
Joel almost laughed out loud. “You needed him at the airport.” This is nuts. Am I hallucinating? Freddie is the prince of Etreustein . . . I can’t even.
“Agreed. I don’t think he would have let Maeve near me.” Freddie beamed. Delight lit his features. It made a shiver shoot through Joel.
“Much less me.” Joel shook his head and giggled. Stop that. You sound hysterical. But the situation was bananas. How am I supposed to react? And his eyes. His eyes kept looking up and down Freddie—Prince Frederick—trying to drink every inch of him in. He looks really good.
He caught Luc eyeing them both warily. Chill, people are watching. Indeed, a small crowd congregated around the prince at a respectful distance. Not quite at his elbow, but still. They watched their exchange intently. He realized abruptly that they were all watching them, and he and Freddie were just staring at each other stupidly and smiling. I need to say something. What do I say? Why won’t my mouth work?!
“Am I missing something?” Joel’s father stepped closer, looking from one to the other.
“Who is this, then?” a very snide voice with a posh English accent asked. It came from a tall, lanky man with angular features and a ruddy complexion. His dark hair was swept back tight to his large head. He and Joel were almost the same height.
“Ah, yes, Joel. This is Denis of Belgium.” Freddie slapped the man on the back, making Denis cough and his eyes bug out. His reaction made the prince smile again.
He doesn’t seem to be a friend of Freddie’s. Joel held out his hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Denis looked down his nose and drifted into the crowd.
Oh well. Joel ignored the slight. Freddie stood in front of him and looked stunning. “That is a gorgeous suit.” He eyed Frederick’s couture. A deep, rich blue, the suit perfectly fitted to his athletic frame, the tie matched in a paler blue. “You clean up real nice.”
Luc coughed, but Frederick ignored him and did a half-turn each way, turning up each heel as he did. “Thank you. After years deployed in the field, I’m a bit surprised, to be honest. I’d love to take credit for it, but there was a whole crew waiting to shave, wax, and exfoliate me the moment I arrived from the train.”
Before he could stop himself, Joel said, “I hope they didn’t wax everything.” He cringed and felt the color drain from his face. What is wrong with me? There were gasps from the crowd and his father and Luc sputtered, but Freddie only laughed.
“You know each other?” Dad stepped closer, no doubt trying to stave off any more embarrassing comments from his son.
“Yes, Freddie—” Joel stammered. Luc interrupted by clearing his throat. “Prince Frederick and I met at Heathrow.” He discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks.
“You did?” Mom came close and put a hand on Joel’s arm, wide-eyed at this information.
“You were the soldier with the beard,” Mariah piped up excitedly at his other elbow. Caty clapped and jumped up and down with a squeal, making the lookie-loos mutter again.
Why can’t they just go away? Joel shrank a little inside his tux, and started sweating. Now he wished the room was cooler. Did they turn the heat on? Take a breath. Calm down.