by Kyle Baxter
Outside, Mariah stood under a heat lamp in the bailey, her head down. She looked miserable, and his heart skipped a beat. He rushed over to her and pulled her into an embrace.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked and rocked her back and forth.
“Mom got on me for eating too much, but it’s so boring. What else is there to do? They closed off the interesting parts of the castle for the party. I tried to sneak through, but a security guard stopped me,” she said, making him chuckle. Of course she tried to go exploring. Mariah nudged in under his arm, and he pulled her in tight. “I hate parties.”
“Me too, kid. Me too. Let’s get out of here,” he said. Taking her hand, Joel led her to coat check and then to the line of cars waiting to ferry people home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I Won’t Say
Against the king’s orders, Freddie went looking for Joel the next morning. He drove up the mountain to the chalet, hoping Joel and Caty would be there. That was their plan, but neither Emma nor Andy reported seeing them. And the manager at the Sonne Hotel told him they definitely left for the day.
He wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice, to explain. Despite the message Julia delivered, he tried calling Joel’s room last night, but there was no answer.
Delayed at the door, Frederick missed most of Denis’s standup routine, but he caught the end and got a sitrep from Julia on the rest. Denis was an arrogant jerk, even as a child, and his behavior last night was inexcusable. He humiliated Joel, and that could not stand. Freddie would have words with him, and a phone call would not cut it. If Denis was going to work with him, he’d learn the lay of the land. Do not mess with people I love.
Even second-hand from Julia, Denis’s words last night stung Frederick too. Not because they weren’t true; they were. Joel was just a waiter, but he was also so much more, and it hurt Freddie that not everyone saw that. What do I care if they see it? Isn’t the fact that I see it what counts?
There was also a nagging realization in the back of his mind: that Denis was right about another thing. Joel did not belong in his world. He belonged in museums and comic book shops and running catering events, and Freddie did not want to change that. He’s perfect the way he is.
Back in his SUV, he drove down the mountain to town. He eschewed the chauffeur today despite security concerns—there were more anti-refugee protests in Geneva—and Luc’s pointed remarks. Rolling down the windows, he let the mountain air clear his head. He needed clarity for the day’s tutoring sessions with the Crown’s economic advisor. Life in the military was simpler; there was studying and reports and intel to go over, but this was different. Freddie didn’t care about economics. He never did, but as king, he had to learn it. It was mind-numbing.
Let’s check one more thing. He made a detour and pulled his SUV in front of the museum. The guards waved him through, and with a nod at the desk sergeant, he strode into the gallery.
Astrid appeared beside him. “Mariah’s in the portrait gallery.”
“How do you know I came here to see her?” His cheeks burned.
“You never came in a rush like this to see me.” Astrid gave him a sly smile. “But I’m sorry to tell you that she is alone.”
He deflated. Damn.
“Go talk to her.” She gave him a little push forward.
He turned around to her but kept walking in the direction she pushed. “What is the point?”
“If you care about someone, show interest in what they care about,” she said. “He loves his sisters.”
That was true. Joel loved them a lot. He bounded up the large marble staircase and took the left to the portrait gallery.
She sat in front of a painting of Crown Prince Heinrich, Prince Wilhelm, and their older sister, Princess Renate. Of course, brave Renate.
Clearing his throat, he let her know he was approaching and sat on the bench near her.
“He’s not here,” she said dismissively.
“I heard. I thought I’d check on you.”
“Oh.” There was genuine surprise in her voice. “Sorry, sire. Your Highness?”
“Frederick is fine. I thought we went over all that?”
“That was yesterday,” she said, making it clear that things had changed.
He looked down at the marble floor. “Oh.”
“You look like him, you know? We saw a photo of him when he was older. You look just like him. Prince Karl looks like Heinrich.” Was that a hint of disapproval in her voice?
“Karl may be severe, but he is not a Nazi.” Freddie crumpled his cap in his hands. He loathed his family’s connection to the fascists. Even though Wilhelm fought them and Renate gave her life, it still clung to them.
Mariah spun to him, horror on her face. “No, I did not mean that. I apologize. It’s just . . .” Her eyes darted around as she looked for words. “It’s funny how genetics work, you know?”
“Tell me.” He crossed his arms. She was a delight. So sharp. Like her brother.
“Joel’s super tall, but our mom is only five-foot-seven,” Mariah said. “His dad was only five-eight.”
“Joel said he was a big man.” Frederick remembered their conversation.
Mariah bobbed her head. “I’m sure when Joel was little he seemed that way.”
“So where did Joel’s height come from? And yours. You’re nearly six-foot. That’s tall, even for an American.” He playfully nudged her.
“Our mother’s great uncles, they were about six-foot-five in the 1930s.”
“That’s amazing,” Frederick said with a laugh. “They were giants.”
Mariah stood and walked to a portrait behind him. Swiveling on the cushioned bench, he froze when he settled on the other side. She examined Alois’s formal portrait, painted in the prime of his life.
“You look like him too.”
Sputtering, Freddie shook his head. “I look nothing like him. He was tall and graceful and . . . beautiful.” Tears stung his eyes and he fought them back.
“No, I see it. You may not be tall—” She caught herself, but he only chuckled and she blanched. “I’m so sorry—but I definitely see the family resemblance.”
His voice was soft when he said, “And did you and Joel get your kindness from your mother?”
“No, I think that came from our father.”
That surprised him. It did not comport with the image of the large, barrel-chested man pushing his fracking business at last night’s event. “Really?”
“When Joel’s biological father died . . . my dad was his dad’s best friend. He looked after Joel and my mom. Eventually, they fell in love and he married her.”
“He married his best friend’s widow?”
Her nose scrunched up. “I know it’s very Days of Our Lives, isn’t it?” Mariah’s brown eyes twinkled just like Joel’s.
“I was going to say biblical, actually.” His mouth twitched.
“Days of Our Lives works.” Astrid came up behind them. “I love American soap operas.” Her voice tripped over the term.
“Did you come to get me?” He turned to her.
“Yes, Luc is having a fit.” She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together. Astrid had issues with her own handlers and at times took pleasure in befuddling the gremlins. A little tug of war they all played.
Standing, he pulled his official phone out of his pocket and spared a glance at the screen full of messages. A heavy sigh escaped his chest. “That’s me, done for.”
Mariah eyed him cynically. “Would you like me to tell Joel anything for you?”
“No,” he said flatly and gave her a wink. “If I need to talk to Joel, I’ll do it myself. That is not your job.” Though desperate to see her brother, Frederick needed to sort that out himself.
“Thank you.” She let out a breath of relief as Freddie turned to leave. “You know, I like Joel around you,” Mariah said, stopping him in his tracks.
“What do you mean?” Frederick asked.
“He’s ha
ppy, confident. Lately he feels like the old Joel. I haven’t seen him in a while and I really missed him. Don’t fuck it up—Your Highness.”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” As Astrid took his arm, he was practically beaming. He couldn’t suppress the grin on his face. As they walked down the stairs, Frederick asked her, “Can we give her a free pass? Let her come whenever she wants, even if none of her family is with her?” He liked Mariah. In fact, he liked all their family. They were warm and loving, and just as he wanted to spend more time with Joel, he’d like to know them better as well.
“I already planned to extend that invitation.” She patted his back. “She can come anytime she wants.”
“Careful, I might come looking for a job one day.” Mariah’s voice drifted over to them. “You know, voices really carry in here.”
“Gott, she’s just like you, Fredrick,” Astrid grumped affectionately.
“You love it.” He kissed his sister’s cheek before she left him for her office. After rushing past security, he jumped into his truck for the short trip up the hill.
At the castle, Frederick drove through the security gate, waving to the guards. Stymied at every turn in his search to find Joel and talk with him, his heart was heavy. I have to talk to him. I miss him. He pulled into the circular drive at the back entrance.
“You’re late.” Luc came out and held his door open.
“Yes,” Freddie agreed, pulling off his coat as he walked up the steps. “I got all thirteen of your messages.” His mother met him at the door and gave him a kiss on each cheek.
“Is that what you’re wearing today?” She eyed his khaki cargo pants and olive-colored jumper.
Frederick gave his coat to the servant and, after thanking him, turned in place to display himself for his mother. “Is this not good enough for studying? I’m sorry, but I don’t see the point in wearing a suit unless there’s a reason for it, Mama. There’s no public appearances on the docket today.”
“No call to be snippy,” she said. “Still, it would be nice if you made an effort. You’re not in the military anymore. This looks like something from an army resale shop. You’re the crown prince. Every time you go out is a public appearance. Remember, ‘everything communicates.’” Turning her back to him, she walked up the stairs and toward the offices.
His shoulders dropped and he trudged after her, defeated. “Yes, Mutter.” They pulled him out of the military, they cleaned out his flat in London, and then they ordered him not to see Joel! This was not the life he wanted. What am I going to do?
❖
The sun was near setting when he checked his watch. It was a long day of meetings with economic advisors. They explained the various businesses the Crown was involved in and not involved in and how they tied together. The family was the Crown and vice versa, but also not.
UGH.
It was the second day of this, and he found it labyrinthian and remedial. He supposed it was. After years away, he was a noob to all of this. Starting tomorrow, there were manners lessons with Denis and Luc. They’d attempt to sand off the rough edges that life in the Regiment had given him. It’s a bit late. This did not feel like him.
Next week, he was starting that verdammte European tour. Everyone wanted to meet the “prodigal prince,” as The Sun called him in the UK. He was even trending on Twitter. Frederick successfully stifled his delight at seeing stops in France and Italy on the itinerary. Mentally, he made plans to sneak off and see Joel, damn what his father wanted. Damn what they all wanted. This was not a one-night stand. Somehow, someway, he would see Joel again.
And what then, Dummkopf? Follow him around Europe? Run off with him and leave his family and his country in the lurch? No, he could not do that. He had responsibilities and duties, and when all was said and done, he was a good soldier. He was nauseous. What am I going to do?
With a start, he realized it was time for the supper shift at the soup kitchen. And he desperately wanted to see his Aunt Meike. The work there felt important in a way all of the business at the castle did not. He had enough of lectures and reading for one day.
“Freddie is out, peace.” He jumped up and strode out the door, throwing two fingers up in a V as he did.
“Was he giving us the stink finger or something?” he heard his father ask, and it made him stop right outside the door. He struggled to keep a laugh down.
“I don’t think so. I think that was an American gesture,” Karl explained.
The disdain in his voice put Frederick back in motion. But before their voices were cut off completely, he heard his father say, “Good thing he’s getting away from that boy.”
A guttural noise escaped the back of his throat. Looking up, he nearly ran into Hector Hernandez, Joel’s stepfather, in the hall. The man was escorted by a servant to his father’s study. He forced his face into a mask of normalcy.
“Hello, sir.” He extended his hand. “Here to talk business with my father?”
“Yes, sire . . .” the bigger man stammered.
“It’s just Frederick, please.” He walked with them down the hall. “I should be in this meeting,” Freddie mumbled. He started researching clean fracking and even brought up the topic several times, but they pooh-poohed his interest.
Karl particularly made it clear they did not want his opinion on the prospect. They treated him as if he was a little boy, only having real discussions once he was out of the room. He was not a child; he was the future king, and this pushing him aside bothered him.
There, there, Frederick, just do as your told. There’s a good lad. He mocked their attitude and scowled.
“This is just an informal meeting,” Hector offered. “Just to let everyone get the lay of the land. We’ll have more talks later. We’re still at the exploratory stage.”
“Of course,” Frederick said. He chastised himself for voicing his frustration. That would not do. He was out of practice. Giving Hector a friendly pat on the back, he left him and then trotted back down the hall to the exit. He made sure to thank the servant at the door as he took his jacket from her.
Truthfully, he did not hope Hector’s meeting would go well. Though Frederick only studied up on clean fracking a bit, he was reasonably certain he didn’t want it here. The potential risks to the environment were too great.
Etreustein did not have as much real estate as other countries, and what they had depended on tourism. People came here for the skiing and, in summer, the majestic views. They could not put that in peril.
Stepping outside, he found he didn’t even need to zip up his coat before climbing in his truck and driving into town. The weather grew noticeably warmer day after day. The unseasonable cold snap was definitely on the way out. He was glad; spring was his favorite time of the year in the Alps.
I want to take Joel up to see . . . He stopped himself. That was unlikely to happen. Joel’s family trip moved on to Paris tomorrow. Even if Frederick could get away during his European tour, what was the point? Another tryst?
Frederick turned it over in his mind. On the one hand, maybe it was just as well. What did they have in common, really? Maybe it was better for all of them if it was over. A pang hit him in the pit of his stomach when he thought of never seeing Joel. I do not want that.
And Joel was not a one-off, what Americans called a booty call. Frederick refused to treat him like one either. I like him too much. Frederick even tried to move on at the train station, but then Joel popped up at his debut, looking so dashing in his suit. He was hooked. After that, all of Freddie’s plans fell apart.
Parking in the building under his loft, he trotted the few blocks to his aunt’s soup kitchen. He walked in the back door and hung his coat on one of the hooks. He froze. That jacket . . . His hand trembled as he reached for it. Turning, he saw Joel standing there, slack-jawed, staring at him. Freddie couldn’t help but smile as delight flooded through him. Joel! The tall man wore an apron and was holding a tray of stew in oversized oven mitts. He looked awkward and adorable.
My Spider Boy’s here!
Frederick’s grin broadened and he choked out a laugh. “What are you doing here?”
“He comes here every day.” Aunt Meike took the tray from Joel. “Put on an apron and help, Fredrick.”
Joel turned on a dime and moved to the serving line. Frederick followed. He walked up to the serving line and took point, standing at the station next to him and tied an apron behind his back.
“You’ve been here every day?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“So what?” Joel snapped, pulling on the vinyl serving gloves and hair net.
Frederick held up both hands. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. It is your vacation. When I brought you here, I didn’t mean to—”
“I am more than just a waiter,” Joel spat. “What, you don’t think us peasants can—”
“Okay, you’re not happy with me. I get it, but why?” Freddie asked. “You’ve got cause to be mad at Denis, but what did I do? I did try to step in last night, but you stopped me. Did something else happen?”
Joel frowned but did not speak.
“I even went to the chalet to look for you. I thought you and Caty were going back,” Freddie said.
Aunt Meike opened the outside doors, and people filed in. There were a lot of refugees today. They queued up with their metal trays, ready for a hot meal.
“We went somewhere else.” Joel spooned stew onto a metal tray for a woman in a headscarf and gave her a small nod and said, “Guten Abend.”
“Why would you do that?” Freddie added a roll to her tray and said, “Salam.” The woman’s eyes went wide at his Farsi use, but he only dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“No, you,” Joel muttered from the side of his mouth, though he sounded less angry now and more sad. He sat his serving spoon down, turned, and glared down at Freddie. His eyes shimmered with tears. “We can’t be seen together.”