The Big O Series

by M. S. Parker

  “Yes,” Marcel said to our driver. “We wouldn’t mind a stop.”

  I was able to smile a little and punched him in the arm in appreciation as we slowed for the turnoff for the resort village of Malbun. “Thanks, Marcel.”

  “I dragged you along,” he said with a careless shrug. He gave me a tight smile, one that was a sad echo of the easy smile I’d once seen from him.

  It had been a long time since I’d seen that smile, and it hadn’t occurred to me until that moment how much I’d missed it. I almost said something to him but decided at the last moment that if and when we had the talk we needed to have, it would be better to do it without witnesses, even the very discreet and well-trusted ears of our personal drivers.

  It was early, and the little shop still had a fair amount of people moving in and out. Both the driver and our second attendant—both of them doubling as a bodyguard—moved in with us in a flanking position. Locals were easy to recognize by the way they responded to us.

  Marcel had long since perfected a proper greeting for when he was on the move and didn’t want to be stopped. A polite but distant nod, a smile, his regal bearing coming through in every move.

  Tourists who weren’t from the area were also easy to recognize.

  One went to step in front of Marcel, and while neither of us would have been concerned, Gian, Marcel’s regular driver and personal bodyguard, went to intercept, but one of the girl’s companions caught her arm. I heard the teen boy’s furious whispers, low, heated German. The girl’s eyes widened and locked on both Marcel and me as we walked past her. The skin on the back of my neck heated as I felt them—all of them, everybody in the little establishment—watching us.

  Most of them were likely locked in on Marcel. Everybody always paid more attention to him, and I didn’t mind. He was the Hereditary Prince and would one day be the Prince Regnant, a title I desired not at all. But whenever they watched him and I was in the vicinity, they were also, by default, watching me.

  Feeling more self-conscious by the second, I grabbed the first bottle of hard liquor I saw—an oversized bottle of vodka, imported from Russia. Not my particular poison, but when in a pinch, I’d settled for anything. “This will do,” I told Marcel.

  He went to say something, but one look at my face had him closing his mouth. We were back in the car in under five minutes and on the mountain road leading to our family’s chalet in less than fifteen.

  With any luck, I could be in the hot tub in another hour, a glass of vodka in hand and my brain good and fucking sloshed.

  The problem with getting sloshed was that it took some effort.

  A few ounces of vodka wouldn’t do it, especially when my brother asked if I’d like to join him for dinner.

  Knowing my brother as I did, that meant one thing—cooking. Few people knew, but Marcel had a mad passion for the culinary arts. He rarely indulged unless he was on his own, and the Hereditary Prince didn’t always have as much time to himself as he’d like, especially in the past year.

  Eight months ago, he’d announced his engagement, and since then, there had been balls and teas and parties and various other functions throughout Europe. It was like his fiancée, Franziska Andreas, suddenly felt beholden to accept every single invitation they received, even if the events were in conflict with each other.

  Or in conflict with his duties as he learned his responsibilities for the heir in training. He might have been born to rule the country, but that didn’t mean he was born with the knowledge needed to do so. More than once, I’d heard him arguing with Franziska over problems she’d caused with the schedule he must keep versus the schedule she wanted him to keep.

  “This is an easy dish, if you’d like me to show you how to make it,” Marcel said, glancing at me just as I went to take a healthy swallow from the glass in my hand.

  “Is that a joke?” I asked, dredging up a smile before taking a drink. Instead of the healthy swallow, I settled for a sip. This was why I had a harder time getting drunk around him. I rarely drank solely to get drunk, but I could use a mental break from all the upcoming wedding talk. The closer the day got, the more talk increased, and the more pressure was dropped on me with my duties as best man.

  I also had to spend more time around his fiancée’s family. Franziska, daughter of the former prime minister and his wife, a member of Austrian nobility before her passing. Franziska was a piece of work herself, but her father…even thinking about Dietrich Andreas made me grit my teeth, and I almost said something to Marcel.

  Then I remembered the fight we’d had, the one that had led to all the chilly distance between us over the past few months. Eying him over the rim of my glass, I realized there was something different about him.

  He was…calmer. Over the past few months, I’d seen the stress accumulating, weighing down on him like an invisible burden.

  It was all but gone now. The lines from his brow, ones that normally bracketed his mouth, had started to fade almost the moment we stepped foot inside the family chalet. Maybe it was because we had privacy here?

  Even the bodyguards didn’t stay in the main part of the chalet. They were on the ground level, in their own quarters while we had the upper two floors. We had our own private entrance if we wanted to use the hot tub or venture out onto the immediate grounds.

  When we were in residence, the property was patrolled routinely, although Marcel and I often wondered at the waste of resources. Crime in Liechtenstein was negligible, and threats against the monarchy were almost nonexistent.

  Unaware of my heavy thoughts, Marcel glanced back at me, an amused smile on his face. “You aren’t going to burn the chalet down.”

  My face heated at the brotherly jibe, but I smiled nonetheless. “I was eight,” I pointed out.

  “You still set the kitchen on fire.”

  At his pointed look, I braced my elbows on the table and lifted my brows. “You destroyed Mama and Papa’s wedding portrait riding your bike through the great hall after Nan told you no.”

  Marcel’s face went red, and he pursed his lips, pulling them to the side as he considered me. “You were only three when that happened. You can’t remember that.”

  “If you insist.”

  Marcel chuckled.

  For a few moments, the air between us felt lighter.

  Say something, a quiet voice in my head urged.

  Something. Like what?

  Does it matter? Just talk to him.

  About what? His wedding? Fuck, no. I’d already told him that it was a mistake.

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it, had become furious with me when I insisted that Franziska was nothing more than a mercenary cow out looking for her own interests—and her father’s.

  He’d wanted to know why I felt that way, of course. It would have been…awkward, explaining that. How little I trusted her family. I’d tried to dance around it, but that hadn’t been enough.

  “We ran in the same circles, Franziska and me,” I’d told him. “You know that. I know her better than you do. She’s not wife material.”

  The silence stretched out. I took a bigger drink of vodka, brooding.

  Unable to take it any longer, I tossed back the rest of the vodka and said his name.

  He looked back at me, brow arched.

  In that moment, he looked so much like Marcel, like my brother, and not the dignitary who’d been striding solemnly throughout the castle the past few months. He looked like the friend I missed.

  And the words locked in my throat.

  “Why don’t we eat in the other room?” I nodded toward the large family room on the other side of the free-standing fireplace. A huge TV screen dominated the far wall. “We could find some grizzly zombie movie on Netflix. It’s been an age since we watched one.”

  “Excellent.” A brilliant smile lit his face, and he nodded at the stove. “This is almost done.”

  I passed out on the couch just as the credits started to roll.

  I’d refilled my glass
with vodka straight to the top while getting Marcel some scotch, and I’d been drinking like I’d spent a week in the desert.

  It was no surprise when I woke up with a headache. The sounds coming from the kitchen only made it worse, but knowing it was Marcel—cooking by the smell of things—I bit back my snarls and groans, shoving to my feet so I could make my way to my room. The hope was that I could shovel down some sort of over-the-counter painkiller and water to stave off the hangover, then crash.

  But Marcel heard me.

  He appeared in the arched, open area that separated the two rooms, a sympathetic smile on his face. “Head hurting?”

  Apparently, I hadn’t been as clever at hiding the drinking as I’d thought.

  “A bit.”

  He nodded toward the island in the kitchen. “Come sit down. Eat. I already dug up some medicine for your headache. And tea. It will help fight off the worst, and you can take a shower, nap.”

  As much as I wanted to go suffer alone, it wasn’t an option.

  Thankfully, he was quiet throughout the meal.

  It wasn’t until I slid off the stool and dragged myself through the kitchen that he spoke. “I’m thinking about going for a ride on the snowmobile later. Care to join me?”

  I grunted in response. It wasn’t high on my list, but I wasn’t going to tell him. “Let me nap first.”

  “Of course.”

  Shuffling through the chalet, I made my way into my room. Once there, I stripped in the darkness. With only the filtered light shining in through the narrow slats in the automated blinds, I headed for the bathroom. A long, hot shower chased away some of the fog, but not all.

  With a few half-hearted swipes of the towel over my head, I walked naked into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed, digging under the covers to block out the light.

  I was asleep so fast, I didn’t even remember my head hitting the pillow.

  “Bastian.”

  I grumbled at the soft, low voice.

  “Come on, Bastian.” After a few seconds, Marcel’s low voice penetrated.

  Cracking one eye open, I focused on him—or tried to. The lights were still down, but from outside my room, illumination filtered in and limned his form, all but blinding my sensitive eyes. Sensitive due to my hangover, of course.

  “What is it?” I asked. I swallowed, the thick coating on my tongue making it all but impossible.

  “You’ve slept half the day away.” He smiled, but it was strained. “Get on up.”

  The urge to tell him to fuck off was strong, but the lines of strain had returned to his face, and that nagging feeling was back in my gut. I needed to talk to him. Right. I should get up. I managed a smile. “Yes, all right. Give me a few minutes.”

  Once he left, leaving the door partially cracked behind him, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. I turned on the lights, using the dimmer switch to keep the bulbs from singeing my retinas.

  After I pissed what felt like a liter, I washed my face and hands, then brushed my teeth. A cup of water later, I let myself look at my reflection. Pale blond hair stuck up at all angles, and I grabbed a comb, wetting it before going to work. That task done, I grimaced at my reflection. My blue eyes were bloodshot, and there were bags that could double as overnight luggage under my eyes. I could stay up all night and party or ski but throw booze into the mix, and I ended up looking ten years older the following day.

  It didn’t help that I couldn’t stop brooding about my brother’s fucking wedding—about his bride-to-be. Her father, that snake.

  “Don’t think about it right now,” I told myself. We’d come up to the chalet to get away from all those worries. Might as well enjoy it while I could. Once we returned to Vaduz, we’d jump on a merry-go-round of parties, state dinners, and other assorted bullshit that wouldn’t stop until Marcel and Franziska were off on their honeymoon.

  Just thinking about it made me want to grab a bottle, so I shoved it out of my head.

  Ten minutes later, I found Marcel in the large family room, staring out over the endless expanse of white peaks and blue skies. The Alps were stunning, and even with the lingering headache, I took a moment to appreciate the view.

  “Did you miss this when you were in America?” Marcel asked, never looking away from the window.

  “Yes. And no.”

  He glanced over at me.

  I shrugged. “I missed home. But it was…” I struggled for the words to explain what I wanted to say. I’d gone to UCLA in California. It had been unexpected, far from the typical educational path of any member of the Liechtenstein royal family.

  Something I’d come to discover about my people while I’d been abroad was that we were, far and away, a rather unflappable sort. That had been one of the more puzzling things for me when I was living in America or traveling through other parts of the world. People could get overwrought about the smallest matters, like when traffic was terrible, or if they waited more than fifteen minutes for a meal.

  I certainly didn’t miss traffic jams or smog or the incessant wail of sirens through all hours of the day and night.

  But living in America had its benefits too.

  “It was freeing.” Crooking a grin at him, I added, “Not that I have anywhere near the weight of responsibility you carry. And yes, I had to have Jakob with me everywhere I went.”

  Marcel’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Gian tells me he still grumbles over the rumors that the two of you were lovers.”

  “Jakob spends too much time worrying about petty shit. Don’t get me wrong, I have no issues with him, but he is…uptight. I’m glad Isaak is with me most times.” Shrugging, I shifted my gaze back to the vista outside. “I didn’t miss all the affectations that come with having a title. But I missed our people, my family. Even you.”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “You insolent little shit. Thanks for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” Edging closer to the window, I added, “I missed the mountains. Home. Nowhere on earth compares to home.”

  “No.”

  Moments of silence, free and easy, passed between us. Even the dull ache in the back of my head receded a bit as the silence stretched out, taking on a life of its own.

  It was broken only by a soft electronic hum.

  I sighed and glanced over to the corner, watching the camera lens there. “I definitely didn’t miss that.”

  Marcel grimaced. “If those things mysteriously disappeared, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  “Neither would I.”

  The security measures had been deemed necessary only in the past few years, and although Marcel and I had both argued against them, we hadn’t won. Our father and the parliament were the ruling authorities. Marcel had a voice, but I didn’t have even that. My father would listen to my opinions, and I knew he valued them, but in the end, he’d make his own judgments.

  There had been an uptick in kidnapping attempts throughout Europe, and although most of them were directed at women, the decision was made that when traveling, the princes would have bodyguards. While we were in the chalet, our bodyguards used the lower level, but there were cameras in the main rooms and motion sensors on all the doors and windows.

  “Imagine not having to deal with all that shit,” I said.

  “I do. Frequently.” He gave me a rueful grin, then nudged me. “Want to sneak out of this place and take the snowmobiles out? I know how to disable the motion sensors on the doors. We can slip out through my room.”

  Sliding him a sidelong look, I said, “That’s breaking protocol. You know that.”

  “What are they going to do? Smack my hand?” A reckless grin lit his face, and his eyes were half-wild. “Come on.”

  “They’ll figure it out if we both go.” My headache had returned too. I didn’t want to see how much worse it could get once I climbed onto a snowmobile and had the sun reflecting off the snow. “I’ll stay here and cover for you. You’d do good to have time away from all of this.”

&
nbsp; And maybe I’d figure out how to fix the distance I’d put between us while he was gone. It just took words, right?

  Marcel looked like he wanted to argue. “Bastian, look, I…” Looking uncomfortable, he stopped, and I waited. After a moment, he blew out a breath. “We’ll talk then. When I get back.”

  I’d poured a drink a few minutes after Marcel slipped out, heading to the separate shed where the snowmobiles were kept. I’d held position by the window, watching to make sure Gian and Jakob hadn’t noticed. There were a few minor flaws in the security set-up, and while Marcel had used them to his advantage a couple of times, I’d made an art of it.

  After making sure he knew which path was best to avoid the cameras, I’d retreated back into the family room and sat down to drink and fake interest in a movie.

  But as the angle of the sun changed, the shadows sliding across the room as they marked the passage of time, I had less interest in the drink.

  Marcel wasn’t back.

  More than two hours had passed, and he was still out there.

  Getting up, I paced back over to the window and stared outside. The closer winter came, the earlier the sunset, and although it was only pushing up on three, it wouldn’t be long before night fell. A few kilometers down the road, the ski resort would light up the night sky, but that wasn’t the case here.

  An uneasy feeling lay heavy in my gut. I went into my room and changed hurriedly, pulling on the cold weather gear even as I told myself I was worrying for nothing.

  That uneasy feeling only got worse as I shoved a hat on and grabbed the rest of the gear I needed and headed outside.

  I didn’t even bother trying to avoid the cameras. As much as I wanted to believe that nothing was wrong, the uneasiness wouldn’t let me. I might need Gian and Jakob.

  I was already on the snowmobile when Jakob came outside, a familiar scowl on his face. He waved me down, but I ignored him. I didn’t have to look back to know that scowl had deepened, or to know he’d rushed back inside to grab Gian and throw on some warm clothes.

  They’d be along soon.