by M. S. Parker
Katrina was right when she said that I rarely laughed anymore, but the same could be said of my father.
Losing Marcel had taken the light from his eyes.
I know it wasn’t because he had favored his oldest son—both of my parents loved all three of us. But hundreds of years of tradition weighed on my father’s shoulders.
Simply put, Marcel had been the perfect heir. I was not.
“You’ve got another boring old meeting with Papa, don’t you?” Katrina made it a statement rather than a question, and when I looked at her, the smile had faded from her eyes.
“A prince’s work is never done,” I said, striving for a light tone.
“They ask too much.” She slid from the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Marcel had all his life to learn what they have tried to cram down your throat in a year.”
“If I had been more responsible—”
Fiery temper lit her eyes, and she poked her finger into my shoulder. “Don’t you say it, brother. It’s not your fault he’s gone! He made the choice to go out on his own, without his guard, without you. He knew better.”
I swallowed back the acrid taste of guilt and dredged up a smile. “I was going to say that I neglected my own duties growing up. How many times did I shrug off attending parliamentary meetings or skip out halfway through etiquette classes because I knew Marcel would be there? What was the point in me needing to know the various remaining houses of nobility left in Europe and how we are related to some family in Austria because of a marriage dating back three centuries?”
“Why know all of that stuff right now?” She flung up her arms. “You have a dozen assistants who can quote that information forward and backward, and they’ll be with you on any occasion when you might need it.”
She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t entirely right either.
Besides, I had a feeling that wasn’t what the Prince Regnant wanted to discuss.
“Stop worrying so much, Katrina.” I chucked her teasingly under the chin. “You’ll have trouble sleeping, and it might show when you post one of your infamous selfies tomorrow. The entire world of social media would become distraught then.”
She made a low growl in her throat and shoved me, but it was a playful move. I hugged her, then gestured to the door. “Come on. I can’t keep Papa waiting.”
“No.” She rolled her eyes. “You can never do that.”
The dry humor in her voice elicited a smile from me, and I managed to hold onto it all the way through the halls of the old castle, right up until I reached the wing where my parents lived.
The door to the Prince’s office stood partially closed, and I knocked, waiting for his summons before going inside.
“Come in, Bastian,” he said.
I went inside and found my father standing by the fire, staring down at it. At the sound of my footsteps, he turned and started toward me.
A small smile graced his face, which pleased me. Too many days and nights, his features held nothing but grief or worry.
I gave him a quick hug, and he returned it. “You’re prepared for your trip to New York?” he asked, gesturing to a nearby chair.
It was old and worn, but comfortable and solid. It creaked under my weight and conformed to my backside as if made for me. It hadn’t been, but it had supported enough asses over the past century that it should know how to do it right.
“I am. Katrina’s been keeping me company the past hour, trying to convince me to smuggle her along in my suitcase.”
A rusty laugh escaped him. “Perhaps in a year or two, you can take her there for a holiday. Next summer, even. She could use the distraction.”
“You and Mama could join us,” I suggested. “It’s been some time since the two of you had a holiday.”
“Yes, it has.” A heavy sigh escaped him and the weight in my chest intensified, the ache almost unbearable now.
Rising, I took a step toward him. “Papa…”
But the rest of the words, whatever else I was going to say, froze in my throat. I didn’t know how to fix this. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was no fix here. Nothing that could be said or done that would repair the damage to our family and our country.
“I know, son.” My father looked at me, a sad, strained smile on his face. He came to me and laid a commiserating hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “I know. If only there was a way to undo this whole, rotten mess, eh?”
“Yes.” Covering his hand with mine, I squeezed. “If only.”
We stood there a moment in shared grief, then he moved away and went behind his desk. “Sit, boy. Sit. I’ve looked over your agenda, and I had my assistant cancel two of the dinners she’d scheduled you for.”
“Oh?”
He grimaced. “I realize the intent behind having you meet certain dignitaries or important businessman while visiting the United States, but you should have a bit of time to breathe.” He paused, then added, “You haven’t had much of that since you were forced into this role, have you?”
“I’m my country’s servant, Papa. We do what we must, as you have always taught us.”
Approval gleamed in his eyes. An electronic buzz had his face tightening in a scowl, and it wasn’t until that very moment that I realized he’d actually relaxed somewhat. As his gaze fell to the phone on his desk, he muttered, “I hate this damned device. Our lives were so much simpler without the interference of such nuisance technology.”
“Tell that to Mama,” I said, hoping to see the humor flicker back in his eyes. “She loves being able to get her favorite books the moment they release instead of waiting several days or weeks.”
He did smile, but it was fleeting. And his gaze remained on the phone he’d picked up, his jaw bunched tightly.
“Is there anything I can help with?”
“I’m handling it.” He looked at me, smiling still, although it was unhappy this time. “Another nuisance.”
“As your heir, and one who is training to take on these nuisances, among other things, perhaps it’s time you let me shoulder more of the burden.”
“Ah, Bastian.” Some of the strain faded from his face. Placing the phone face down, he held my gaze. “You’ve matured so much this past year. Of course, I don’t suppose you’ve had much choice, have you?”
“No,” I confessed, sensing that he sought a truthful answer from me. “But while I was always happy to just breeze along while Marcel juggled the responsibility of being heir, you must know that I love my country, and my family, as much as he did. It’s an honor to bear this new burden…even as I wish it wasn’t necessary.” Leaning forward slightly, I nodded to the phone. “What troubles you now? Very few would dare trouble the Prince Regnant at so late an hour.”
“Unless it is somebody who considers himself a friend.” Rising from his chair in a rare sign of restlessness, he paced back over to the window. “It was a message from one of Dietrich’s in-laws.” He paused, then added, “His late wife’s family from Austria.”
I grimaced and looked away.
I already knew where this was going. “What do they expect from you, Papa? Neither you nor Marcel had any way of foretelling the future. If any of us had known something tragic would befall Marcel, we would have taken every measure to stop it.”
“Oh, I know.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I believe Henrik Visentin would be quite happy to just see this whole business fade away into the annals of history. He’s always preferred to study his books and drink his beer. But he’s dealing with his wife. She adored her cousin and dotes on Franziska, and her daughters are the same way. The poor man likely gets next to no sleep with all of their nattering.” He gave the phone a disgruntled look, as if it alone was responsible for the message he’d just received. “Franziska was supposed to accompany the girls on a shopping trip in Munich next weekend, and she canceled earlier today. They’re all worried about her. He knows there’s nothing I can do to fix it, but they keep after him to reach out to me.”
; He lapsed into silence for a long moment, then announced, “Perhaps it’s a bit early, but I think I’ll have a drink. Scotch, Bastian?”
“Of course.” As he turned away, I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Earlier today. Just when had Franziska canceled her plans with her cousins? Before I’d shown up at her house after her tearful call? Or after I’d refused to stay the night? Frustration now mixed with the guilt. I’d never intended to start sharing her bed. She’d been engaged to my brother. Marcel’s last, pained words to me had been a demand that I take care of those he loved, though.
When she’d reached out to me, crying and hurting, I hadn’t been able to tell her no.
I doubted he’d intended for me to comfort her by giving her my cock, but each time I showed up at her door, all she did was fling her arms around my neck and plead with me. “Help me forget, Bastian…if just for a little while.”
I’d resisted the first few times, but her tears had been like saltwater in the open, gaping wounds of grief and guilt, and eventually, it became too hard to tell her no.
“The Visentins are still displeased that there will be no marriage uniting our line to theirs,” I said hollowly.
“Bah.” Erich Johann Von Brandt tossed back a healthy swallow of scotch before splashing more into the Waterford crystal tumbler. “Henrik aside, the Visentins and several other families of Austrian nobility have been displeased for almost a decade, ever since the nobility was removed from positions of power in Austria. You would think that after almost a hundred years, they would come to grips with their lot and adapt to the changing times.”
Amused in spite of myself, I said, “Oh, come now, Papa. If parliament and all of the country rose up tomorrow and decided it was time that the monarchy of Liechtenstein be relegated to the annals of history, and we were made nothing more than powerless figureheads, would you so easily acquiesce?”
“Don’t be an argumentative brat.” He brought me a glass of scotch, the smile on his lips belying his harsh statement. “And it’s hardly the same. Our history is proof enough of that.”
“Of course.” I gave him a solemn nod and lifted my glass.
He studied me for a long moment, clearly looking for some sign that I was subtly making a jab at him. But then he sighed and turned away, moving over to the fire crackling in the massive hearth.
“They are displeased,” he said, voice impassive. “So are a number of our own people. The Visentins have little money to their name, but that’s hardly a matter of importance. Their line is impeccable, and you know how important that is to certain people. Plus, Dietrich Andreas is still an influential person in Liechtenstein. His daughter is heartbroken, and Dietrich is so fucking old-fashioned that all he can focus on is her prospects. I imagine he’s been doing some ranting to Henrik as well. Her prospects. You should hear your mother when I mention that to her. She laughs and tells me that Dietrich would be more at home in one of her historical romances. She’s of a mind to tell him so too. And she just might if he keeps raging on.”
“No, she won’t,” I said, although the idea did cause some amusement.
“No.” He smiled faintly. “She won’t. He is causing her stress, though, and I don’t like it. And no doubt upsetting the people.”
None of that made me feel any better.
For the past year, I’d been so focused on all the hard details I had to commit to memory so I could fill Marcel’s shoes, but there were other things—namely his engagement and the wedding to Franziska—that I’d done my best to not dwell on.
Neither of my parents had done anything to even suggest that I feel obligated to step in and fill that obligation. It was something I’d be forever grateful for, but at the same time, I had to accept that they were dealing with shit because of it.
It wasn’t fair.
Being forced into a marriage with that woman isn’t fair, either.
The voice was a remnant of the man I’d been just a year ago. The man who’d insisted Marcel not rush into the marriage with Franziska Andreas. It was a mistake waiting to happen, I’d told him. I’d been convinced of it, and I still didn’t think I was wrong.
But that wedding had been more than just Marcel’s opportunity to secure a future heir.
For decades, there had been mutterings of discord between certain families in Austria and the Von Brandts of Liechtenstein. This had been a chance to put that mistrust aside, to solidify our relationship with important families, strengthen our allegiance with Austria, all without endangering our own sovereignty.
If I’d just gone with you, Marcel…
Before the grief and guilt could well up and drag me into the shadows, I cleared my throat and caught my father’s attention. “Papa.” He glanced over at me. “The union between Liechtenstein and the Visentins of Austria was an important matter, wasn’t it?”
With a rueful smile, the Prince Regnant returned to his seat. “You already know it was, Bastian.”
I nodded. Tossing back the scotch, I put the glass down and rose, my limbs tight and awkward. Lurching over to the window, I stared outside. I kept hearing Franziska’s voice in my ear, and it didn’t elicit pleasant thoughts, either.
Don’t do this, the pragmatic voice in the back of my head insisted.
But I shoved that voice, wherever it came from, down and away.
It was really the only way to handle this.
“After my trip to America, I’ll propose to Franziska, Papa.”
His gaze flew to my face, eyes widening. “Bastian…”
I managed a faint smile. “It’s what’s best for everyone involved, isn’t it?”
“I…” He blew out a breath and looked away. “You’re likely aware that certain people within our parliament feel this is the action that should have been taken several months ago, once the appropriate time of mourning had passed.”
“Appropriate.” I practically spat the word on the floor. “Who gets to dictate how long you mourn your son? How long Mama mourns? How long Katrina and I mourn our brother?”
“Protocol dictates everything,” Papa said soberly.
Temper sparked in me, but it faded as I caught sight of the dark humor glinting in his gaze.
“Protocol can get fucked,” I said recklessly.
“There’s my boy.” He looked amused. The smile faded though, and he sighed, looking away.
“It would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”
He didn’t respond right away.
The seconds stretched out, making me more and more uncomfortable. Finally, he looked over at me. “It would.” He hesitated, then said slowly, “It would also put to rest certain rumors that have come to my attention of late.”
I tensed.
He held my eyes, his manner making it clear that he wasn’t going to tolerate me trying to change the subject. “There are whispers, you should know, just whispers, that you and Franziska have been spending an unusual amount of time together. It could be expected, in some manner, as you both lost somebody you cared for. But if it’s more than just a friendship and shared grieving for Marcel…”
“Of course.” My face heated as I caught his meaning. Clasping my hands together behind me, I rocked back on my heels. “When I return, I’ll propose. I don’t expect she’ll say no.”
My gut roiled at the idea, especially considering some of the things I knew about Franziska’s family, particularly her father. But it was the only way forward if I wanted what was best for my country.
I am my country’s servant.
“Are you certain, Bastian?” my father asked softly.
I met his eyes and inclined my head. “I am my country’s servant.”
Six
Regan
The man sitting across from me was what I would have described as a go-getter businessman, hipster style.
He wore a pair of skinny jeans, loafers with either no socks or the low-cut, no-show style that provided zero warmth, which struck me as incredibly stupid seeing as how we were wel
l into November. I had decided a while ago that warmth was just as important as style, maybe more, so I found a happy medium, but that was me.
His natty tweed blazer paired well with a white dress shirt, and he was put together very well. He was handsome and well-spoken, and if he would just keep his mouth shut, I could probably get along with him just fine.
Sadly, he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. I didn’t think Peter O’Brien had that ability.
“So, that was it,” he said, flinging out well-manicured hands in emphasis. “I knew if I was going to be a millionaire by age thirty, I’d have to stop working for the man and branch out on my own.” He winked at me. “And I’m so close now. In a few more months, with a little help from the right people, the right investors, I’ll be over the top.”
“Lovely,” I said weakly, reaching for my water.
“I understand you’re an actress.” He leaned in, eyes bright and attentive. “I bet you meet all sorts of interesting people backstage. Broadway, right?”
“Actually, I’m not the headliner. Most people who come backstage are more focused on meeting the stars.” I could already see where this was going.
“Ah.” The avid light in his eyes didn’t even flicker. “I bet you meet your fair share, as beautiful as you are. Maybe you should come to my office, get an idea of what I’m doing. If it strikes your fancy, you could take a few of my cards.” He winked. “If any investors come my way because of your advice, I’m happy to offer a bonus. I hear that actresses aren’t ever paid what they’re worth.”
My cheeks heated. Giving him a cool smile, I reached for my water. “I guess it just depends on the actress. I tend to do rather well…Pete.”
He must have realized that he’d miss-stepped. But by the time he fumbled his way through an awkward apology, I had already tossed a few bills down to cover my salad and drink. “I’ve got an audition in a half hour, so I better be going,” I said, lying through my teeth. “That should be enough to cover my salad and portion of the tip.”
“Hey, hold on,” he said, calling out to my back as I made my way through the crowded restaurant.