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I thumbed my nose and rebelled by taking the Queen’s advice. I bellied up to a bar next to a tall blonde man in a tuxedo. By all rights, he was handsome. I rarely noticed such things. Well, I had no opportunity to notice them. I was cloistered away from almost any man. I marvelled at how tall he was and how broad his shoulders appeared. I didn’t understand why he appealed to me. Then any thoughts of interest faded. The bartender refused him, and he was unhappy about it.
He asked in broken French. “Do you enjoy this? Telling people no?”
The bartender explained, polite but curt. “I cannot serve you two shots of whiskey because you are already drunk, sir. I can lose my job.”
The blonde man’s brow furrowed; his fists balled. I assumed he didn’t understand the bartender. I tried English, assuming we all knew it.
“He says he cannot serve you two shot glasses of whiskey,” I said.
The man glared at me. “Do you think I am stupid? I understand that!”
Annoyed, I said, “I was trying to help. Take one shot and come back. What does it matter?”
“No one wants your help. I want to drown my sorrows and this fucker won’t listen.”
I tried to be calm. “Sir, there is no need to be upset at him. He’s just?—”
“You think I’m a prick, don’t you? Well, I don’t need your ire!”
He took the shot and stormed off. I set my jaw, annoyed.
I thought many uncharitable things but approached the bar. “I am so sorry for that.”
“Do you know him, miss?”
“No. Thankfully,” I chuckled. “But he’s out of line. If I can get a glass of champagne, I’d be grateful.”
I assumed the man was a rude American out of place based on his accent and poor French. He was probably a normie—what we called commoners. I ignored the man and went to enjoy my champagne in peace. Tomorrow, I would travel an hour across the border to the gilded cage that consumed my life. It was nice while it lasted.
Two
Rick
How dare the bartender cut me off! I wanted to get drunk and forget my troubles. This was one more middle finger preventing me from zoning out. I would survive the weekend and move on. Tasked as the official attendee for the Lundhavn court, this was no vacation. It was no holiday for fun times. It was punishment.
My indiscretions finally caught up with me. After months of running around with a woman I loved but could not possess, I got caught. I was too bold. Her husband filed for divorce, but he wasn’t done there. It was a mess! My father paid off her ex to keep things under wraps, but he swore he’d never do it again. Moreover, if I didn’t follow the rules and shape up, he would toss me out and cut me off.
It was fucked, but it was life now. I slogged through the last couple of months holed up in the palace. My father finally released me on official duty. I was here being a good boy, trying to run from what haunted me. My brother and sister-in-law were on their honeymoon aboard the royal yacht in the Caribbean while my parents skied in the Alps. I cursed them all.
I pushed things too far, but I was heartbroken. No one cared. What I had did was despicable, yes. Still, I loved her. I loved her even now! And after all this, she was finally free, but it could not be. Her ex threatened to go public with the details of their divorce if I so much as looked at his ex-wife. It was a risk I couldn’t take.
I was sent to impress women in hopes that one of these royals might marry me. As the spare, I existed to look attractive and to maybe produce children. My socially awkward brother and his wife weren’t a sure thing on that front. Both loathed children. I might have to shoulder that burden.
Any woman of good reputation in attendance was warned by their mothers or older sisters to avoid me. Hell, I may have already dated their older sisters! Marrying me off was difficult. The best I could hope for was a woman who turned a blind eye to my little liaisons and settled for having babies. It would live an otherwise charmed life. I could muster that if there was such a woman.
To this point, I’d had little luck. So, I drowned my sorrows. The only woman I’d had an actual conversation with was Queen Alexandra who treated me like a stupid child. She was a child herself! How would she know better?
I viewed Alexandra as young, boring, a waste of time, and on my list of potential wives! She was saintly. Her grandmother was a family friend—my godmother— but I didn’t know her. It wasn’t unusual to be born into royalty and have ten godparents you never met beyond your christening.
Neandia was a conservative, religious hellhole where dreams went to die. My dear Lundhavn was pleasant and beautiful. There was nothing but low country and sadness in Neandia. If anything, I pitied Queen Alexandra. She was a figurehead in a pointless tax haven.
A blonde with impressive tits sat down by me at my assigned table assigned—a singles table. I hated this. It was forced and typical for any royal occasion where you arrived alone. She was pretty enough.
She asked, “You here alone, too?”
“Yes. ” I slammed my pitiful shot.
“Boring.”
