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I stay for an hour, sitting mostly in silence with my mother. When she tells me she needs a nap, I push her wheelchair to her room, help her into bed, and make my way back outside to catch a cab back to my place. Then, stifled by the silence of my house, I head into the office. Saturday afternoons are quiet in the office, so I tuck myself into my cubicle, put my headphones on, and stare at my screen.
Every time I try to write a gritty sentence about the obsolescence of the monarchy, Prince Silas’s face pops into my mind. I feel a whisper of heat in my veins and a tightening in my gut. It takes me three hours to write four sentences until I finally give up and go home.
My edge definitely needs some sharpening after last night. It’s a good thing it won’t be Silas on the royal tour, otherwise I’d definitely be in trouble. I just hope his older brother, Wolfe, isn’t nearly as charming—or as attractive.
5
Silas
I wake up to pounding on my bedroom door. It knocks through my head, sending pain shattering across my skull. I groan, mouth tasting like ash. “Go away,” I call out, voice muffled in my drool-soaked pillow.
The door opens and I hear my sister huff. Great.
“Silas.”
I roll over, letting my arm fall across my face. “What?”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” I know I sound like a petulant child, but I’m just not in the mood to have my big sister talk down to me.
“You were supposed to give your speech an hour ago. Jonah had to fill in at the last moment. You made us look like buffoons in front of the French delegates.”
Opening my eyes, I prop myself on my elbows. My sister Penelope is wearing a deep blue dress with a modest neckline and a fine string of pearls. She looks regal and elegant and definitely not hungover.
Unlike me.
I fall back on the pillows. “Jonah’s better at that stuff than I am, anyway.”
“Jonah has other responsibilities, Silas. It’s time for you to step up.”
I want to scream. I know what Pen thinks of me—what everyone thinks of me. I know they see me as this careless party boy, but what am I supposed to do?
If I’d gone to do that speech this morning, I would’ve stood in front of a room full of educated, professional brainiacs looking like an idiot. I would have stared at the carefully prepared speech in front of me, seeing nothing but jumbled letters. I would’ve stumbled over my words and looked nothing like a prince. My face would’ve gotten hot, ears would’ve started ringing, and I probably would’ve resorted to barely appropriate jokes to get by. It would have been embarrassing. Shameful.
I would have failed at my duty either way—so why not do it in a way that at least provides me some sort of entertainment? Failing at giving speeches would be a much bigger embarrassment to Penelope than having to send Jonah in my place. She doesn’t understand that I just helped her. Helped myself.
“I do other royal duties, Pen. Why do I have to be in the public eye? Why can’t I just do things in the background?”
“Because you’re a prince, Silas. No matter how much charity work you do, how much you donate to tutors and children with learning disabilities, none of that gets as much attention as a photo of you stumbling out of a club at three o’clock in the morning. Nothing you do matters if the only thing people are talking about is the new woman on your arm instead of the good you’re doing.”
“Nothing I do matters?” My jaw hardens as I try to hide the hurt zinging through my bones. Just because I don’t give speeches doesn’t mean I do nothing. Penelope, of all people, should know that.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Her voice softens ever so slightly, but her eyes are still hard. This isn’t my sister standing in front of me. It’s the Queen.
I lie back against my pillows, squeezing my eyes shut. Why does it have to be so damn bright in this fucking room? “What I know is that I don’t need newspapers to talk about how great I am. I don’t care if they make fun of me or call me a party boy. I don’t care if there are rumors about me with every supermodel in Nord. I don’t give a shit, Pen! I know I give time and money to the things that matter. Why do I need the media to know it, too?”
Penelope takes a deep breath, massaging her temples with her fingers. She’s loosened up a bit in the past two years since she had her kid, but she still slips into the role of monarch with ease. I probably give her more headaches than anyone else in the family, but what am I supposed to do? Magically learn how to be a perfect prince, when we all know I’m just a stupid, useless dope?
“You know, there was a time when you were grateful for my antics in the press,” I continue, narrowing my eyes. “Just a couple years ago, you were worried about what the media would say about your relationship and your pregnancy. You liked the fact that I created headlines to distract people from your situation. Now, you’re turning around and telling me I need to pull my head in?”
“I’m telling you that you need to act like a royal, Silas. You’re part of this family.”
Doesn’t feel like it. I brush the thought away, even though it needles at me. I’ve never felt like I’m part of this family. I’ve never been someone they’re proud of. Someone who gets praised and lifted up.
I’m the family idiot. The dumb kid who couldn’t even make it through normal school, who acted up too much, who needed to be homeschooled just to get a high school diploma.
I don’t need to be reminded of that every fucking week.
