She inhales and looks around the well-appointed room. “We can’t afford to have you engaging in frivolity while the people suffer and unemployment is high.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I spend most of my time looking for ways to improve the economy—”
“Looking for ways is not enough, Rowan.” Her eyes return to mine. “I’m ready to retire. I need you to do something bold. Take action. Force their hand on the succession referendum.”
Frustration twists in my chest. My succession to the throne has to be put forth to the people by the very cabinet members intent on criticizing me.
“I have several projects in the works. I’m moving us away from oil dependence. I’ve drafted an agreement with an American tech billionaire—”
“Which I’m sure will pay off eventually,” she sighs.
For a moment, she’s quiet, thinking. I don’t know what to say to ease her concerns, partly because I know she’s right. I’ve got to do something to control the narrative.
“Many things about our way of life never change, no matter how many centuries pass,” she says. “If your only press is of you acting the playboy while the people suffer, you might as well tell them to eat cake as they starve.”
“That’s hardly fair, Mum,” Cal jumps in. “Everyone knows what a stiff Ro is. So he had one slip up. Now all the old biddies can stop saying he’s gay.”
“What the hell?” If I wasn’t angry before…
“MacCallum Lockwood Tate! Don’t make me send you from this room.”
My brother only laughs, but I ignore his jokes and address my mother’s concerns.
“I understand what you’re saying, Mother. I’ll double-down on appearances. Perhaps I can do something with the regiment…”
“It’s not enough.”
Our eyes lock. We’re wealthy beyond belief. We’re sitting in a plush room with arched windows covered in gold-velvet curtains. Two couches are arranged back to back on a red-Persian rug, which protects gleaming wood floors. A gilded lamp sits on a small, round mahogany table. I’m trying to figure out how I can change what we are.
“What more I can do?”
“You have to show your focus. Engage in an act of maturity.” Her eyes harden. “It’s time the king took a wife.”
The noise of Cal dropping the brass paperweight echoes from the desk behind me. My throat closes. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“You need to appear rooted and settled down, Rowan. Or at the very least focused on the future. France tolerates us, but if it appears Totringham is poised to invade, they will move. We’re not in a position to fight with this recession dragging on.”
Everything she says is true. The country is in a precarious position and any indication of weakness in power makes us vulnerable. Still, I can’t tolerate the meaning of her words. I’m out of my seat and pacing. It’s my absolute last shred of freedom stripped away.
“So I marry some cousin or daughter of an earl to save our independence? It’s ridiculous.”
“Or you become a celibate, which is even more ridiculous.” She stands and does a little wave. “It’s time you settle down with someone royal and start producing royal heirs. Now get cleaned up.”
She exits the parlor, and Cal rocks back in the chair, watching me with a smirk. “I sure hope that was one superior hummer.”
A five thousand kilo brick is in my stomach, and I can’t think about this right now. “I need a shower.”
A Proposition
Zelda
The water of the Atlantic gleams turquoise under a cloudless sky. I lie back on the catamaran and let the blazing sun beat down on my golden skin. The warmth and salt air combined with the lapping of the waves is delicious.
“A perfect day after a perfect crime,” Ava says with a laugh, joining me on the bow of the sailboat. “Check it out.”
Propping on my elbows, I look over at her latest acquisition. She holds up a thick gold herringbone men’s bracelet. I sit up all the way and reach for it.
“Let me see!”