His Royal Secret by Lilah Pace
He shook his head. Although he managed to keep his self-control, it was a near thing, and it took several long moments, during which Cassandra returned to his side and draped her arm around his shoulder. One of the corgis waddled over to snuffle at James's side, and with his free hand he stroked Glo's furry head.
When he could speak again, he said, "I'm sorry. You know how it is. When you prepare yourself for cruelty, the one thing you can't handle is kindness."
"That's the least he owes you."
"Forget what he owes me." The sooner James could forget Ben Dahan altogether, the happier he would be. He took her hand, hoping to ease her into this. "The past day, all I've been able to think about was how horrible it would be if this blew up in my face, especially right now. This is the worst possible moment to rock the boat."
She bit her lower lip before she said, "You want us to 'reunite' again."
"Times of crisis, people get closer, you know. It's believable."
"We can't go on like this forever."
"I realize that. But I need us to go on a while longer. Please, Cassandra. I know it's too much to ask. It always has been. But I'm asking."
Cassandra hesitated, and James wondered if this time she would finally draw the line. "I want to help you. You know that."
He nodded. Where was this going?
"Things are different now." Then her face lit up in a smile so soft, so radiant, that for a moment he hardly recognized his rough-and-tumble friend. "Because of Spencer. He's not just a man I've been seeing; he's important to me. He might even be the man."
"Really?" James couldn't help smiling back. Fancy Cassandra head over her heels in love.
"Maybe. I hope so. But he's not the kind of person to sneak around behind another man's back. We only got started because I told him you and I were as good as through. Then when you and I pretended to break it off--it's serious between us, now, and if I come back to you, it's all over."
James considered this in silence for a while. It was one thing to ask Cassandra to endure the judgment and anger of the public as his pretend-girlfriend, quite another to ask her to scuttle a promising relationship. Even though it had been only an illusion, the connection he'd believed he felt with Ben in Kenya had showed James what falling in love might feel like. He couldn't steal that from Cassandra, no matter what.
"Let's consider the possibilities," he said. "Spencer's a good man, you said. An honorable man."
"Very much so."
"You trust him."
"Completely."
"Would he keep a secret?"
Her eyes widened. "You want to tell him the truth?"
"Maybe he'd agree to play along for a while, if he understood the whole story. He ought to know that you were never cheating on me, not for a moment. And he ought to know what a good friend you've been to me. How selfless you are. Maybe we can never tell the whole world that, but we could tell Spencer, at least."
"Oh, James." She seemed nearly speechless, an event so rare that James intended to tease her about it later. "You'd do that for me?"
"After everything you've done for me, it's the least I owe you. If Spencer doesn't want to go along with it, all right, you and I will find a way to wrap it up." The very idea of ending their ruse filled James with unease; at the moment, he desperately wanted something in his life, anything, to remain the same. But he couldn't continue to abuse Cassandra's friendship so egregiously. "What do you think are the odds he'll agree to the charade?"
"He'll probably go for it, honestly, just because he'd love the idea of playing a joke on the whole world. Certainly he'd never, ever tell anyone else. You're going to like Spencer, I just know it. And he's going to like you too, if he knows what's good for him!"
Laughing, Cassandra hugged James tightly, and he took what comfort he could in her embrace. The thought of revealing his secret to a total stranger was frightening--but after spending the last day in nonstop terror, he felt this seemed like a minor problem in comparison.
You hurt me, he said to the Ben Dahan in his head, in the first of what would be many imagined dialogues. But you made me stronger.
*
Although a bedroom in Clarence House had been reserved for Cassandra ever since they'd left university, she didn't stay over that night. Neither of them wanted the tabloids to start reporting their supposed reunion until they'd had a chance to speak to Spencer Kennedy, together.
"I'll tell him you've invited him for a cordial lunch," she said as she headed for the door; Glover would be waiting downstairs with her mackintosh in his hands. "Spencer will be skeptical, but I can get him through the doors, never you worry. And I'll leave the big reveal to you."
"Thank you, darling." They'd called each other that for years. It began as a joke for the public, but it now felt perfectly true. Had James been straight, he would have married Cassandra . . . assuming he could ever have convinced her to say yes, which was doubtful. "You saw me through a rough night."
"And I'll see you through as many more as it takes. After all, I'm getting a tiara out of this deal."
Cassandra winked at him, then departed.
Afterward he fed the corgis and collapsed into bed. Exhaustion had drained away all other concerns. James thought of nothing more than the fact that his suddenly altered schedule would allow him, for once, to sleep late in the morning. Glover would walk the dogs. He could just . . . sleep.
He dreamed of Ben, but the vision was indistinct, neither fantasy nor nightmare, just the image of his face and the knowledge of his presence. James awoke a few times, as if shaken by the sheer force of the memories, and he'd think, Still Ben, before falling asleep again almost instantly. Maybe he had dozens of dreams about Ben; maybe it was just one dream, which couldn't be ended by waking.
Then a hand tapped him on his shoulder, gently but briskly. "Sir?"
James opened his eyes. Glover, his butler, stood at his bedside, impeccable in his suit, though the grayish light through the drapes suggested it was still only just past dawn.
"What is it?" James mumbled. It was unlike Glover to rouse him this way. Although awakening an employer was one of a butler's traditional duties, James preferred to rise by his own devices and had instructed Glover to allow this unless specifically told otherwise. Then he realized one of the possibilities and sat upright. "Oh, God. Is the king dead?"
"No, sir. However, the Lord Chancellor wishes to meet with you rather early this morning, and I believe the Lord Chief Justice and the Master of the Rolls will also be in attendance. According to Ms. Tseng, they hope you will be able to meet with the Privy Council this afternoon. I thought you would wish to breakfast well."
The regency--they were going ahead with it immediately. Today.
What swept over James then was the deepest, most profound relief. Last night he'd been too battered down by fear and exhaustion to see Ben's small show of mercy as any but a temporary respite from the ongoing suspense he lived with, forever wondering if he would be found out and cast from the succession.
But today he would become prince regent, king in all but name. Richard's skullduggery was powerless against that. The queen might protest today, and as the wife of the king she was one of the five people who had to be consulted about a regency--but with three of the others agreeing to it, even the queen's objection could be overruled.
James was going to fulfill his promises to his father. His sister would be safe. He could go on forever like this, if it meant being true to his family and his duty; that mattered more than his personal happiness, more than anything. And now, finally, nothing could stop him.
"Sir?" Glover raised an eyebrow. "Shall I see to breakfast?"
James took a deep breath. "Quite right. Thank you, Glover."
His path was again clear. He'd prepared for this job his entire life; finally taking up the duty would be more relief than burden. All would be well.
He only had to forget about Ben.
*
Great Britain Names Prince Regent
Ben saw the headline on his phone first, while hurrying the last couple of blocks to work, when he didn't have a chance to read.
But what else was there to know? James had achieved everything he wanted in his life, save for the literal crown itself. Ben wanted to be sour about it, because becoming nothing other than what you were born to, living a life of idle luxury while spending money received from everyday taxpayers--well, he had no respect for that.
Still, he knew that he had frightened James badly, and unkindly, after an afternoon of intimacy that seemed to be as rare in James's life as it was in Ben's. The man deserved a good day after what he'd been put through.
When he went into the newsroom, he headed toward his cubicle same as ever--but this meant walking past the editor's office, and the moment he came within Roger's line of sight, Roger straightened, shot Ben a look that would liquefy steel, and crooked his finger.
"Step into my parlor," muttered Ben, but he stashed his battered old satchel on his desk and went in to face his doom.
"Welcome back," Roger said as Ben walked in. "I hope you enjoyed your Kenyan holiday, as apparently leisure was your top priority. All those hours lolling about in bed."
His mind flooded with the sudden, vivid image of James lying naked atop him, kissing Ben with his open mouth. Ben forced himself to focus. "I ought to have been more vigilant. I wasn't. I can only apologize and tell you it won't happen again."
"You're bloody well right it won't. They aren't such pushovers in London, you know. If you think I'm bad, just wait until Fiona de Winter gets her claws into you. Edged in diamond, they all say. Well, all the survivors, anyway."
London? Fiona de Winter headed up the London office. Ben could hardly believe what he was hearing. "You've put through my transfer?"
"As of one month from today. That gives you enough time to move, I should imagine."
Ben could clear out in a day, but that was beside the point. "I can't believe it. After a fuckup like that--"
Roger laughed. "Everybody fucks up once in a while. You were overdue. And I liked how you bounced back. The story you wrote wasn't what I would've expected from you. Less cynical, but no less thoughtful. And the writing was extraordinary. We weren't the first to post, but we were the best, and the page views reflect that more by the hour. You showed range and versatility." More dryly, he added, "Besides, you'd pretty much have had to set the safari resort on fire not to get the London transfer at this point."
"I can't thank you enough."
"Oh, that's a pity, because I only do this job in the humble hope that maybe someday you'll notice and pay me tribute, maybe in some emotional desk-hopping sequence like the end of Dead Poets' Society. Or do I actually just want you to clear out of here so I can do some work? I think it's the second one."
"Thanks," Ben said again, and he cleared out before Roger could change his mind.
The rest of the day was spectacularly unproductive, at least from a newsgathering standpoint. HR e-mailed him the countless forms he had to fill out for his transfer, and between that, negotiating with his landlord, and searching for potential flats in London, Ben hardly had time for anything else. Emotionally, he went back and forth between elation--London was one of the Big Two offices, and this was a huge move forward for him--and sticker shock, because, dear God, rents were high in London.
After work he went out for a round of congratulatory drinks with his coworkers. Only on his way home in the taxi did he seriously consider the fact that he was moving to the same city where James lived, and now ruled.
Which was a ludicrous thing to think about, really. The chances of running into any other single person in a city of eight million were fairly remote; given that this particular person lived in a palace, surrounded by security guards and sealed off from the world, those chances came near impossibility. Ben wasn't going to see James again, ever, save on news reports.
Or, possibly, on the money. How weird to think about the face of someone you'd shagged staring up at you from a five-pound note.
Ben laughed at the idea and let it go. But the rest of the night, even after he'd gone to bed and lay drowsily in the dark, he couldn't shake the thought that it was possible--not likely, but possible--he might somehow see James again.
Chapter 3
387211
It was just another morning in the newsroom until Fiona de Winter leaned out of her office and said, "So, who wants a chance to meet the Prince Regent?"
Ben lifted his head, startled by the mention of James's title. Even after two months in London, he hadn't gotten used to the ubiquity of the prince's face and presence. Yes, James was famous across the globe, but in other countries, he surfaced only during big scandals or slow news days. Here he perpetually graced tabloid headlines, was shown in swift clips on the nightly news, so on and so forth.
Every time Ben saw James's image, it crashed through him like lightning.
Fiona brightened as her gaze lit on Ben; he realized, somewhat to his surprise, that he was the only one who had reacted to her invitation. She strolled to his desk, a large ivory envelope in one well-manicured hand. "Of course. The new man in town. Well, here's a pass for you and a guest. Find someone easily impressed, take him along, get yourself laid."
The envelope landed on Ben's desk. He didn't let himself look at it right away, much less touch it. "Is the event that swanky?"
Fiona laughed (a most unladylike snort) as she walked away, her patterned wrap dress making her as bright and unlikely as a butterfly in their drab newsroom with its cubicles and dozen frowning journalists in front of their computer screens. It was the reporter at the next desk, Roberto Santiesteban, who answered Ben: "Swanky only in a very dull way. Chamber music, overdressed people, two hours of small talk wrapped around some five-minute royal speech about the charity du jour. Your grandma's idea of a good time, basically. But look on the bright side. The food's usually decent, and there's sure to be an open bar."
"You went to one of these, then?"
"Sure, back when I first transferred from New York. Thought it would be something to tell everybody back home in Jersey City, you know? Instead I just wound up staring at the queen from about a quarter of a mile away, though seems to be about as close as you'd want her to get." Roberto gestured at the rest of the newsroom, which continued typing and chatting as usual. "These guys all got it out of their systems when they were newbies. They're over it by now."
The envelope was of a paper as thick and creamy as linen; it contained two gilt-edged cards, each promising admittance to the Crimson Night Dinner for the Prince of Wales's Creativity in Education Fund, which seemed to be about sponsoring arts projects for schoolchildren. Uncontroversial in the extreme, Ben thought. Then again, James liked to play it safe, didn't he? "Do they just go distributing these invitations at random?"
"Hardly. The tables start at about two thousand pounds apiece. Global no doubt bought one as a tax deduction, and a few of the higher-ups will go to schmooze, but occasionally they need a couple more people to fill out the seats," Roberto said. "That's when we get the invites."
"Ought to be something to see, at any rate."
Roberto shrugged. "Something to eat, anyway. But you have to put on a suit. Not worth it for me."
It was more than worth it to Ben. Over the past three months, he'd become increasingly convinced that he had to talk to James at least once more.
No, he didn't think he could look James up for sex again. The prince would never, ever go for it after what had happened between them. But all the same, they needed to speak.
During the three months since that long, surreal afternoon in Kenya, Ben had often imagined meeting James again--speculative, improbable scenarios in which they found each other at some other isolated spot (Scotland?), or Ben recognized James incognito at a gay club (as though eyeliner and glitter would disguise the heir to the British throne). He even had a fantasy about secret guards arresting him in the dead of night and dragging him to something very li
The thought of James shackling his wrists, arching one of those eyebrows as he saw Ben at his mercy--
"Earth to Ben," Roberto said.
Ben pulled himself back to reality. "Sorry. You were saying?"
"I just asked who you were going to bring with you." Roberto's expression became conspiratorial. He was a fellow outsider among their Brit colleagues, a lanky African American guy in his twenties with super-short hair and a laid-back attitude. Because he'd moved to London more than a year earlier, Roberto served as Ben's interpreter for everything from English slang to the interpersonal dynamics in the newsroom--which seemed to be coming into play now. "Rumor has it Geoffrey in copyediting wouldn't say no if you asked him out sometime."
Geoffrey. Was that the handsome guy with blond hair and a penchant for wearing black? Ben had had worse offers, but . . . "I don't date coworkers."
"The hours we put in? Hard to meet anyone else." Roberto looked glum. He wasn't wrong about their punishing schedule. "You sure?"
"Positive. I don't shit where I sleep."
Dating coworkers led to complications. To being tied down. Ever since Ben had severed the final emotional bonds that connected him to Warner, he'd relished his independence and had no intention of surrendering it for cutesy flirtations over the water cooler.
Roberto nodded. "I hear that. Does that mean you're going to this royal thing stag? Pretty brave."
There hadn't been any men since James. Ben thought it all came down to the sound James had made when he came--that long, ragged cry. The desperate yearning and release Ben had heard there lingered in his mind, turning him on every time. He hadn't gotten that sound out of his system yet. Until he did, good luck getting it up for someone else.
Despite his fascination, he'd never imagined deliberately seeking James's company, thinking it impossible. But now that the opportunity had presented itself, he wasn't going to let it slip away.
Ben said to Roberto, "Actually, I have someone in mind."
*
James walked into his sister's section of Kensington Palace without so much as pausing to nod at the footman standing by the door. As he headed up the stairs, the butler, Hartley, fell into step beside and slightly behind him. This meant James had to slow his pace so Hartley could keep up. The butler was seventy-eight years old and ought to have retired at least a decade ago; he stayed on because he was one of the very few people Indigo felt safe with, and because he was nearly as devoted to her as their parents had been. Though he still performed most of his traditional duties, Hartley had long since ceased to be a mere servant.