Wear It Like a Crown

Chapter 1

ONE

This early in the morning, Clarence House was disconcertingly quiet.

Joshua was used to the hustle and bustle of his mother’s royal household.

He’d grown up expecting conversations in the corridors, people greeting him as he walked by, the murmur of voices drifting out of George Atkin’s meeting room whenever George fed calculated bites of information to select journalists.

Right now, even servants were few and far between.

Daylight was only just beginning to creep up over London, and when Joshua had parked his car a few minutes ago, night shadows had still been wrapped around the trees of Green Park.

In the eerie absence of other human beings, the Horse Corridor was creepier than usual, which Joshua considered a feat.

Heavy, red drapes mourned the passage of time, horse statues tracked his every step from porcelain eyes, and the oil paintings on the wall loomed like relics from another century.

They were, in a way. Since the death of Joshua’s grandfather, Mum had been talking about a thorough renovation.

As it wasn’t a priority concern, it had yet to move beyond the planning stage when there were always so many other issues clamoring for attention. Ruling a country was no part-time job.

Joshua caught snatches of a conversation from the sitting room and stood quietly for a moment, straining his ears so as to gain an idea of why he’d been roused at an ungodly hour to put in an appearance. Nothing translated through the thick wood of the door.

Joshua knocked and entered without waiting for a response. And halted his steps.

George was there. That was not a good sign. It was never a good sign if the Head of Royal Communications was present outside of normal office hours.

“Good morning.” Clearing his throat, Joshua glanced from his mother to George, to the full English breakfast laid out on the table, and then over at a man he’d never seen before—slightly stocky, with a pleasant smile and intelligent eyes.

He struck Joshua as someone who was easily underestimated. “Where’s the fire?”

Mum set her cup down with a dainty clink of porcelain and gave him a kind look. Her voice was even. “Darling. Do sit down, please. This is James Boyle. He’ll be joining us for breakfast.”

Okay. This was definitely not good.

Seeing as Joshua had returned from two weeks in Spain just last night, there was absolutely nothing reassuring about being called in for an early breakfast with a man whose name was practically an institution: James Boyle, professional fixer.

He worked in the background, word-of-mouth the only promotion he needed now that he’d managed to establish himself as the person you called on the eve of a serious crisis.

He and his team had handled the fallout when the Duke of Kent’s pregnant mistress had gone to the press, they’d been involved in negotiations with a kidnapper threatening to harm the only child of the Leader of the Opposition, and when Tristan had fallen for a Victoria’s Secret model, the Marquess of Waterford had called Boyle in so he would spin the public narrative in a way that would protect the reputation of the old Irish family.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Joshua lied, shaking the man’s hand and taking note of a strong, confident grasp. He greeted George with a clap on the shoulder and his mother with a kiss on the cheek, then sank into the fourth chair and smoothed his expression into one of pleasant expectancy.

Shit. He was in serious trouble. What had he done?

Nothing came to mind. Female underwear models and their curves held little appeal for him, and it wasn’t as though he was likely to father a child, illicit or not, who could then be kidnapped.

Glancing around the table, he took in Boyle’s easy smile and the perpetual glint of amusement in George’s eyes.

Mum looked regal in her simple dress, her hair tied back and her expression grave.

It wasn’t often that Joshua found his mother intimidating, but right now was one of those moments.

To cover up his nerves, he helped himself to a bread roll and reached for the butter.

“Thank you for the invitation to breakfast,” he said out loud.

“It’s bound to be a lovely day, so I guess it’s good I was prompted to rise early.

Gives me a chance to make the most of it. ”

“Oh, a very lovely day,” his mother told him. To anyone else, the hint of irony would be undetectable.

Joshua swallowed and shot George a quick, pleading look. They were friends, after all, and as such, it was George’s duty to rescue him from Awkward Central.

After a moment of consideration, George did. “There’s a problem.” He retrieved his iPad and unlocked it, slid it across the table for Joshua to see.

Joshua felt the bread roll slip from his grasp. His muscles locked up.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Holy bloody… fuck.

How had—no. No. They’d been in a hotel room, he and Mo.

They’d been inside, curtains drawn, no open doors or anything.

No one should have been able to catch them in the act, and all right, the picture filling the screen was fairly tame and could pass for two lads horsing around on the floor, Mo straddling Joshua’s hips with a wide grin.

But. Shit. If this picture existed, there were bound to be others that would be far more… revealing.

Had there been a camera in the room? Oh God. Oh God.

Joshua swallowed and pushed the iPad back towards George, didn’t dare glance at his mum. There were some things a mother did not need to know.

“This was sent to my email late last night,” George said.

“By an anonymous benefactor, as they call themselves. A friendly warning. It’s the only picture that was sent, but they say there are more.

To paraphrase: they threaten to flood the internet with shocking insights into the private conduct of His Royal Highness Prince Joshua—which would obviously mean exposing your sexuality.

” A frown ghosted over his high forehead.

“As you well know. It’s either that, or we pay a million to an untraceable account, followed by instructions and conditions, yadda, yadda. ”

Joshua gripped the edge of his seat and forced himself to keep breathing.

And out.

And in.

“Sweetheart.” His mother’s voice originated from somewhere far away. A different universe, possibly. “We need to discuss what to do about this. The damage to the Crown could be considerable, which is why I took the liberty of calling in James Boyle.”

Over the rush in his ears, Joshua had trouble processing so much as a single word. “Excuse me,” he muttered.

With that, he pushed to his feet and left the room as quickly as he could without breaking into an actual run.

He bumped into a servant outside, ducked around the startled woman with a quick apology and took refuge in the nearest toilet.

His stomach was trying to claw a way up his throat, to turn itself inside out the way he’d seen from a frog in some video, stomach all out, Joshua’s sexuality all out, right there for the world to see, and what, what, what even was this mess in his head?

Breathing hurt.

* * *

Morning light spilled into the meeting room and revealed the tiredness in everyone’s eyes.

Nate was clutching a cup of coffee Carole had set down in front of him, jealously guarding it against anyone who might want to rob him of it.

As Leo was clinging to his own mug of tea in a similar fashion, he was in no position to judge.

“Why us?” he asked.

Nate’s response consisted of a sidelong look that conveyed flat disbelief.

“I’m serious,” Leo insisted. “So some noble brat is being blackmailed over a bunch of gay pictures, and I just bet the preferred option is shutting the whole thing down instead of coming clean. Fucking hooray. I don’t see why we have to be a part of this.”

“I know you don’t like nobles,” Nate began, and Leo interrupted.

“Damn right I don’t. Privileged twats, the whole lot of them.” Or at least nine out of ten were, and Leo’s opinion was perfectly sound and thoroughly unbiased. He would know; he’d been one of them. Still was, technically, unless his parents had found a way to erase him from the family tree.

Nate sighed. “Look, I know you don’t like it. But please try to keep your mouth shut? James knows what he’s doing.”

James did, was the thing. He had a knack for reading people and cutting through the bullshit.

Leo trusted him without question, and owed him a whole damn lot on top of that.

And while Leo did not appreciate the idea that they might be expected to cover up some spoilt noble’s gay exploits—well.

He’d do it. For James, and because Leo was a professional and took pride in his job.

“I’ll try,” he agreed quietly, cupping Nate’s elbow for a moment before he leaned back in his chair and ducked his head over his tea, waiting for the bitter scent to revive his will to live. Or James and their client to arrive, whichever happened first.

The tight worry lines around Nate’s eyes faded. “Good,” he said quietly.

At the end of the long conference table, Carole was setting up James’ laptop, connecting it to the big screen.

Usually, anything related to computers would be Nate’s job, but Nate wasn’t a morning person and Carole was.

Things like that reminded Leo just how well they worked as a team. James’ little band of strays.

Dropping his forehead onto the tabletop, Leo attempted to squeeze in another few minutes of sleep.