Chapter 1
Nick
Two Years Later
M y mother sits, her spine rigid, staring straight ahead. Her hands are folded in her lap as she twists her wedding band round and round her fourth finger. Alex, my older brother, paces the length of the private room pausing occasionally to scrape his fingers through his hair in agitation. And probably fear too. My little sister nuzzles into her husband’s side as he props her up, pressing the occasional kiss to Ellie’s temple.
My mind is racing at all the possible outcomes. My body hums with nervous energy, but I sit still as a statue in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, praying that my father will survive.
Because if he dies, everything will change.
Sometime later, a cardiologist pushes open the door and strides into the room with a slight smile on his face. That upturn of the doctor's lips provides an immediate sense of relief.
“We've gotten His Majesty The King stabilized for now. Preliminary tests show significant blockage in his left ventricle. In the coming days, as his strength increases, he will need surgery to place a stent.”
“He’ll be alright then?” my mother inquires, her voice clear and steady, though her hands are knotted together so tightly that her knuckles have turned white.
“I'm afraid that it’s touch and go, Queen Beatrice. But if King Christian makes it through the night, then his chances are good."
The doctor's words act as a release valve for the pressure in the room. When the cardiologist leaves, much of our underlying tension and melancholy departs with him.
Conversation picks up between us. Nothing of importance, mostly small talk, but it feels refreshingly normal to answer questions about my upcoming MBA graduation ceremony and to ask Ellie about my niece’s summer plans and to tease Alex about combing his hair before he makes a statement to the press and to ignore my mother's haranguing regarding my attire.
“You know, if this had to happen, I’m glad it's happening in the middle of the night,” I remark to Alex when he stretches out onto the seat nearest me. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow in question. Explaining, I say, “It gives us the rest of the night to come up with a communications strategy before we have to release a statement in the morning.”
One side of Alex’s mouth quirks upwards, “You mean to tell me you actually were listening to all of the press secretary’s lectures you’ve received over the years?”
I roll my eyes. Of the three siblings, my rebellious partying and playboy ways have earned me far more lectures than Ellie and Alex combined. “I can’t help it if the media prefers me.”
Alex elbows me and mutters, “Shut up, you tosser.”
It doesn’t matter how old we get; we’ll always rib each other like we're still teenagers.
A bit later, the door creaks open as my father’s closest advisor steps into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Gerald’s eyes bounce around the drafty room before settling on me. “Prince Nicholai, your father has requested to see you.”
Baffled glances, mirroring my own feelings, flit between our family members.
The King wants to see me?
As the second born son, I assumed my father would want to speak with Alex. Or my mother. While Father is incapacitated, the duty of running the monarchy will fall to Alex and Mother, not me.
I push back my chair and stride from the room, my long legs eating up the hospital corridor quickly as Gerald scrambles to catch up with me.
“Any idea what he wants with me?” I ask quietly, as I pause outside the door to my father’s hospital suite.
“None,” Gerald replies with a shake of his head. His hand reaches out to grab mine before I can push open the door. “But Prince Nicholai, I must warn you. King Christian is not well. Prepare yourself.”
When I meet Gerald’s gaze and see his solemn countenance, I fully realize the dire gravity of the situation. Despite surviving the heart attack, my father's health remains precarious. Taking a deep breath, I push back my shoulders and stand tall.
But when I step into the room, I falter. My father has always possessed a larger-than-life persona. His tall stature, booming voice, and charismatic personality made him seem invincible to me as a child, so it’s difficult to reconcile the frail, ghastly pale man lying in the hospital bed with the man who raised me.
“Nicholai, come sit, my son.” His voice is scratchy. His words sound garbled and thick in his throat.
Knowing that my father would hate to be the subject of my pity, I pause for a split second to knock back the heavy emotions that are threatening to overcome me. Taking a seat next to his bed, I sit quietly waiting for him to speak again.
“Nicholai, your brother will need you. Without an established line of heirs, the country will be rife for discord. There will be a tug-of-war for power and the pressure for Belgrovinia to become a ceremonial monarchy will increase from the modernists."
"Father, there is always some sort of talk—"
"But upon my death, it will increase dramatically.” I open my mouth to argue that his death is not imminent, but my father continues. His words are halting, and they slow with each sentence he utters as the effort to speak clearly exhausts him. His face, already ashen, begins to dot with perspiration from the exertion of our conversation. “It’s imperative that the royal family continues to portray a stable, respectable image to the public, one worthy of our subjects' respect and loyalty, especially given the upheaval that will surely come in the days following my death.”
My gut churns hearing his second open declaration that his death looms on the horizon.
He leans forward and pats my cheek. “I haven't told you enough that I am proud of you, but I am. You've always possessed a great amount of fortitude and had the ability to persevere.” My father coughs, the sputtering sound blanketing the room, as my mother and I watch him fearfully. Once his coughing fit subsides, my father wipes the spittle from his mouth and gasps for breath. “Promise me, Nicholai. Promise me that…”
“Anything, Father.”
“It’s time to fulfill your duty to your family. Promise me that you will put the needs of the monarchy, and especially the needs of your brother, above your own. Alex is going to need your counsel and your strength to establish himself as a capable and stalwart monarch if he has any hope of winning the support of the people."
My older brother is my closest friend and ally, so without a second of doubt or indecision, I reply, “I promise.”
Two weeks ago, I submitted my final paper for my graduate degree. I was getting dressed to attend a house party with my flatmates.
But then my entire life was upended by a phone call from my older brother telling me to get to the hospital because my father had suffered a serious heart attack.
Like I feared, everything changed that awful night.
In the days following my father’s death, the castle was an ant mound of activity. Palace officials scurrying about, organizing the funeral details, coordinating meetings with the Accession and Privy Councils, and beginning the lengthy process of planning my brother’s coronation. Because the Belgrovinian laws of succession state that the nation cannot be without a reigning monarch, my brother has already taken the oath to become king, but the official coronation will take place next year, after an appropriate period of mourning.
As royals, we’re a stoic, resilient bunch with stiff upper lips. We’ve been trained since birth to suppress our emotions as they are weaknesses to exploit. Once that habit becomes ingrained, it’s difficult to shake, even in the midst of a family tragedy. But the cracks and crevices in our facades are growing as reality sinks in.
We stand with our Belgrovinian citizens in mourning the loss of our nation’s leader, but privately, we mourn the loss of an integral member of our immediate family. Yes, my country's reigning monarch passed away, but my father died.
I still cannot believe that my father is dead and that my brother is now King Alexander.
With the slower days, grief has more time to creep in. I hate seeing the anguish on my younger sister's face and the fret and worry on my mother's brow. But mostly, I hate the burden that has been placed upon my older brother's shoulders.
I miss my father, and I also miss the life I led while he was alive.
My life, or rather my future, looks vastly different now than it did mere weeks ago.
It’s as if my life has been separated into two distinct eras—before my father’s death and after. Before I received the devastating news of my father’s heart attack, my life was relatively normal.
Or as normal as life can be for a prince.
I was a university grad student. I had a steady friends-with-benefits arrangement with a woman named Carisa and several other women willing to fill her spot should Carisa and I choose to call it quits. I was set to travel after graduation, enjoying a year-long sabbatical before returning home to Belgrovinia to begin my career. A career I hoped would be in international relations and business rather than as a working royal within The Crown.
But after my father’s passing, I was upgraded from being the spare to the heir , and with that, comes the heavy expectations of our nation’s subjects. Like many other European monarchies, ours is a constitutional monarchy, but unlike many, our monarchy still holds political power. More than a mere figurehead, The King of Belgrovinia is equally as powerful as the elected Prime Minister. However, there are always warring factions within our nation who cry for reform and reduction of the monarchy's power. This is especially true in times of crisis and change, like the sudden death of a beloved king and a crown prince who became the youngest reigning monarch in centuries.
Born as the second son, the possibility that I would ascend to the throne always seemed miniscule, but since Alex is currently unmarried and without children, I'm now second in the line of succession until Alex produces an heir. Becoming the heir, the second-in-command, is a role that I feel both suffocated by and completely ill-prepared for.
Alex has trained to become king his entire life, but like me, he imagined his future differently. Our grandfather, my father’s father, King Archibald lived and ruled our nation well into his late seventies. With modern medicine, we expected our father to live at least as long as his father before him. So, for my brother to become king at the tender age of twenty-seven is wholly unexpected.
As a younger sibling in a royal family, I escaped much of the pressures that my older brother faced while growing up. My sister, the youngest and frighteningly shy, led a more sheltered life. Of the three of us, I have had the most normal upbringing, though my privileged life is far from normal.
To the outside world, my life is charmed. Palatial residences, international travel, top-notch education, and coffers filled to the brim. However, on the flip side, I’ve never had a modicum of privacy. From the moment I was born, every success—and every misstep—has been laid out for the world to witness.
With the promise I made to my father on his deathbed fresh on my mind, I lift the bourbon to my lips and take another heavy sip as I look around me. The solarium, which is usually cheerful and bright given the wall of windows overlooking the oceanside bluffs and potted greenery sprinkled about, turns dark and dreary as the sun disappears beyond the horizon. A summer storm is rolling through, cloaking the night sky in heavy cloud cover and completely obscuring the moon. Large raindrops lash against the windows in a comforting cadence, like the sounds of hooves beating against a cobblestone street. With only a single small table lamp providing light, the depressing ambiance perfectly fits my somber mood.
That is until the doors to the solarium fly open, and my older brother strides into the room, flipping on the overhead lights as he enters. Startled, I fling an arm over my eyes at the bright intrusion.
“What the hell, Alex?”
Ignoring my plaintive grumble, Alex gestures to the uncorked crystal decanter of bourbon that is perched on the antique mahogany sideboard and asks, “Top off?”
Alex loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt. Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he drapes it across a chair before grabbing himself a tumbler and pouring hefty servings into both my glass and his. “Cheers, mate.”
Tapping my tumbler to his, I ask, “What are we celebrating?”
“I proposed, and Annika said yes,” Alex smiles proudly.
His admission startles me from my stupor. I straighten up in my seat as I had been well on my way to getting drunk before my brother interrupted my brooding.
Happily, I return my older brother’s smile. “Well done! I had no idea you were thinking of proposing.”
Childhood friends, Alex and Annika have been dating for several years. While they've been together a long time, I had no idea that he wanted to marry her. I always assumed their relationship was more one of convenience than one rooted in love. Our parents approved of her, and she and Alex got along well, so she was an easy woman to date.
Annika isn't who I would have picked to become Alex's wife though. Alex is sturdy, responsible, and driven. While Annika is very nice, she's introverted and quiet, studious and solemn. I've always thought that a good relationship is made up of yin and yang, the cosmic duality of two opposite personalities that work to balance each other out. To me, Alex and Annika are too similar to one another, and when I see them together, there's no passion. I want someone who will challenge my brother and push him out of his comfort zone. Someone who will temper his serious nature and bring him joy.
But I'm not Alex and if he's happy with Annika, then I will be too. After all, what do I really know about relationships?
“I wasn’t, not really. But after Father’s passing, it seemed like the right time to move forward with our relationship. I love her, and she’ll make an excellent queen and mother to our future children.”
Not the most romantic proclamation, but he sounds earnest and pleased.
As his news sinks in, I feel the noose around my own neck loosening. I've been granted a pardon. I can breathe again. I won’t be second in the line of succession for long.
My life will once again become my own after Alex and Annika wed and begin their family.
“Then this is great news.”
“It is,” he agrees.
"When will you have the wedding?"
"Strategically, it's best to do it before the coronation next year. The country needs something to celebrate and…" Alex trails off with a wry expression.
"And the anti-monarchists will be less likely to protest if they believe that you're settling down and becoming a steadfast family man," I supply angrily.
Which is total and utter bullocks. No one is more stable and dependable than Alex, but the royal press doesn't view him that way.
And they haven't ever since that fateful night nearly a decade ago.
With a curt nod, Alex agrees with my assessment.
"Well, no matter the cause, congratulations on your engagement, brother. I hope Annika brings you great joy because you deserve all the happiness in the world."
“Thank you." Alex sips his drink and then adds, "I have one more piece of good news. My engagement also gives you an opportunity to escape your royal duties for a bit. I want you to take your leave as you’d originally planned.”
Shooting up in my seat, I whirl around to face my brother. “Seriously? I thought that was off the table.”
“Well, I’ve just put it back on the table," he smiles broadly. "Go. Travel. Enjoy your anonymity as best you can before you're forced to join the family business. I can’t promise you the full year, but I think I can grant you three months of leave.”
Three months of freedom and privacy.
Thirteen weeks to travel and pretend that I’m a normal guy sightseeing around the world before settling down into my professional life.
Ninety days without the press hovering and my face plastered across the European papers.
"Mother won't be pleased. She'll consider this a dereliction of duties."
Alex waves his hand, dismissing my worry. “I'll handle her. Now that the funeral is over, things will be quiet for a bit. I've just come from a meeting with the communications team. We'll wait a few weeks before releasing the news of my engagement to the media, and then our wedding plans will keep the rabid reporters busy for months, which will provide you the cover needed to leave the country without the press questioning your absence.”
I eye my selfless brother suspiciously. “You didn’t propose to allow me this opportunity, did you?”
Alex cackles at my presumption. “God, no, you cocky bastard. Getting married before my coronation is a smart political move. Shipping you off on an international trip for a few months is just as added bonus, you twat.”
"Well, I'm grateful." Smirking, I shove him with my shoulder. “You’re a great king, Alex, but you're an even better brother.”
“Stop being nice to me. It freaks me out.” Alex’s smile shrinks as he leans forward, all business once again. He places his elbows on his knees. “I’ve asked Johann and four others to accompany you as your security detail, and I’ve reserved one of the jets for you to depart on Friday to the States.”
Johann is my bodyguard-slash-driver-slash-personal secretary who has also become a close friend. Only a couple of years older than me, he spent the last six years trailing behind me through uni and business school, and over time, the lines between our professional relationship blurred and a friendship formed.
"Johann is enough, Alex. I don't want an entire security team tailing me."
"What you want no longer matters. As much as you hate to hear this, you're the second in the line of succession, and what you need is a full security detail. Johann will be traveling with you as your friend and the other four officers will discreetly watch you from a distance. They'll be as unobtrusive as possible, I promise."
"No."
With pursed lips, Alex suggests a compromise. "Then you have to take Bruno with you."
While I'd much rather bring Bruno, the highly trained German Shepherd guard dog than a team of four security officers, I'm not sure that's possible. I tilt my head. "Can we even do that? Bring a dog into another country?"
Alex nods. "Diplomatic immunity and all that. Shouldn't be a problem. I'll have the lawyers draw up the papers."
"Fine." I acquiesce. "How did you get all this planned?”
“Don’t worry about the behind-the-scenes details, Nick. Just go and escape while you can.”
“I want to, but seriously, can you really handle me being away for three months?" I ask, bewildered and grateful for my brother, but I also feel guilty to be abandoning him at such a crucial time. "Before Father passed, I promised him that I would be here to support you, Alex. I don’t want to desert you when you need me most.”
“You’re doing no such thing. I have dozens of advisors to help me. These next few months will mostly be busy work—glad handing the dignitaries, meetings with the PM and members of Parliament, planning the wedding and the coronation, and countless media interviews." Alex raises his head to meet my eyes. "I want to give you this gift, Nick, but it’s a one-time offer, brother. If you don’t take me up on it now, it will expire.”
There is no decision to be made. If my brother really feels like he has the reins of the country under control, then I will absolutely take him up on his offer.