His Royal Favorite

As the press began filing into the Cornwall Room of St. James's Palace, James sat in a small side room, allowing a makeup woman to powder his face. He declined anything else for most TV appearances and photoshoots, but he wouldn't help his case walking out with an oily sheen. Kimberley paced in front of him, tapping away on her iPad. "All right, Your Royal Highness, we're nearly there. I tipped the BBC and the Guardian that this is bigger than just you giving Lady Cassandra the heave-ho."

  Every news source in the United Kingdom seemed certain the press conference could be about nothing else, though that would have been a disgracefully petty reason for a royal to personally make a public statement. James found the assumption absurd, but convenient.

  Kimberley continued, "No doubt they still don't appreciate the enormity of what's about to hit, but they'll be prepared, and they'll be grateful for the heads up, Your Royal Highness."

  "Why those two?" James asked. Heave-ho: That was probably what the Sun had dummied up for tomorrow's cover line, believing he was only about to break with Cass. He'd have to tell her that later. She'd laugh.

  "The Guardian is the most likely to give us immediate and unqualified support, sir, and the BBC is the most important. But we'll share the wealth later on, with a few careful leaks." She glanced up from her iPad, looked at his face, and frowned. "People always think we put lipstick on you. Nobody believes your mouth actually looks like that."

  James wasn't exactly sure how to respond. "Thank you?"

  Kimberley turned to the makeup artist. "Is there anything you can do to make his lips less red? This is the absolute worst time for him to look tarted up. I beg your pardon, Your Royal Highness."

  "Quite all right." At the moment, he needed the laugh.

  They settled for a little powder on his lips as well. Anything else was likely to make him look waxy and dead. Paulson had outdone himself this morning, choosing a charcoal gray suit and sapphire-blue tie that played to James's coloring. He knew he cut a good figure today.

  Now, if only his substance could match his style.

  "Are you delivering the full announcement?" Kimberley said. This, James realized, was her way of asking whether he would deliver the lines about his "partner." Really she was asking whether Ben was still in.

  "I plan to," James said, instead of yes, which was his way of admitting he wasn't 100 percent sure. He thought she understood.

  As the press murmurs rose to a crescendo, then fell to an expectant hush, Kimberley said, "It's a fine statement, sir. I know you'll deliver it well."

  "I hope so. And Kimberley?"

  "Yes?"

  "Remind me to give you a pay rise."

  "Let's make sure you keep your job first, sir."

  James managed a smile for her, then walked into the Cornwall Room.

  It looked like every press conference ever: The seemingly vast space he had to walk to in order to reach the lectern; the glare of TV lights, the popping of flashbulbs, and the cameras looking at him like a hundred blank staring eyes; the way he had to keep his smile warm and natural; the loudness of his shoes against the floor. But he got there, set his cards on the lectern in case he needed them, and began.

  "Good afternoon. As you may have anticipated, this press conference has been called in response to the news coverage this week of Lady Cassandra Roxburgh's relationship with Mr. Spencer Kennedy. However, I have not come here to discuss Lady Cassandra's behavior so much as I have come to explain my own."

  Shifting and murmuring from the press corps: They weren't sure what to make of this. They'd see soon enough. James plowed on.

  "Lady Cassandra is indeed seeing Mr. Kennedy, as she has for some time. But at no point has she been unfaithful to me, not with Mr. Kennedy, nor with any of the other men she has been linked with in the news over the years. It would be impossible, as she has never been my romantic partner, only my friend. From the beginning, Lady Cassandra has known what I now wish to tell the people of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth--I am a gay man."

  One moment of dead silence was followed with camera flashes so numerous and brilliant that it took all James's effort not to squint. His mind only repeated, It's done, it's done, it's done.

  "This news will come as a surprise to most. For this I must apologize--not for being gay, which is a fact of my life like any other. But I owe the British people an apology for concealing this, for not trusting in your decency, loyalty, and tolerance. My faith in you has been too late in coming, but I rely on that faith now." James realized he hadn't even looked at the cards in his hands. No matter. He knew every word by heart. "I also owe an apology to Lady Cassandra. For years she has faced public slander and conducted her own romantic life largely in secret, only to protect me. I cannot thank her enough for the sacrifices she has made, or for her enduring friendship."

  He'd wanted to apologize to Spencer as well, but Kimberley had said too many apologies would sink him. Cassandra had to have one--James had stood firm on that--but now he had to move on.

  "My family is fully informed of the situation and stand behind me as I make this announcement." That was as tactfully as he could put it without outright lying, and today of all days he would not lie. "Above all, I am thankful for the support of my sister, who will throughout my life remain second in line to the throne, and whose children I expect to succeed me as monarch. My commitment to my duty and to the British people has never wavered, and never shall. It is my firm belief that the nature of my personal life need not interfere with my position as head of state, and someday as king."

  Ben, Ben, forgive me. But I must hope. I must try. I must.

  "At this time, I am currently involved with a partner," James continued, pretending not to hear the renewed murmuring from the press corps. "He will release his own statement later today. At this time, we are not seeking solemnization or formal recognition of our relationship, and I hope the press will respect his privacy."

  Which they wouldn't. But he had to ask. One more paragraph to go.

  "I make this announcement fully aware that not all members of the public will readily accept it. It is my hope that in time my conduct as Prince Regent and Prince of Wales will outweigh other concerns. Furthermore, many today question the role of an institution such as the monarchy in the twenty-first century. But surely if a hereditary monarchy means anything in our modern world, it means that whomever is born in line for the throne will be accepted, regardless of any but the most severe handicaps. This in turn signifies that however we are born, we deserve honor and respect--every one of us, everywhere. For hundreds of years we have looked to the British monarchy as a symbol of stability and continuity, and I hope we always shall. I further hope that we can come to see it also as a symbol that we are all created by God, that we all deserve acceptance, and that we should all share the same justice before the law. This, surely, is our common birthright." Deep breath. "I was born heir to the throne. I was also born gay. These are both inseparable parts of my humanity. I can no more continue to hide one than I would hide the other, or feel shame regarding one while taking pride in the other. I am what I was born to be, no more and no less, as are we all. Forever after, the British people can rely on my honesty, my dedication to my duty, and my determination to serve you honorably and well. Thank you."

  His clammy hands closed around the note cards again. James could hear the press beginning to shout--completely ignoring the earlier instructions that he would take no questions, driven beyond decorum by the enormity of his announcement. He simply pretended not to hear as he turned and walked away on legs that shook.

  Once he was in the side room and the door had been shut behind him, James slumped into the nearest chair. "That was wonderful, sir!" Kimberley said, and her smile appeared genuine, even elated. "You couldn't have presented it any better."

  "If I lose the throne, maybe I can replace Jeremy Paxman instead." James still felt as though he might side out of the chair into a puddle on the floor. But when he inhaled again, he could sense that the tension in his
muscles was finally beginning to ease.

  Now if only Ben would do his part. But he would, of course he would, wouldn't he?

  James looked up and saw that the makeup woman and her assistant were both beaming at him, really beaming, like they meant it. "What did you think?" he said to them.

  "Very good, sir," the makeup woman said. Her assistant piped up, "Congratulations, sir!"

  Congratulations. That was one thing he hadn't expected to hear, hadn't even thought about, but what a lovely thing to say. A slow smile spread across James's face. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

  ***

  Ben put in his earbuds and streamed the press conference live. At first he'd wondered if anyone thought it was unusual for him to drop everything and watch what the world expected to be a sordid and overdue breakup announcement. But nobody seemed to notice, and as soon as James walked out, Ben couldn't think about anyone else.

  When the words I am a gay man came out of James's mouth, Ben closed his hand into a fist. Good for you, James, good for you!

  At the periphery of his vision, he could see people beginning to perk up, to wave people over to the TV in one corner or start streaming live on their own computers. The hubbub was loud enough to penetrate his earbuds slightly, but not so much that he couldn't hear every word James said.

  The stuff about accepting people as they were born--that was good, Ben thought. Maybe it was a bit of a reach to claim that the monarchy could stand for the equality of all humanity, given that it had stood for the exact opposite through most of history, but still, it made an important point: Saying that James couldn't be king if he were gay would be the same as declaring that gay people could lose their rights because of their sexuality. A nation that had recently accepted gay marriage with relative ease wouldn't be likely to back down now, would it?

  And damn it, look at him, look at him, he's as calm and strong up there as you could ever ask. He sounds like a king. If I didn't know how scared he is, I'd never guess. James, you did it.

  He even had to swallow hard to clear the lump in his throat.

  As James walked away at the end, Ben could hear a smattering of applause, and more conversation, in the newsroom. He tugged the earbuds out and listened:

  "I told you something was up!" said someone who had never told anyone something was up, ever.

  "My mum's going to have a heart attack. I mean, really. She thinks gay men are all florists and keeps a picture of the king on her kitchen wall. I should call her."

  "Can he be king? I mean, the king's the head of the Anglican Church, right? They don't even have gay bishops."

  "Will you people stop talking and start writing?" Fiona yelled. "Every website in the entire world wants copy on this now, so let's give them copy!"

  People scattered. Ben turned back to his computer, again bringing up the very brief text titled STATEMENT.DOCX. It was nowhere near as eloquent as James's, though that was both by his will and Kimberley Tseng's instructions. If the news coverage devolved into a referendum on James's partner--partner, that was an official-sounding word--well, then James had lost before he'd begun. Ben's job was to be present and yet invisible. Suited him fine.

  The minute he sent this copy to Fiona, the minute he released it, everything would change. Just seeing the whirlwind of activity and chatter in the newsroom was daunting. People whom Ben would have sworn couldn't care less about the monarchy were now going on about it in a way that made it clear they wouldn't be talking about anything else the rest of the day. The attention levels on this would be even higher than Ben had reckoned.

  Much higher.

  "Holy crap, can you believe this?" Roberto peered over their cubicle walls.

  "Big news," Ben said, which was the most noncommittal thing he could come up with.

  "What did you think of the statement?"

  "I thought it was incredible. I was proud of him."

  Ben rarely gave such unqualified praise. Roberto blinked but said only, "The Prince Regent isn't as confident as he sounds. You don't release news on a Friday afternoon unless you're worried."

  "No. I suppose you don't." Ben couldn't think what else to say, but already Roberto was back at work.

  British royalty wasn't Roberto's beat. At all. He covered science and technology, primarily; his last big piece had been about a company that was working on developing honest-to-God invisibility cloaks. If Roberto felt like he had to come up with a story about this, then so did every other reporter in the known world.

  Ben recalled the long-ago night when he'd briefly considered outing James against his will, mostly out of defensiveness and wounded pride. It was ugly to even think about that, now. But he had first reckoned the weight and power of this story then, when he had thought it might profit him. Ben had realized it would be huge, but he had also believed it would be the kind of gossip most people consumed and then tossed aside, like so much junk food. Obviously he had been wrong.

  You don't have to do this, James's voice whispered in his mind. I won't love you any less.

  His own voice replied, Stop being a fucking coward.

  He took one last look at his statement, saved one final time, tagged it to Fiona, and hit send.

  It was done. The rest was merely a formality.

  Ben rose from his desk, feeling slightly as though he were sleepwalking. Nobody even glanced up as he crossed the newsroom and rapped on Fiona's office door.

  "What is it?" she called. He took this as permission to go inside, but when he did, Fiona shot him an annoyed look. Her computer showed that she was reviewing the Wikipedia page for Prince Richard. "Ben. I forgot. Listen, can we put this off? I have bigger things to worry about right now."

  "No, you don't."

  Fiona frowned at him. "You may be one of my most valued reporters, but even if you are quitting, you're not my top priority at the moment."

  He closed the door behind him and took a seat. "I just sent you copy."

  This earned one glance at her computer, where she could see the copy checked in to her. "What, the speculation in the South American metals markets? I know that's an important story, but--"

  "The copy is my public statement about my relationship with the Prince Regent."

  Fiona froze, unable to do more than stare at him. Ben thought the memory would be hilarious. Right now, he merely felt numb. Finally she said, "It's you?"

  Ben nodded.

  "Holy shit. Are you sure? What am I saying, of course you're sure, but holy shit." She sat back in her chair, apparently almost limp with shock. "How long?"

  "I met him in Kenya. Then I went to that charity event in September, and here we are."

  "Holy shit."

  "I realize this comes as a shock, Fiona, but we've really got to move the conversation past 'holy shit.'"

  "Okay, okay. Jesus. This is huge," Fiona breathed, one hand to her chest, and he knew that already she was considering how best to play the new card in her deck. He didn't blame her. Hadn't he done the same back in Kenya, and for far worse reasons? "The statement. What does it say?"

  He gestured at her computer. "It's right there."

  She swiveled her chair around and called up the copy, then frowned. "This is rather bare bones."

  "That's all I've got to say. But obviously you're in prime position to write up a short bio, which will make the rounds at the speed of light." Ben tried to smile. "Just promise me you'll pick a good picture."

  "You don't want to punch it up? At all?" Fiona looked so hopeful. "Not even say, you know, something about being in love, something like that?"

  "No." True though that was, Ben didn't intend to share his most private emotions with the whole world. The copy read, in total: The Prince Regent and I have been seeing each other since we both attended a charity event this past September. Although his decision to declare himself publicly was his alone, I fully support him and trust that the British people will as well. Please allow us to keep our private life private.

  Already Fiona was going
through the photos on her phone. She was looking for something from the Christmas party, he realized. She said, "Come on, it's got to be serious between you two. Right? You wouldn't be wading into this if it weren't."

  Ben knew the magic words. "This is off the record."

  Fiona made a face. "Oh, fine. Off the record."

  "Yes, it's serious." He took a deep breath. "I'm even staying at Clarence House for the next few weeks. Off the record." You couldn't repeat that too many times.

  "Oh my God." Fiona's bohemian-businesswoman facade had all but vanished. Her expression looked dangerously like that of a high-school girl who had just heard that her best friend was going to prom with the boy of her dreams. "You're living together! That is so adorable."

  "I'm just staying there." It felt important to stress that point. "And if you use the word adorable about me again--"

  "Hush. You know we have to go live with this statement right away, right?"

  "If you could give it until 3 p.m.," Ben said. "There's going to be a car to take me to Clarence House shortly before then. I'd like to get away before the photographers show up."

  "Photographers! We have some of those." Fiona saw his reaction. "Oh, come on. We'll use our personal candids. Those are going to be better than anything we could shoot of you here and now. Especially since you look like hell. Have you even slept?"

  "Not much. And I get it. You're just doing your job. This is weird to me, being on the other side."

  "You'd better get used to it. Speaking of doing our jobs, you really aren't quitting? You'll be back on Monday?"

  "Of course." Why would she think otherwise? Walking in and out of the office would be a pain, but he'd learn to manage.

  "Just making sure. It's going to be a mess, but if you're determined to hang in there, we'll hang in there with you. Just talk things through with me before you make any rash decisions, all right?" Fiona gave him a wry grin. "Well, this is the smoothest plan I've ever seen for getting out of the office early on a Friday."

  Ben managed to smile back. "Complicated, but effective."

  "Somebody here needs to write the story about 'the real you,' what kind of guy you are, et cetera. Obviously you don't get to approve that copy, but you'd know who would be best to write it."

  No question about that. "Roberto."