His Royal Favorite

  Ben was so private, so guarded. Having something that intimate sold to the highest bidder would be even more devastating for him than for most. "Are you certain? It's been a long time. Warner might have changed."

  "He hasn't changed. Not him." Ben shook his head. He was smiling now, but the smile was hard. "Every once in a while he still e-mails me. The last time was just days ago. I don't answer, but Warner keeps trying to screw with my head. Prove he still owns me. That's exactly why he'll want to ruin things for us. You see that, don't you? Warner will want to show the world who I really belong to."

  "He can't show the world that you belong to him when you don't." James ran his hand along Ben's shoulders, his back. "If he threatens you, just tell me. We can pay him off, you know. I wrote checks to protect myself from Niall Edgerton; I can do it to protect you from him."

  "I don't want you to have to protect me," Ben said. "Ms. Tseng says I shouldn't engage with Warner at all. That I should just turn him over to her."

  James preferred the idea of dealing with Warner Clifton personally. He was curious to see this man who'd held such a grip on Ben, who had twisted him up inside, and to have one moment when he could put Clifton in his place. Yet Clifton had the power to hurt Ben, and James knew too well that it was easier to start paying off a blackmailer than to stop. He admitted, "If anyone can handle him, Kimberley can."

  "I don't want Kimberley Tseng to have to 'handle' my problems."

  That was precisely Kimberley's job, but James knew he needed to get to the heart of this. "You keep saying what you don't want, regarding Warner. What do you want?"

  Ben groaned as he shook his head. The firelight caught the nearly blue-black glints in his dark hair. "I don't know. A time machine? Then I could go back and tell my sixteen-year-old self to steer clear."

  "Even I can't give you that."

  "And if you could . . . without Warner I might never have become a reporter. If I'd never become a reporter, I'd certainly never have met you." Ben's eyes met James's, and he saw some of the same wonder he felt reflected back. "On second thought, no time machine."

  "I'd take one," James whispered as he shifted closer to Ben, wrapping one of his arms around Ben's waist, resting his head on Ben's shoulder. "I'd use it just to keep reliving this with you. Tonight after tonight after tonight, forever."

  "Then we'd better make the most of tonight, hadn't we?"

  When they kissed, half of Ben's face was warmer, the half that had been facing the fire. Within minutes they were back in bed, Ben's bed but their bed too, undressing each other between hungry kisses.

  "We've got to christen the new bed," Ben whispered as he slid his hands into James's pants. "Break it in."

  James arched up to help Ben undress him, but he couldn't resist laughing. "It's christened. I had my first-ever sexual experience in this bed."

  Ben straightened his arms, as though he were doing a push-up over James's body, smiling with openmouthed mock surprise that made James laugh harder. "You can't leave it there. Come on. Confess. Who were you with?"

  "I was all by myself. Unless you count the magazine picture of Liam Neeson."

  Now laughing with him, Ben dipped down for a kiss. Their lips had barely parted before Ben whispered, "I think I can top that."

  Strange, to make love to Ben and know that half the world was wondering about precisely this. Trying to picture it. But they couldn't picture anything this good--of that James felt sure. He sprawled in the bed, Ben's cock in his mouth, his cock in Ben's, both of them sucking in the same languorous rhythm, getting each other hard but not yet driving to get off. James knew both of them wanted it to last.

  You're free, James thought. You've been set free together. And then there was no separating the delight in his heart from the pleasure in his body, not for a very long time.

  They fell asleep tangled together. James had never felt so safe, so loved. Once again he was wrapped in his perfect dream.

  Then came morning, and Kimberley's first media packet, and James had to call Cass and tell Glover to mix up mimosas to help them through it, because the dreaming was definitely over.

  Hello, reality.

  ***

  Ben understood that this was apparently a tradition James and Lady Cassandra had. That was why she was here, in their private space. She was going to help James endure this morning. Now if only he could endure her.

  "The Sun wins," James said between gulps of mimosa. "Absolutely."

  "You're sure?" Lady Cassandra had become quite giggly. She sat closer to James than Ben did; he was all the way over at the other end of the newspaper pile. "They've all outdone themselves."

  James nodded. "Yes, but there's no topping this." He held up that morning's issue of the Sun, with a cover headline that blared THE NEXT KING IS A QUEEN! "Simple. Direct. Catchy. But not too simple, like the Daily Mail. Close, but no cigar." The Daily Mail's cover read only QUEEN JAMES.

  Ben ventured, "You don't find any of this offensive?"

  "I find this one offensive as all hell," James said, tossing the Express halfway across the room. But it landed so that they could still see the headline: WHAT WOULD PRINCESS ROSE THINK? "As though they cared for my mother, after the way they hounded her. As though she didn't know and love me anyway. Self-righteous pricks."

  Lady Cassandra poured more champagne into her mimosa without bothering to refill the orange juice. "I don't suppose the recording will be in today's packet, but I listened to Radio 4 on the way over. John Humphries had Matthew Parris on. It sounded good. Reasonable."

  "They would," Ben said, leafing through the newspapers. Laughing at tabloid headlines was one thing, but he wanted to see a bit more substance. James did too, of course, but apparently he had to work himself up to it. Ben couldn't stand putting it off any longer.

  The Guardian seemed to be extremely positive about James's sexuality--almost startlingly so, given the suddenness of the news. However, they also ran a long story about what this might mean for the Commonwealth. Ben scanned this while Lady Cassandra and James laughed, knowing that this issue was one of James's main concerns. However, the story offered more questions than answers.

  The Daily Telegraph was their peek into the likely reaction from the key "home counties," but the paper's temperature was difficult to take. They'd run two editorials, one gently positive, one politely negative. The positive one had a rally-about-the-monarchy-lads bent Ben found annoying, but at this point they had to take support where it was to be found. Certainly it was better than the negative one, which wanted to know how James's gayness could be reconciled with his future position as the Supreme Governor of the Anglican Church.

  James saw Ben's browsing and sighed. "My Achilles' heel, and they all know it."

  "Don't fret, darling," Lady Cassandra said. Ben fumed silently. Where did this woman get off calling his lover darling? But he told himself it was stupid to worry about that when they had more pressing issues to deal with.

  The Independent: moderate and sensible. Too bad nobody read the damn thing. The Times: not negative, but Ben had the distinct sense that the reporters were less trying to bolster James and more working to be polite. Homophobia was gauche now, after all.

  "Can't believe Hello! got a special edition out so fast," James said. "But you make a radiant cover model yet again."

  Cassandra held up Hello! and began melodramatically reading the cover line: "I'll Always Love James--As A Friend." As James began to giggle, Cassandra read off the rest in a more normal tone of voice. "At last we meet the real Lady Cassandra Roxburgh as she talks of her joy at seeing close friend James speak out and find love. Blah blah, always at his side to hear his private heartbreak, blah blah, misunderstood, blah blah, and at last she's able to share her relationship with Spencer Kennedy with all the world."

  Unable to resist, Ben said, "You actually talked to them?"

  "Of course not." The look Cassandra gave him then let Ben know the distrust remained mutual. "They've pieced together old quotes
out of context so that they'll sound on-topic. It's like Frankenstein's interview, sewed together and brought back to life."

  That wasn't a bad metaphor, but Ben refused to be impressed. Instead he turned back to Ms. Tseng's press packet. She'd printed out several online-only stories for them: Global Media's short bio, complete with punchy copy from Roberto that made him sound terrific. Some bits from the international press, especially the Americans, who'd had a full news day to work with the information. A well-considered piece from Al-Jazeera, questioning whether James's gayness would interfere with his diplomatic efforts with Arab leaders and Muslim nations--and arguing it should not, pointing out that if the world of diplomacy could handle a lesbian president of Iceland, a gay king should represent no greater difficulty. Kimberley Tseng had even put together the tweets most quoted and retweeted. At the top of the list was Stephen Fry, who congratulated James but dryly said it was a shame about the sham. Some reality series star had got a lot of mileage out of a tweet that said, "I always thought Randy Sandy looked like a pantomime dame, but I never knew she really WAS one."

  Ben glanced at Cassandra. Obviously the public believed her relationship with James had been purely false, not even a close friendship. At the moment he half wished they were right. Thanks to Lady Cassandra's lack of interest in fashion, she and James were even dressed alike: comfortably slouchy blue jeans, black sweaters, and loafers. Ben hoped this was merely coincidence and not actually a thing they did.

  "We've got to watch the news clips now," James said. "Are you in, Cass?"

  "Sadly, no. Now that we've crowned a winner--" She rose to her feet, somewhat unsteadily. "Oh, gosh. Well, first I think a bit of a nap might be in order. Then Spencer and I have a big weekend planned, since we can finally leave his bloody flat. He says hello and good show, by the way. All is forgiven."

  "We'll all get together soon," James promised as he began to usher Lady Cassandra to the door. All? Am I in for this too? Good God. He knew full well that James was too observant not to have noticed that Ben and Cassandra still had no love lost between them. Apparently he intended to get them to bond whether they liked it or not. Ben was willing to be polite, but beyond that--well, not everyone in James's life had to be friends.

  Ignoring the farewells at the door, Ben started up the news clips, hitting pause so James could watch with him. When James took his place beside Ben, Ben went for the remote, but James put a hand out, stopping him. "You think I'm being awfully silly, don't you?"

  "I think you're letting off steam. Which you absolutely have the right to do."

  "But it's not how you handle these things." James's cheeks were rosy from the champagne, but his gaze remained sharp. "This isn't the first time I've had to go through this. It's not even the hundredth. It's just the biggest. Cass and I fell into the habit of bracing ourselves so we could laugh about it. You have to laugh, sometimes. Otherwise it will kill you."

  Now that Lady Cassandra was gone, Ben found himself feeling more generous about the whole thing. "Of course you do. I don't mean to be humorless about it. But I'm not at the point of laughing yet."

  "Just wait." James kissed Ben; his lips tasted like orange juice and champagne. "This isn't the worst."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I expect it to take a nastier turn in a few days. A more ridiculous turn too. And--you realize they haven't even started in on you yet, don't you?"

  "I expected it to take them a little longer to work around to me." Ben knew precisely what he would have done as a journalist, if he were assigned to report on the unknown man in the Prince Regent's life. He would have started calling neighbors, e-mailing coworkers, and searching school alumni databases for potential sources. Ben's peripatetic existence meant that the press would have to work a lot harder for those details of his past. Furthermore, he knew Global Media Services wouldn't like it if any of his coworkers blabbed, because that would be helping the competition, so they'd keep their mouths shut. But even this would only buy him so much time.

  James snuggled next to Ben. "We won't really know all the fallout for another few weeks, at least. Months, probably. Right now we can only watch it unfold. What do you think so far?"

  "That this sort of thing ought to be outlawed by the Geneva Convention."

  Although James chuckled, he said, "No, really. Seriously. Tell me, as a professional journalist, if you were looking at all this from the outside, merely as an observer, what would you say?"

  "I'd say it was ridiculous." Ben hesitated, considered. "And I'd say it wasn't that bad. Not really."

  A slow smile spread across James's face. "I think so too. It could have been lots worse."

  "Much worse," Ben agreed.

  "It's like watching the national subconscious unfold in front of us. Watching the mind of the nation work this out, bit by bit." James turned back to the screen. "So let's see Sky News's piece of the puzzle."

  ***

  Monday morning required an early start. Ben's commute to work would now be even shorter--and by luxury sedan instead of the Underground--but he had to allow time to get through the crush. There was of course no hope of avoiding the photographers; probably they'd been camped out in front of the Global Media offices since Friday night.

  Also, it turned out James had to leave early too.

  "Breakfast with the leader of His Majesty's Loyal Opposition," James said between sips of coffee. "Shoehorned that in last minute, mostly so he gets the chance to be as supportive as the prime minister was. Then I meet with senior members of UK and Commonwealth armed forces who are retiring. Medals, medals, medals. Lunch with Nicholas, which will be reported on; we have to prove he's not attempting to steal the throne out from under me. Afterward, up to Peterborough to visit what must be their last remaining brick factory and finally a hostel for the homeless. Back to London, evening free."

  "It's really like that every day?" Ben said.

  James shrugged. "More or less. Except my evenings aren't always free."

  "I thought being privileged would come with more privileges."

  "It comes with enough."

  The landline rang, Glover checking whether it was yet all right to allow others into the suite. This proved to be only Paulson, ready to get James into his suit, and Kimberley Tseng. To Ben's surprise, she was there to talk to him rather than to James.

  "Your turn," she said, putting down a copy of the Daily Mail. On the cover was a photo of Ben--a low-quality candid, probably from someone's Facebook, in which he was glancing to the side and looked positively dodgy. The headline read: HE'S A KRAUT! New Details About Jamie's Secret Loverboy! The typeface for KRAUT was enormous. Each letter was bigger than Ben's face.

  "That's it?" Ben had to laugh. "They're upset that I hold a German passport?"

  "You haven't lived in the UK that long, have you?" Ms. Tseng gave him a sidelong look. "Trust me, that's enough to get them started."

  To Ben the xenophobia seemed like something out of that episode of Fawlty Towers. Still, he got her point: The story was meant to be negative, which in turn meant the press was ready to turn on him. Well, he'd been expecting that. Let them turn. "What other 'secret details' do they claim to have?"

  "Thus far, precious little," Kimberley said. "Which they're attempting to spin as something ominous."

  That wasn't the sort of thing that could stick. Ben felt better already. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know."

  Her eyes searched his. "You're certain you're prepared for this morning?"

  Ben shrugged. "James ran me through it. Walk past the photographers. Try to keep a pleasantly neutral expression. What else is there to know?"

  "His Royal Highness is shielded from the worst sort of paparazzi behavior by his title."

  "The paparazzi actually respect royalty?"

  "To whatever limited degree they respect anyone, and certainly more than they respect you." Ms. Tseng stepped closer. "They'll shout insults at you. Obscenities. Homophobic, anti-Semitic--the worst you can imagine. all in hopes o
f making you angry. A photo of you furious makes a man rich; if you snap, strike at him, damage his camera or injure him, well, then he's a millionaire and you're a liability to the Prince Regent. You must not react. No matter what. Do you understand me?"

  "Don't worry, Ms. Tseng. I've heard what they do to Justin Bieber. Honestly, if that kid can take it, I can take it. Trust me."

  "We'll have to," she said crisply, and with that she took herself off downstairs.

  As she did so, James emerged from the back, dapper in gray tweed. Once again that mysterious change had occurred--the shift from man to prince. Everything from James's posture to the shine of his shoes suggested elegance, confidence, ease, and grace. Ben, who like most print journalists had never paid much attention to his workday attire, felt shabby in his old sweater and brown trousers. But that didn't matter much, not compared to Ben's realization that the whole prince thing was an incredible turn-on.

  James said, "I should be home for dinner, assuming you're all right with eating a bit late, but if you get hungry before that, you should feel free to ring Glover and tell him what you'd like."

  Like he was about to start ringing bells and summoning servants like someone out of Downton Abbey. Ben had more interesting things to think about. He stepped closer, into James's personal space; James's green eyes flickered up toward him, surprised and pleased.

  Softly Ben murmured, "Seeing you like this--so sleek--it makes me want to tear you apart all over again." His fingertip brushed the perfect knot in James's tie, just beneath his Adam's apple.

  "Mmmm." James inhaled deeply, as though he were taking in Ben's scent. "I'd like that."

  "Tonight," Ben promised. "It's a date."

  James smiled. "Tonight."

  For a moment he hesitated. Ben could see how nervous James was. Soon he'd step out of the safety of the palace and try to live out his role as Prince Regent for the first time as an openly gay man. He had to have worried about this moment his entire life. Although he wished he could somehow go with James--put himself between him and any of the insults or problems he'd have to face--he knew that was impossible. At least Ben could demonstrate that James didn't have to be afraid on his behalf. "I'm going to be okay, and so are you."