The ringmaster’s whip wasn’t what drove Graham. He wanted to make his mother proud. They were a team, and he had vowed never to let her down.
“I imagine you never gave a poor performance.”
“It wasn’t Mr. Schmidt’s opinion I cared about. I spent every spare moment training in order to be the highlight of the show. If my father was in the audience, I needed him to notice me.”
“To rescue you.”
“Not exactly.”
Graham wanted to be loved. If only by an audience of strangers, for forty-five minutes at a time. And if, somewhere in that audience, was the man who sired him…
“The circus was all I knew, so I had no idea what aristocratic life would be like. Everyone seemed to agree that royals had it best. If my father were a prince, he could restore me to my rightful place at his side. Give me the thing that should have been mine all along.”
“A palace instead of a tent?”
“Recognition.” He chuckled hollowly. “The circus was called ‘The Splendiferous Schmidts,’ not ‘Graham and His Mama,’ despite our feats of daring being the main attraction. Royals are recognized for nothing more extravagant than having been born, whereas my mother and I worked every hour of every day, flew through the air every night, and no one even knew our real names.”
“Weren’t you famous?”
“Famous and anonymous. We were all given fanciful stage names like Strongman Stu or the Flying Foxes. I hated knowing people looked at me all day and all night, but never actually sawme.”
“But if you were Prince Graham, they wouldhaveto see you. Your name would be important.Youwould be important.”
“Exactly. I thought I should make anexcellentroyal: I was used to attention, because I had been raised in the footlights. Used to pressure, to risk, to having to always do the exact right thing.” He swirled his glass and watched the wine settle. “Of course, I was never discovered as the long-lost heir to a fairy-tale prince. Most likely, my father knew who I was all along.”
“He did not wish to claim his own child?”
“Oh, I think he claimed me. I think I was one half of the act that brought him the most money from paying patrons. He was never going to let me go.”
She winced. “How did you get away?”
“Bean.” The name cracked when it came out. Graham took another long drink before trying again. “Mama and I trained with nets, but performed without them. Performers were always getting hurt. Sprained ankles, broken arms, gashes from tiger claws. But no one’s act was half as dangerous as mine with my mother.”
“I assume your routine was more than somersaults.”
“Flips and tumbling can be quite impressive when done right. We began each performance on the ground, to show how high we could spring off each other, how flexible our bodies were. Then we took to the air.”
“A high beam?”
“A rope, stretched across the entire tent with the ends over the audience’s own heads. They loved it. My mother and I would climb poles on opposite sides of the tent. No hand- or toeholds. Just a long shimmy, straight up, to a thin wooden platform barely large enough for a pair of feet.”
“My belly gave a horrid lurch just trying to imagine it. The idea makes me as dizzy as looking at the sea.”
“I loved it,” he said softly, his voice as far away as his mind. “I felt safer flying across the top of the tent than I ever did standing at the bottom. I was ten years old. I thought I was invincible.”
“You found out you were mortal the hard way?”
“Not me.” His throat tightened. “My mother.”
Kunigunde sucked in her breath in horror. “No safety nets…”
He nodded grimly. “In front of a full audience. It made the front page of the London newspapers for two days. It was the only time my mother’s name was ever mentioned. The Splendiferous Schmidts became even more popular. So many people in search of a thrill, my father doubled the price of admission.”
“Did you save those papers?”
Yes. Graham saved everything he could, because he hadn’t been able to save his mother. The one true princess in his life. He’d been saving people ever since. Collecting every piece of information possible, so as to never again feel as unprepared and helpless as he did that day. Religiously recording the lives around him, so that no one else need ever be forgotten.
“Bean helped me clip the articles, but I didn’t read them. I didn’t have to. I will never forget my mother flipping toward me across the rope…and the nauseating moment her toes did not quite gain purchase.”
