These comments and questions derived from the royal press rota. Then there was Hamish Fickle who challenged everything from the queen’s health to the validity of John’s new position to LTV-1’s weather report.
“So we have a writ for the crown heir to be married before his investiture but now that the queen is under the weather, she’s sanctioned Prince John to take her place? What are we doing? What is the purpose of the writ if he can just belly up to the throne?”
The man was an insensitive clod. But the Family as well as the Chamber Office remained silent.
John paused by his place at the head of the table. Tonight’s dinner was for civic leaders in government, business, and charities.
He inspected the names of the guests on his right and left. Dad, thank goodness, was on his right. A mayor from the northern village of Wython, on his left.
John squinted at his name. This couldn’t be correct.
Bor Short.
Surely Bor was short for Boris. The nickname combined with his last name created an unfortunate image. Nothing wrong with being short, but boring…
With a final glance about the room, he returned to his apartment. He’d planned to meet Gus and Daffy there, along with Dad, and come down together to greet their guests.
Gus waited for him in his living room, the remote aimed at the telly. “Did you see the news?”
“I see everything. I’m the temporary monarch. I’ve eyes in the back of my head, at my temples. Even on the soles of my feet. What news are you referencing? Hamish Fickle on the parliament floor? The Supreme Court cases? The Midlands property case?”
John headed to his dressing room, yielding to a strange urge to check his hair. Too much gel? If so, too late.
He’d just read the brief this morning about the Midlands suit. The Justice Ministry was still investigating—which he found odd. The land sale drew no red flags. Eloise Ltd., it seemed, was simply angry for the property being sold out from under them. Welcome to business. Reingard had offered restitution for the environmental surveys just this morning. Win-win as far as John was concerned.
Or was there more news about the writ and how John could notlegallybe the queen’s deputy?
“They’re saying a member of parliament is behind the Reingard land deal,” Gus said.
John drew away from the mirror where he’d been inspecting his hair. Definitely too much gel.
“Lords or members?” Lords inherited their positions. The members were elected. Either chamber was capable of scandal, malfeasance, fraud, corruption. “Please tell me Hamish Fickle is caught up in it all.”
Not nice, but a legal trial would get him off the talk show circuit.
“The little man with the big mouth? I don’t think so. John, look here.” Gus tapped John’s shoulder. “Your tie is crooked. They don’t know who’s behind it. The typical ‘Oops, there was a leak in the investigation’ foul-up.” Gus finished with the tie and patted his brother on the back. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“To eat and speak? How hard can it be? I’ve rehearsed my remarks so much I woke up this morning muttering, ‘I’m delighted to welcome you to Perrigwynn Palace.’” A new revelation dawned. “You don’t think they’ll be disappointed to have me presiding instead of the queen?”
“Who cares? You’re her deputy, the future king. Be confident. Forget Hamish Fickle and anyone who sides with him. The crown has survived a thousand years of ridicule and speculation, enemies and naysayers. Do you think one MP from a small county can topple us now?”
“Napoleon did a bit of damage.”
“Hamish is no Napoleon.” The brothers returned to the living room to await Dad and Daffy.
“You place the wreath on Holland’s grave in a few weeks.”
John stopped at the tea trolley for a quick, fortifying cup. “Your point being?”
“Your duty. Dating. Marriage.”
“Good golly, has Mum drafted you to her side? Did she tell you I agreed to meet Scottie if she changed the writ?”
Gus made a face. “Didsheagree?”
“Told me she had a meeting with Elias.”
“She asked me to encourage you to date. Even suggested setting you up with some of Daffy’s friends.”
