Oliver meandered through the crowd, squinting against the bright sunlight. It was closing in on 1400, when the Royal Procession would begin in the Parade Ring below. Almost everyone who had been at the bars, shops, or restaurants was beginning to make their way to the viewing areas that ringed the circular lawn below.
The Parade Ring was on the opposite side of the grandstand from the track, more enclosed and easier to lockdown. Security to get in to watch the royals arrive was bogging down arrivals, if the grumblings around Oliver were anything to go by.
“Anything yet?” Oliver said under his breath into his comms.
“No, for which we’re very happy about,” Samaira replied. “You?”
“Clear on my end.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Liam said.
“You know it,” Tariq replied.
Oliver let their chatter wash over him. They weren’t his team, weren’t his people. Despite working with the Royal Legion for various missions over the last seven months, Oliver still didn’t feel as if he belonged with them. He wasn’t comfortable joking with them, so he kept his thoughts to himself. He did have to bite down on a laugh at Abigail’s running commentary of her opinion of everyone’s outfits. Her judgment of the peerage was on full force today.
Oliver’s assigned position was within both Royal Enclosures—at the Parade Ring and the track. He was cleared for the Royal Box for mission purposes, but that wasn’t where the UMG and MI6 wanted him to patrol. The Royal Enclosure was not what he considered fun, but work was rarely fun.
Oliver seemed to be the odd one out in his immediate area, having no partner or group of friends to keep company with. No one looked askance at him, though. His clothes, demeanor, and the old-fashioned name tag pinned to his suit jacket that listed out his name and rank told anybody who glanced his way that he belonged. But belonging meant something very different to those on the outside of the peerage than it did for those within, and to those who came from money even if they had no title.
A voice came over the speakers to announce the impending arrival of the queen and royal family for the Royal Procession. More people hurried to claim their seats in the reserved stands or to the standing room only area for general admission.
Oliver had an assigned seat within the stands on one of the lower tiers. The six seats to his left were empty when he arrived, though he assumed their owners would show up soon enough. Oliver sat down and put on his sunglasses that came with built-in magnification. He was busy watching the flurry of activity happening on the Parade Ring and half listening to the chatter buzzing in his ears. Which meant he didn’t immediately notice the group of people edging down the row to the empty seats at the last minute until it was too late.
“They’ll let just about anyone in here these days.”
Oliver’s teeth clacked together as the voice of someone he hated more than Liam reached his ears through the buzz of the crowd. Oliver pretended to ignore Rupert Marsh as he stood along with everyone else and focused on where Ascot attendants were preparing for the arrival of the Royal Family. The sounds of the national anthem echoed through the speakers as the military band over on the trackside played the tune, signaling that the Royal Procession had started.
“Is someone in our seats, Rupert?” a woman asked.
“Thankfully, no, love. The company could be far better, though.”
Oliver kept his eyes on the Parade Ring while Rupert’s group got situated, focusing on the carriages that rolled out onto the paved path encircling the ring. The noise of the crowd grew as everyone leaned forward with cameras raised to get a look at the queen as she and the rest of the royal family rode past. A wave of men doffing their hats in respect followed the queen’s carriage. Oliver observed the same form of respect as the queen went by.
“Whatareyou doing here, Ollie?” Rupert said as he doffed his hat as well. “And I know you can hear me. It’s rude to ignore your betters.”
“I don’t see any betters around me, just a chattering fool,” Oliver replied, refusing to look over at a man who had been a thorn in his side for years.
Rupert chuckled, the sound carrying malicious humor. “Someone grew a spine since the last time we had to share breathing space. Perhaps next time you receive an invitation to an event put on by your betters, you should pretend it got lost.”
Oliver tore his gaze away from the Royal Procession to glance at Rupert and take his measure. “How many people did you have to bribe to get in here? That’s how you get into places like this, isn’t it? Buying your way in because your name is never enough?”
Rupert was the sort of handsome that could have been splashed across the fashion sites—and had been when they were younger. Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, with a face most people gave a second glance at, Rupert traded on his good looks and his family’s wealth for social access most could never get.
Rupert’s family owned numerous nightclubs across the United Kingdom as well as a few in some European cities, along with other real estate. The nightclubs and their exclusivity policy was a reason the rich and those of nobility or royalty would sometimes show up. Rupert might not carry a title, but he’d been brought up to think he was better than everyone else. There were precious few people that could put Rupert in his place, and Oliver was not one of them.
“What would you know about money? You don’t have enough to matter.” Rupert reached out and gently flicked the lapel of Oliver’s suit jacket. “You clean up better now than you did when we were younger. That still doesn’t mean you’re good enough for the likes of us.”
Several of Rupert’s friends laughed, and two of the women leaned in close to whisper things to each other that Oliver couldn’t make out amidst the noise of the crowd around them. Rupert’s condescending smile set Oliver’s teeth on edge, and he faced forward again in a pointed dismissal he knew Rupert wouldn’t like. The other man had always hated being ignored.
Oliver refocused his attention to the Royal Procession, having missed part of it due to Rupert’s arrival. He found himself searching out Liam’s familiar face, noting that he was in a suit rather than a uniform to match the rest of the male members of his family. He looked handsome, even from a distance, and Oliver let himself stare at Liam because the other man would never know. He would never know that as much as Oliver hated what he’d done in the past, it was hard to hold on to that hatred in the face of the man Liam had become.
Oliver never thought that Liam would have come to see him after the train crash. But Liam’s persistence and caring demeanor had felt sincere. In all honesty, despite the mix of emotions Oliver had where Liam was concerned, he’d never wanted the other man dead. Learning that Liam would’ve died all those years ago if he hadn’t been turned into a metahuman was a sobering fact that drifted through Oliver’s thoughts.
“Where have you been hiding these days? Or have you just not been invited anywhere of note?” Rupert asked.
“I work. Something you wouldn’t know anything about,” Oliver felt the need to reply. Even if he couldn’t speak about his job, he was proud of it. He refused to be made to feel less because of it.
Rupert laughed, that same condescending laugh Oliver had heard a lot of during their time at Eton. “Catering to your betters?”
