Miles fist bumps my brother on his way out, and I shake my head at the pair of them.
“Don’t encourage him,” I plead.
“Claus hardly needs encouragement.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, let him have his fun,” my friend admonishes.
“Not when his fun reflects poorly on the rest of us.” I take a long sip of my whiskey.
“Look, Fritz. No one honestly cares what Claus gets up to. No one on the outside, that is. He’s lived in your shadow his whole life. The people forgive him his antics because they know he’ll never be their king.”
“There’s already dissension brewing among the people, Miles. I don’t need my little brother sewing more seeds of distaste towards the monarchy I’m going to inherit by drinking and fucking his way through his twenties.”
Miles squeezes my shoulder. A touch from my best friend is usually enough to still my nerves and quiet my racing thoughts. “That’s still a while off, my friend. Claus will settle down well before then, and the people will have forgotten all about his hijinks.”
I nod and throw back the last of my whiskey. That time, when the throne will become mine, is sooner than anyone knows outside our closest circle, even Miles. Hell, even Trixie has suspicions as she watches her uncle shrink before her, but she’s not in on the whole truth.
I shake those thoughts away, and my attention returns to the remaining women. There are perhaps seventy left, still quite the number, but it’s much easier to pick out individuals now. I note a few who start stumbling a bit, maybe from too much wine, and take mental note of them. I watch one woman as she subtlyshifts herself throughout her exchange with a member of parliament until she is practically standing in front of another woman, shutting her out of the conversation. Also noted. I try to see beyond the superficial as I watch each interaction, but can only discern so much from such a vantage point. I watch, focus on body language and facial expressions, the way they stand, how they hold their hands. I find myself thinking of my mother, my highest standard of womanhood and regality. I suppose no one stands up to her lofty measure, but some fall woefully short.
And none hold a candle to a certain nanny who has no interest in Prince Friedrich and is supposed to be just for fun.
