A Royal Kiss and Tell

The crowd was riled and began to chant back at him. Pane er vesi. Pane er vesi. Food and water.

“Will any of the men at the highest reaches of your government listen to a man like me?” he shouted.

“Noo!” the crowd roared back.

Lysander shook his head. “No. But they will listen to all of us.”

“Je, je, je, je!” the crowd began to chant.

“Come,” Edoard had said. “Before it gets out of hand.”

It wasn’t until another fortnight had passed that Leo’s curiosity peaked, and he found a way to have a look at the workhouses himself—incognito. He was completely unprepared and unaware of the conditions in which common people lived. The workhouses—dank, overcrowded and dirty—certainly had not been part of his education. People were suffering without adequate food, clothing or shelter. They were made to work long hours for a meager existence. He’d been incensed on their behalf. He’d been reminded again of how privileged he was. His conscience had been pricked.

He mentioned the conditions to his father one evening during a private meal. “Don’t listen to the false prophets, Leopold. The man wants fame. That’s all.”

Leo had tried to start a conversation with his father about it, but as usual, his father was uninterested in what he had to say. He’d smiled and said, “Worry about your studies, son.”

In the end, it was Leo’s mother who had turned the tide. “I don’t think you should ignore this man,” she said to her husband. “He seems dangerous to me.”

Leo never really knew what had happened after that—he returned to England and his very vibrant social life. But the Alucian Parliament took up the cause, and the workhouses were eventually shut down. Now factories provided modest housing for the workers.

By the end of his bath, Leo had determined it didn’t matter what Lysander wanted—Leo wouldn’t involve himself with it. He wouldn’t be in the garden tomorrow, because Leo was setting sail in two nights, no matter what.

There was a soft rap at the door, and then Leo’s valet, Freddar, appeared, holding a large towel. “Will you dress now, Your Highness?”

Leo sighed. “Je.” He couldn’t avoid the ball. All eyes would be on Leo tonight, more so than ever before. He was the new prized bull, the one everyone wanted as sire. For years, he’d watched Bas endure these evenings and the endless introductions to all manner of women—short and round, tall and thin. Beautiful and plain. Women with pleasing dispositions and those who were cold as fish. All of them wanting an opportunity to woo a crown prince. Leo was no crown prince, but as of today, he was the next best thing. It hardly mattered that his father had already negotiated a marriage—the wealthy and privileged would present their daughters and sisters to him like gifts from the Magi.

His long black formal frock was embellished with the dignitatis epaulets on the shoulders, denoting his rank in the military. A rank that was achieved by virtue of his birth and nothing else. He would also wear a royal blue sash onto which medals of his family’s name, military achievements and honors would be affixed. None of them belonged to him personally.

Those medals would complement the larger, ribboned medals that were pinned to his chest, also granted because of his titles and privileges and for nothing that he’d done. Such as the large bloom of white ribbon with a gold circle and pearls encrusted in the middle, the Order of the King’s Garter. There were more medals that signified his rank in the navy and the army—bestowed on him because he was a prince—as well as the Order of Merit and the Order of the Reeve, given to him by his father. And of course, his father’s coronation medal, another large gold piece with dark blue and gold ribbons, that celebrated Leo’s royal birth.

He was doused in the symbols and trappings of his family’s wealth and privilege, and he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve any of it. How was it fair that by virtue of his birth alone he should have such fortune? How was it fair that another child, born into lesser circumstances, would struggle through his or her life and accomplish far more than Leo ever would, yet not have a single medal worth so much? Any one of these medals on his chest would bring prosperity to a family for several years.

Why me?

That question had plagued him at various times in his life. He was eight years old the first time he’d asked it. He’d befriended a boy in the stables. His name was Tadd or something close to it. Leo couldn’t rightly recall his name, but he could still see his face, as if he’d spoken to him only yesterday. He and Tadd had formed a friendship over a horse. Tadd had taught him quite a lot about horses—how to brush their coats and manes, how to clean their hooves.

It had been Leo’s idea to sneak the horse from the stables and ride him. The freckle-faced lad was reluctant, but at Leo’s insistence, he went along with it.