Chapter 1: Fete For A King: Prologue
Chapter Text
Eddie Rambler took a bite of the sandwich he'd just been gesturing excitedly with, closed his eyes, groaned, and staggered backwards in pretend shock.
His theatrics didn't bother the octogenarian who had made the sandwich for him in his food truck. Very little had bothered the man, except for when he'd been asked by the episode's director to take off his Red Sox cap because they couldn't have sports logos or unsponsored brand names on the show. There had been a tussle over that which had only been settled when Eddie suggested he turn it around backwards, which had at last led to peace.
Now, watching Eddie pretend to be knocked back by how good his sandwich was, the vendor just grinned and said, "Ya ain't got sammiches like that in California, yeah?"
"Sure ain't," Eddie agreed, pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead. "Hey man, thanks. You know you're the oldest food truck chef I've ever interviewed? What's your secret to a long life?"
"Rye bread," the guy replied, cackling, and Eddie laughed too.
"Thanks for keeping it new even at eighty," Eddie said, clapping him (very gently) on the shoulder. He turned to the camera, gave it a winning smile, and delivered a line he still, somehow, wasn't tired of after five years on air: "And that's....Truly Tasty."
He held the pose until the director gave him a thumbs up, listened for "Wrap on Truly Tasty, episode 72!" to reassure him that filming was genuinely over, and then turned back to the sandwich guy again.
"Seriously, this is a great sandwich," he said. "I'll make sure they send you a link when the show goes live."
"Y'all don't issue it on VHS?" the man asked. Eddie paused, horrified, and then relaxed when the man cackled again. "Just jokin' ya, man. See you around, huh?"
Eddie nodded and made his way into the crowd of techs, mics, cameras, and all the rest of the small traveling circus required to film an episode of food television, at least the way Eat Network liked to do it. The network was a little old fashioned, but if Eddie wanted to feel cutting-edge he could post to Maxtagram anytime and keep wooing that under-25 crowd, most of whom (if comments were any indication) were literally learning to cook from Eddie Rambler, celebrity chef, host of Truly Tasty, and eater about town.
Most of the people manning produce stalls at Haymarket, Boston's enormous open-air farmer's market, paid him zero attention other than to look annoyed by all the filming equipment. On the fringes, a few shoppers cast strange looks his way, and a handful of fans were waiting for autographs. Two were even wearing the signature loud floral-patterned shirts he sold on his website, with the Truly Tasty linked-T logo on the breast pocket. He stopped only briefly to let hair-and-makeup clean the foundation off his face before he wandered over to the fans.
"Thanks for coming out today, guys," he said, shaking hands and accepting photos, cookbooks, and the odd kitchen implement to sign. "We always appreciate the support."
"Are we gonna be in the show?" one of the younger ones asked. His dad elbowed him gently.
"Tell you what, I'll talk to editing, do my best," Eddie said. "Might not be much of a shot but we'll try, okay?"
"Wicked!"
"Sure thing." Eddie gave the kid a fistbump and winked at his dad. "I'd love to stay but I got a plane to catch. You all keep it new and I'll see you on television, huh?"
He ducked into the tiny trailer that combined equipment storage, lunchroom, and wardrobe into one compact space, grabbing his dufflebag from where he'd stashed it on top of the fridge.
"Is that seriously all you're taking?" one of the PAs asked him, holding out his plane ticket.
"Travel light, kiddo," he said, shouldering the bag. "I've got a phone charger and a credit card, which is more than I had when I started in this business. You all need anything else from me? I gotta be at the airport soon but I could shoot some B-roll if we make it quick."
"We'll make do," she replied.
"Great. Hey, pass a note to editing, try and get a few shots with the fans in the loud shirts in the background into this one."
"Got it," she said, noting it down in her phone. It was difficult to get used to people taking him seriously, even when he was being serious. Probably some combination of the floppy bleach-blond hair, chunky sunglasses, and floral shirts; people tended to mistake him for a blue-eyed California himbo without much going on upstairs. Still, that look had gotten him this far, and very few people who met him made the mistake more than once.
"Thanks. And let everyone know I blew town? They've got like eight weeks without my dumb ass looking over their shoulders."
"Quite a vacation," she agreed, grinning. "Where are you going, again?"
Eddie, stricken for the moment, hesitated.
"I'll get back to you on that," he said.
Chapter 2: Eight Weeks
Chapter Text
EIGHT WEEKS UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
The palace of Askazer-Shivadlakia was enormous in terms of places one might call home, but as castles went it was actually very small. Gregory's father referred to it as tasteful, and most of his school friends who'd visited said it looked like a setting for a fairy tale, although their tone often said the fairy tale was probably a very modest one. To Gregory it was simply home, and at the moment he was gazing up at it from the harbor town below, longing to be back there.
Still, occasionally one had to put on the formal dress uniform of the royal family -- no medals or sashes, but expensive sober black touched here and there with gold braid -- and do a goodwill lap. Especially with the coronation looming. He wanted to make sure his people understood he was doing his best not to inconvenience them, and that this would all be over in a few months. For them, anyway. For him, it was just beginning.
One of the town's young artisans was demonstrating a specific pattern in the tapestry he was making, which normally Gregory would find moderately interesting, but his mind had begun to drift to everything left to accomplish before the coronation. He glanced up at the palace again, wistfully. Alanna was in the palace, with her reassuring lists and spreadsheets. Still, he did his best to pretend attention, nodding knowingly when the artisan concluded his textiles lecture.
The bunting was already out in town, along with the royal insignia banners and the window decorations featuring Gregory's face. Askazer-Shivadlakia did love its pageantry. And at least, he thought, as he climbed into the car that would take him home, it was one less thing for him to worry about. He relaxed into the seat of the car and gave himself the ride back to the palace in which to breathe.
Alanna was waiting for him at the door, bless her, with a soft sweater for him to change into. Gregory gratefully passed the stiff uniform jacket to his valet and struggled into the sweater as she launched into the report she knew he'd want.
"Flowers are set," she said, gently tugging the collar of the sweater down over his head. He nodded his thanks and pulled it straight. "Just got word this morning."
"Very glad to hear it. Does make me feel as though I'm getting married, however," he replied. "If you tell me I need to pick out a font for the invitations..."
She laughed. "No, I've done that already. And we've made a date for the cleaners to do a deep scrub and airing of all the guest rooms."
"Any word from the tailor? I'd love to have him here sooner rather than later, get the robe fitting out of the way," he said, leading the way down the hall towards his office.
"Working on it. I guess there was some kind of issue getting them out of storage."
"The robes or the tailor?"
"Probably both. He did the fitting for your father's robes too, so he might be immortal."
"Mm. A vampire around the place would certainly add flair," Gregory said, grinning. "And how are the arrangements coming along for father's funeral?"
Alanna actually opened her mouth to answer that, then checked herself and smiled at him.
"Very funny, your highness," she said.
"I have to keep you on your toes, Al," he replied.
"His majesty the king, your father," she drawled, "would like to have dinner with you this evening. He said it was about details for his retirement, but I think he has ulterior motives."
Gregory didn't have a chance to agree with her before he heard his name called, a basso profundo shout -- "GREGORY!"
He turned, finding the source of the roar, and saw his father, King Michaelis I, at the other end of the hallway, attended by his own crowd of aides and assistants.
"Sometimes it's like he's with me even now," Gregory said to Alanna, who nodded, poker-faced.
"DINNER!" Michaelis called. "TONIGHT!"
"Of course, father," Gregory called back. Michaelis nodded and stalked onwards, intent on whatever royal business he still had to handle with two months to go until his retirement.
"Oh! And I have great news," Alanna said, checking items off in some list app on her tablet as they continued. "The chef you asked for? He arrived late last night. He's settling in now, with plenty of time to get the menu set and the catering up and running."
"Ah, the coronation banquet, right," Gregory said, recalling faintly some conversation they'd had about this. "Who'd you get?"
"Eddie Rambler," Alanna said, perplexed. "Like you asked for."
Gregory came to a stop, turning to fully face her. "Eddie...Rambler?"
"The TV chef," Alanna replied. "He hosts Truly Tasty?"
"He hosts what," Gregory said flatly.
"I thought you asked..." Alanna began, then hesitated. Gregory had known Alanna since childhood, and the look on her face was very familiar; it was usually a look they gave each other when they'd gotten into some mischief too big to simply scamper their way out of.
"You said...you said you wanted the 'Keep it new' guy, right?" Alanna asked hesitantly.
"I said I wanted someone who would keep things new," Gregory replied, relatively certain that was what he'd said, though his memory of the discussion was cloudy. He'd been distracted by something, probably some request of his father's. "I wanted to show the guests that we're truly a twenty-first century modern monarchy."
"Well...he's definitely modern," Alanna pointed out.
"We hired the host of a TV food show to cater my coronation banquet?" Gregory asked.
Before Alanna could reply, her tablet bleeped; she looked down, equal parts distracted and, he could tell, searching for a distraction.
"He just posted a new Maxtagram video!" she said brightly, holding the tablet up for him to see, then blinked when she saw Gregory's face. She tried to tuck the tablet away, but he tapped the play button before she could.
Eddie Rambler, six feet of loud blond celebrity chef, had posted a video filmed in the palace kitchen. Gregory's personal palace kitchen, the one that served the royal family directly, not even the much larger kitchen that served palace staff and guests.
Gregory tapped the tablet again and raised the volume just in time to hear Rambler say "The Democratic Monarchy of Askazer-Shivad...nokia," followed by an encouraging noise from Simon, the royal family's personal chef. Alanna jerked the tablet away from him and closed the window.
"I was looking for modern like a nice gastropub, less a dive bar," Gregory said. He kept his tone gentle, because he suspected this was as much his fault as hers.
"I am so, so sorry," she said.
"No, it's fine," he replied. "We can explain there was a mistake -- "
"I thought you'd want a famous chef to do the banquet -- "
"These things happen," he told her. "It's a minor speed bump. If that. More like a small pothole."
"Do you want me to tell him today?" she asked. "He just got here."
"No, I should do it," he decided.
"Oh, no, that's not -- "
"I'm responsible for the country, and the palace," Gregory told her. "When mistakes are made, regardless of how, I have to fix them gracefully. Anyway, it was just a miscommunication. And I don't punish my staff for honest mistakes."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Well, maybe a little," he said, giving her a smile. "Come on, I'm going to make you watch."
She winced, but followed him bravely as he made his way to the palace kitchen.
Eddie set the phone in its little tripod on one of the palace kitchen's stainless-steel prep counters, pressed the record button, and backed up until he was perfectly framed in the phone's selfie-mode reflected footage.
"Well, I told you all I had a surprise for you," he said with a wink. "Guess what? I'm in Europe! I've been hired by the crown prince of..." He faltered, then, sighing. "Ah, man...."
He darted forward to rotate the camera on its tripod; Simon LeFevre, a silver fox in pristine chef's whites, had been warned this might happen. He gave the camera a narrow, skeptical look.
"Say it again for me, Chef?" Eddie pleaded.
Simon nodded and poured centuries of French gravitas into his voice as he said, "The Democratic Monarchy of Askazer-Shivadlakia."
Eddie gave him a quick "ok" gesture before turning the camera back on himself.
"I'm gonna get it," he announced. "Here we go. The Democratic Monarchy of Askazer-Shivad..."
Despair rolled briefly through him, even though he knew this would be great content.
"...nokia," he finished, then pressed a hand over his face.
"You're getting closer!" Simon said encouragingly. Like a natural-born star, he leaned in so the phone mic would pick up his voice even though it wasn't recording his face.
"Thanks, Chef," Eddie nodded, letting his hand fall. He put on a fresh smile. "Anyway. I've been invited here by the royal family to cater a coronation banquet. I'll be coming to you live and in living color, only on my Maxtagram, for the next two months!" he pointed down, to an imaginary logo bug he could add in post. "So if you want all the news, remember to subscribe!"
Simon looked at him like his ancestors were ashamed of him, but Eddie made sacrifices for his social media following.
"It's crazy here," he continued. "I'm staying in a genuine palace and everything! I promise lots of content, some tours if I can sneak past the palace guard, plenty of quick cooking lessons, and hopefully a few selfies with the royals. Okay, that's all for now -- peace out and you know I mean it when I say: keep it new!"
He shot the camera the peace sign, then hurried forward to end the recording. Simon went back to the stove, shaking his head, but Eddie knew he'd charmed the reserved Frenchman. He picked up his phone and made a few hasty adjustments to the video before slamming that post button with a paragraph's worth of hashtags.
"I really wanted to get that right," he said as he worked. "Help me out? Askazer..."
"Shivadlakia," Simon repeated.
"Shivadlakia," Eddie managed.
"It takes time to learn to let it roll off the tongue," Simon said. "The important thing is to try."
"Well, trying's all I have," Eddie said, settling himself on a stool near the prep table. "You sure you don't mind me in your kitchen?"
"No, I have seen your show," Simon said. "I know you are a true chef in a circus barker costume."
Eddie clutched his chest, but Simon was unperturbed by his suffering. A timer went off on Eddie's phone, and he hurried to one of the four nearby ovens, pulling out the cast-iron pot he'd had in there.
"Here we go," he said, removing the lid and inhaling the fragrant steam. Simon peered into it, interested. "Looks great. You want a sample? Hey, when do you think I'll get to meet the prince?"
Simon looked past him, eyes falling on the doorway of the kitchen.
"Very soon," he murmured, and Eddie turned.
Crown Prince Gregory ben Michaelis, soon to be King Gregory III of This Place He Was Definitely Going To Memorize The Name Of Soon, stood in the doorway. Eddie had done at least a little research, but even if he hadn't, Gregory III's face was everywhere. There were even posters in the airport announcing his coronation and welcoming tourists and diplomats who were going to be attending. Still, it took a few seconds for it to sink in. This was a royal prince, after all, and he was also insanely hot.
The posters and photographs didn't do justice to the deep olive of his skin or the short-cropped dark curly hair above equally dark eyes; in the pictures he was wearing a high-collared, gold-edged dress jacket, but the real prince was wearing a burgundy sweater with a simple diamond pattern across his broad shoulders, as well as a somewhat imposing expression. Behind him, a slight young woman with long dark hair, a sweet face, and a tablet clutched in one hand looked extremely alarmed.
"Prince Gregory," Eddie heard Simon say. "May I introduce Chef Edward Rambler. Chef, this is his highness, Crown Prince Gregory."
"Whoa," Eddie said, and then screamed, briefly, internally, though he'd done enough panicking on enough national broadcasts to keep from doing it externally.
"Beg pardon?" the prince asked, blinking.
Eddie decided to lean into his initial reaction. "Whoa! Wow, here you are! Your highness! It's such a pleasure. Do I bow, or do I shake hands?"
"Either is acceptable," Simon told him, clearly teasing, at the same time the prince said, "Ah yes, Mr. Rambler. I -- "
"Oh, call me Eddie," Eddie said, deciding on the handshake and reaching out. Prince Gregory took his hand automatically; he had a firm handshake even when surprised. Nice hands, too. Warm. Eddie ignored that and leaned around the prince, because he'd just realized who the alarmed woman was.
"Alanna, right?" he asked, shooting her finger-guns because the prince was in the way of a second handshake.
She nodded, and Eddie turned back to the prince. "This lady is great! She hired me and really got me set up. I'm super excited to be here to help out with the coronation. It's a new one for me."
"Ah, yes, about that," the prince said, and Eddie knew an opening for a pitch when he saw one. He held up a hand.
"Don't say another word yet," he warned. "I know you probably have a vision for your coronation banquet, but I want to rock your world for a second before we dish." The prince started to say something, but Eddie was already heading for the pot he'd just taken from the oven, and he'd sold enough hard ideas to enough rich show-business types to know that the key was continually talking until they broke down.
"So a banquet is a big deal, but you hired me, right?" he asked, rummaging in a drawer for a tasting spoon. Simon handed him one. "Thanks, Chef. Now, I know you want to keep it new, and I figure maybe a little relaxed. It's a formal occasion but we can set a real easygoing tone with the food, make sure it's comfortable as well as high-brow. The hard part's over by the time you get to the feast, right? So I have a ton of ideas but just consider this first: hot sandwich bar."
He scooped up a mini-meatball from the pan, made sure it had plenty of sauce on it, and turned to the prince, who said, "I really need to -- "
"Taste this, I know!" Eddie replied. "It smells amazing, but trust me, there's truth in this advertising."
"You see -- " the prince tried again, but Eddie held the spoon in front of his face.
"Here, taste," he commanded. It was, actually, a little gratifying that even a prince couldn't disobey the command to try some of Eddie's food. He took the spoon from Eddie's hand and sampled the mini-meatball with genuine consideration. Simon was already offering another one to Alanna on a toast point.
"Tarragon mini-meatballs in red pepper marinara," Eddie announced. "You get a big pan of these and you stuff 'em in an olive oil roll with some fresh basil or rosemary..."
The prince had finished chewing; Alanna was watching him, her mouth still full, and it only then dawned on Eddie that there might be a subtext to the conversation that he wasn't privy to.
"You made this, just now?" the prince asked, swallowing.
"Well, I improvised with what Simon had lying around," Eddie admitted. "If you don't like the flavor profile we could go with a traditional marinara, maybe a little more garlic in the meats'a'ball..."
He put a fake-Italian accent on the last word, trying to anchor them firmly in the lighthearted world he'd been pitching, but all the prince said was, "This is your concept for the banquet?"
"Well, one idea, sure," Eddie ventured. "Easy to prepare, easy to serve, keeps the line moving. Not just these, obviously. You get five or six different hot dishes -- meatballs, some spicy chicken, sausage, sweet potato curry or fried butternut squash for a vegetarian option -- and you got some guys dishing the hots into the breads. Add a condiment bar, you're good to go. Passed apps beforehand, plenty 'a side dishes. Simon says he'll do the cake, which is great, because I am many things but I am not a pastry chef."
He watched the prince carefully, but the man had a pretty good poker face. Now was perhaps the time to let things simmer, to let him consider; Eddie glanced at Alanna, who had been both kind and fun to talk to when setting all this up, but she was still eyeballing her boss.
"Well," Prince Gregory said finally, "It's a little informal for what I had in mind, but I'll consider it as an option."
"Red sauce," Eddie replied. "Nobody resists the red sauce. Up top!"
He held up his hand for a high-five, but he had definitely misjudged something about the situation. The prince just stared at him. Eddie shot a pleading look at Alanna, and after a split second she leaned around the prince and finished the high-five. Well, he at least had one ally on the royal side.
"Simon," the prince said, turning to the other chef. "Include these with dinner tonight, if you would. My father will want to try them. Service as Mr. Rambler -- "
"Eddie," Eddie said. "Or Dude," he added jokingly.
It backfired immediately. "Service as Mr....Dude recommends," the prince finished. "I'd like to see a range of your 'hot sandwich' options, but I'll want some menus for a multi-course sit-down dinner as well, and perhaps a few other concepts as they come to you. Speak to Alanna tomorrow morning about a meeting, when you're ready, to go over your ideas."
"You got it," Eddie answered, hiding most of his glee and all of his amusement. The prince, without another word, turned and left the kitchen, Alanna trailing behind him with a little wave goodbye.
Eddie glanced at Simon and saw Simon was already looking sidelong at him. Eddie broke first; Simon didn't exactly crack up laughing, but once Eddie started to laugh he deigned to give him a good-natured chuckle.
"Mr. Dude," Eddie hooted. "Oh man. What a stuffed shirt."
"He's a good man at heart," Simon replied, shaking his head. "I've known him from a child. He'll govern well."
"Hope so for your sake," Eddie said. "Anyway, doesn't matter. He liked the meatballs and I can work with the rest. I just gotta un-stuffify him a little."
"I wish you luck in your quest," Simon told him, and went back to prepping for dinner.
Gregory didn't stop walking until he was in his office, down the hall from the kitchen. It was the place he felt most at home, at least nowadays. In the middle of the room, with its bookshelves and worktable, wide bay windows and prized antique telescope, he felt like he could, in fact, rule wisely. At the moment he felt mostly taken aback; he turned to face Alanna, not sure what to say.
"So," Alanna said finally, after a few seconds of silence. "Good job firing him back there."
"I didn't know he could actually cook," Gregory said, because it was all he could think about. The little spoonful of food, a simple meatball in piping hot sauce, had shocked him into silence. Simon was a good chef and had taught Gregory to appreciate good food, and apparently Rambler knew a thing or two about good food too.
He also hadn't thought the man would be quite so good-looking in person. On the television, on the rare occasions Gregory had seen it in passing, he always looked sort of...
Well, trashy. Might as well admit to his own snobbery. In person, moving, speaking excitedly, he was a very good looking man. Tall, with dark gold hair bleached white at the tips and deep blue eyes, he had a compellingly mobile face. And that ridiculous flowery shirt didn't hide the fact that the man was built like a...like a viking, or a tree. A viking tree, perhaps. Solid enough to climb.
"I didn't know he could cook like that," Alanna admitted.
"It was really good!" Gregory exploded.
"I know!" Alanna replied, equally surprised and excited.
"Is all his food that good?"
"I don't know!"
"He just made that up out of whatever was laying around..." Gregory circled his desk, dropping into his chair. "Alanna, not firing him would uncomplicate both our lives."
"Mine more so than yours, but yes," she said.
"And he can cook."
"He can cook," she agreed. Gregory understood the distinction. He could still taste the faint bite of sweet pepper in the sauce.
"Okay. So we have a cook. That's good! We'll just find a way to tame his...natural exuberance in front of dad. And maybe me," he added ruefully. Alanna carefully wasn't smiling. Gregory pointed at her. "In the meantime, you're on high-five duty. In fact, that's now a permanent part of your job. I'm appointing you to high-five anyone who wants me to high-five them."
That did break out one of her better smiles, the one that dimpled her cheeks. He saw it less now, as her boss, than he had when they were children and she was his friend. She still was his friend, it was just...boundaries were being renegotiated in light of his coronation.
"You're lucky you're pretty," she said. "I have a few things to deal with. Do you want me to set you an alarm for dinner with his majesty?"
"No, I've got it covered," he said, and she turned to go. "Don't wear yourself out," he added, genuinely concerned.
"I'm fine. Save me a meats'a'ball!" she called as she left.
The palace had a formal dining room of course, for state dinners and feasts and the various diplomatic parties Michaelis had thrown and Gregory would be expected to. It was a big, echoing room with unfortunate baroque decor that Gregory would like to streamline, but the historians would clutch their pearls. The family dining room, where he and his father ate most of their meals, was smaller and more modern, not subject to the same attempt at awe as most of the palace. Gregory arrived just as the hot dishes were being set on the table, and saw a rustic bowl of Eddie Rambler's meatballs placed at his father's elbow, along with a plate of crusty bread.
"Quiet day?" he asked Michaelis, helping himself to a cup of stew while his father dished up some of the meatballs.
"For the most part. Every day I do a little less," his father replied. "Bread?"
"Please, and I'll take those when you're done, too," Gregory replied. Michaelis passed over the bread, then took the stew in exchange for the meatballs. "Well, that's the point of the handover, so that the chaos is out of the way before the coronation."
"Having gone through my own, I can tell you, you're very optimistic about how well these things work," Michaelis replied.
"You know me, Crown Prince Optimism," Gregory said. "I'm sure there'll be wrinkles, but it's not like you're leaving for an eight-month cruise like Grandfather did when you were crowned."
"Never forgave him for that."
"You seemed to recover," Gregory pointed out, amused. "Something in particular you wanted to discuss?"
"I can't enjoy dinner with my only son and heir?"
Gregory grinned at him. "You can, but you sounded like you had something on your mind earlier."
"Well, sort of. I had some colorful commentary about your impending reign today."
Gregory sat up straighter, perturbed. If his father's aides were questioning his competency, or God forbid some of the parliament --
"Don't look so distraught, it's nothing to do with your qualifications," Michaelis said soothingly. "Anyway, I'd fight that battle for you if they questioned them. I've taught you all I know about statecraft and diplomacy. And I think some of those fancy schools I sent you to taught you something about economics."
"I didn't mail-order the MBA," Gregory agreed.
"I hope not. If you did, I overpaid. No, I think you're ready to be king and most people agree with me. And I'm very proud of that," Michaelis added, giving him a meaningful look.
Gregory narrowed his eyes. "And thank you."
Michaelis set down his spoon. "But I think once the coronation is over, it's time to seriously consider finding a partner."
Ah. Back to that, then.
He supposed it was good of Dad to face the issue head-on, at least. A lot of royals would either ignore an inconveniently gay son or try to evangelize him back to heterosexuality, and Michaelis had always been good about not doing that. Still, it didn't stop him from insisting on a semi-annual discussion of Gregory's lack of a husband.
"Dad," he began warily, and Michaelis winced just at that, cutting him off.
"I know, I know you don't want to rush things, but this is important. You need someone who can make sure your plans go forward if you get sick -- or God forbid you die."
"This is great dinner conversation."
"Would you prefer it be breakfast conversation?" Michaelis asked, which was an annoyingly good point. "You need someone to be able to step in at a moment's notice, someone who carries the authority of the king without needing all the paperwork to back them up. It's not just that, either. The people should see that you have a...a backup plan. It's for the stability of the kingdom as much as anything else."
"I just don't think the backup plan has to be a spouse," Gregory said.
"Yes, I heard you the last time someone brought this up. You can think all you want, Gregory, but that won't turn the tide of public opinion. You need a visible, present, and appropriate helpmeet and workmate."
"I have Alanna."
"And if you married Alanna I would be the first in line to congratulate you both," Michaelis said. "But you're not going to."
"No," Gregory admitted. He could; marrying Alanna would solve all kinds of problems. But it would cause new ones. And he wouldn't do that to her, even if she said yes, which she wasn't going to. Because he loved her, and she loved him, but not like that.
"Good," Michaelis said, surprising him. He blinked across the dinner table at his father.
"Good?"
"See, here's the part I don't think you ever hear when this comes up," Michaelis said, leaning forward a little. "You need a companion too, son. It's hard going this alone. You need someone you can vent to at the end of the day -- someone who looks after you and lets you look after them. You need a refuge from the throne. Like your mother was for me."
"Doubly unfair to Alanna, then. She wouldn't get much in return and she wouldn't even get paid for it anymore," Gregory said. Mother's death was still a tender topic, but if his father was going to pitch it this way, he had to ask. "Who's been there for you since she died?"
"Never mind that. We're talking about you, not me," Michaelis said shortly. "Look, we are very traditional in some ways but you know nobody would care if you had a king consort instead of a queen, and there are options for heirs. You just have to have someone."
"King consort," Gregory snorted.
"Fine, give him whatever title you like."
"Duke of Buckingham."
"Eh what?" Michaelis asked, puzzled.
"Sorry. Dumb joke," Gregory said. "James the first of England had a boyfriend. He made him Duke of Buckingham."
"Well, then make him a Duke, it doesn't matter," Michaelis said, waving it away with typical Shivadh arrogance, as if the monarchy of England was a minor concern next to the throne of Askazer-Shivadlakia. "The point is, whoever or whatever he is, he'll need to be brought up to speed on royal etiquette, start learning to step in for you if he has to. He'll have to have all kinds of PR briefings."
"You're not really selling me on this," Gregory pointed out. His father, halfway through a bite of meatball, didn't reply. "There's not a lot of spare time, Dad, you know better than anyone that running the country takes a lot of work."
"And you know better than anyone that one has to make time for one's family," Michaelis said, and then delivered the killing blow. "If you don't, I'll do it for you."
Gregory set his silverware down. "No."
"I could hold a ball," Michaelis threatened.
"Dad, no -- "
"Every eligible bachelor in the country," Michaelis said with relish. "I'll import a few. A foreign spouse is always good for diplomatic relations. Maybe one or two millionaires from America."
"You can't," Gregory protested, even though he knew his father was joking.
Probably. Mostly.
"There will be waltzing," Michaelis said darkly.
"You wouldn't dare."
"Then you've got to do it yourself," Michaelis retorted. Gregory sighed. "At least think about it, all right? Get Alanna to help, she knows all your exes, and she probably has better taste than you do."
"Now that's just mean, Dad."
"It's you, or Alanna, or the Ball," Michaelis said, spooning one of the meatballs onto a crust of bread and popping it in his mouth as if that decided things.
"Fine," Gregory replied, more than ready to change the subject. "I'll talk to her. What do you think of those meatballs, by the way?"
Michaelis swallowed thoughtfully. "Pretty good. I was just thinking I should ask Simon to put them on the regular rotation. A bit different from his usual."
"The new chef made them, the one Alanna hired to do the coronation banquet," Gregory said.
"Well, he seems talented. Although I don't know about meatballs in red sauce for a coronation."
"I've asked him for some other ideas. I think he has plenty."
"I look forward to hearing more," Michaelis said. "All right, let's lay business to rest. I've been thinking of overseeing some upgrades to the fishing lodge..."
In the groves of the palace grounds the next morning, the dew was fading from the grass and the sun was barely peeking over the mountains. Birds were bathing or hunting breakfast, the sky overhead was a deep cloudless blue, and the light was at the perfect angle for filming.
"Good morning to everyone who's keeping it new on Maxtagram!" Eddie said. "It's a beautiful day. I've had a good breakfast, thank you Simon, and I'm escaping the palace early today."
He started to walk, keeping the phone on its selfie stick as stable as he could, trying to capture as much of the natural beauty behind him as possible. "I think the first thing a good chef in a strange new country should do is get out and socialize. Meet the people, learn about what they're eating, start tracing that path from farm to table, you know? So here I go!"
He twisted to show them the road down to the village, walking backwards briefly, the quaint glow of lit houses visible behind him.
"I'm going to learn everything there is to know about..." he paused, dramatically, and then squinted down at his hand. "Askazer-Shivadlakia."
He held up his hand to the camera, grinning, showing the words written on it. "Nailed it. Anyway, I'm going to be way too busy eating everything and meeting everyone to take any more video myself, but keep an eye peeled here on Maxtagram for photos. I'm sure it'll be Truly Tasty."
He finished with a wave at the camera, ended the recording, and uploaded it without even any editing. Practically rustic, and very satisfying. With a clean heart and a hunger to learn, he picked up his pace heading into town.
Gregory ben Michaelis hadn't got to be crown prince of a small country by sleeping in, any more than Eddie Rambler had become a television star that way. Some of his staff didn't love morning meetings, so he made concessions and never started one before 8:30. Still, by the time the daily briefing rolled around he was more than ready with marching orders for the day, taking in reports and handing out assignments.
"Lastly," he finished, "I know it feels like this is some kind of strange summer break before school starts again, but there are things we just can't start work on until after the coronation."
Alanna's phone beeped, but she ignored it, so he did as well. "This is why it's so important that after the coronation, we be ready to hit the ground running," he continued. "Do what you can now and keep the first month of the new regency -- "
Her phone beeped again. Gregory shot her a questioning look, but she shook her head, not looking at it, mouthing, "Sorry."
"Keep the first month of the new regency free," he said. "I mean entirely free. No concert tickets, no hot dates."
The staff laughed, which almost covered the sound of a third beep. Alanna looked down at her phone, finally silencing it, then frowned.
"I promise I'll make it up to you once we're on stable ground," Gregory finished. "Okay. Most of you, your suffering is over for the day. Those with morning meetings with me, get yourself some food, give the kitchen your lunch orders, and come back to settle in."
They filed out, chatting amongst themselves, and Gregory caught Alanna by the elbow before she could leave.
"Even for you that was a lot of texts," he said, smiling to show he wasn't annoyed. "New boyfriend being clingy, or should I worry for the state of my country?"
She gaped at him. "Uh...it's the country, actually."
A brief shot of adrenaline ran through him; his father had handled various crises over the years, and this might be his first.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Why didn't you interrupt the meeting if it was serious? Has something -- "
"No, sorry, it's not..." She rested her hand over his, reassuring. "There's no emergency, exactly. They were status updates from the palace communications office, I just need to find out what's going on. Traffic to the national website is spiking."
"The national website? Like -- are we being hacked?" he asked in disbelief.
"Not the government intranet. The tourism site," she said, and then did a double take. "Did you just ask if we're being hacked?"
"We might be! These things happen, you know. Why is the tourist website getting traffic, are we in the news?"
"I'm not sure..." Alanna brushed past him to the small television mounted in one of the bookshelves. "I asked them to find out how people are finding us, what they're searching to get there..."
Her phone beeped again as she was turning on the television, and she blinked at it. "Oh. Ah."
"Oh, ah?" Gregory echoed.
"Well, the good news is, I don't think anything bad has happened," Alanna said.
"What's the bad news?"
She gestured with her phone at the television, which was playing an American cable news channel.
"...nation of Askazer-Shivadlakia is trending this morning after a series of Maxtagram posts from celebrity chef and influencer Eddie Rambler," the anchor said, as an image of Rambler appeared next to her.
"Eddie Rambler crashed our website," Alanna said, her voice rising in suppressed amusement.
"Rambler has been hired by Crown Prince Gregory ben Michaelis to cater his coronation banquet," the anchor continued, and then she smiled, and Gregory had a great foreboding. "What everyone seems to want to know this morning, though, is whether Prince Gregory is looking for a queen."
Gregory's official royal portrait, which they had admittedly posted as part of the press packet on the tourism website, replaced Rambler's. Alanna giggled softly as Gregory hit mute.
"He posted a video to Maxtagram this morning and he's been putting up photos ever since," she said.
"Find him and calm him the hell down," Gregory said.
"I have to say," Alanna continued, ignoring him and scrolling Maxtagram on her phone, "he's doing a great job of showing off the country. Good PR if you ask me."
"I don't need good PR, Alanna! I need to get through my first few months as king without the entire world staring at us."
That was a good point he hadn't even thought he was making until he made it, and it snapped Alanna out of her amusement.
"I'll put someone on it," she agreed. "Look, this is why you hired a social media manager for the palace. It'll be fine."
"Don't -- don't yell at him or anything," Gregory added, because Rambler probably hadn't intentionally done it. Maxtagram had a way of just...getting out of hand. At least he assumed; he didn't have one personally, but it seemed like Alanna was always telling him about some drama the royal cousins were getting into on the app. "Don't make him take down the videos, just tell him to tone it down."
"Of course," Alanna said. "Let me handle it, you have meetings all morning."
"I sure do," Gregory sighed. "Okay. Budgets."
"Top left hand drawer, and in the Finance folder on the shared drive."
"Right. I'll take it from here, you deal with the website situation."
"Always a pleasure, your highness," she said.
Once she was gone, he turned the television off entirely, muttering looking for a queen dismissively under his breath. That was the last joke he needed anyone to make right now, including himself, but it was a little bit funny, he supposed. He wondered if he should get a Maxtagram of his own, just for spin control, or to see what Rambler had actually said about the country. Or about him.
Then his staff started trickling back in, at least the ones he needed to meet with, and the idea was shuffled to the back of his mind to make way for more important affairs of state.
Eddie was elbows-deep in bread dough and loving life when the Palace caught up with him. He didn't even know they'd been chasing, but he supposed he should have expected it.
"Mr. Rambler?" came a voice, and Eddie began extracting himself from the dough with difficulty, while the baker who had been graciously teaching him how to make Askazer twist-bread looked on in amusement. "Eddie?"
"The invitation to call me Dude extended to you, light of the palace," Eddie replied, finally getting free and turning around to face her. The baker's teenaged daughter, who was filming him for a later post, hastily tucked the camera away when she saw who it was. "Did I miss an appointment?"
"You crashed the internet," Alanna said, a hint of a smile twitching around her lips.
"I hate it when I do that," Eddie said to Baker Junior, who giggled at him. "Hey, shoot me that video, would you? Have you got a Maxtagram?" at her nod, he added, "Then you post it, tag me, and I'll link to yours. We'll get you to influencer in no time. Okay," he continued, rubbing his hands together to clean them of dough. "What'd I do again, now?"
"You namedropped the country on your social media," Alanna continued. "It brought down our tourism website."
"Oh, snap. I didn't even think about that. Is it causing a lot of problems?" Eddie asked, frowning. "Are people like trolling the prince or something?"
"No, but it's giving Communications a headache," she said. "The palace would just like you to tone down the media blitz a little."
"Oh sure, I can pull back on posting to a couple of times a day, at least when it comes to PR stuff. I was just having a great time, there's so much good food here. If I'd known Aska..."
He looked imploringly at her.
"No, you gotta learn to say it," she said, hands on hips.
"Aw, she's onto me," Eddie said to the baker. "Aska...zer...Shivad...lakios."
"So, so close," she replied, finally grinning.
"If I'd known your country had food this good I would have been here years ago. I'm about to be the guy who discovered Askazer twist-bread and brought it to the masses."
"The masses here have had it for about five hundred years," Alanna replied.
"Touche."
"Look, I'm really sorry," she continued, subtly leading him out of the bakery's kitchen. "Truth is the prince doesn't need more eyeballs on him right now."
"I mean, he's throwing a coronation."
"That's why," she said. "It's not that I want you to stop talking because lord knows we could use the tourism, we just weren't ready for...you."
"I'm not trying to condescend here, but I just obliterated your tourism website, so I need to ask, do you actually have a Communications office?" he said. There was a dark car decorated with the seal of the government parked nearby; it was clearly where she was headed, but he hadn't quite finished his tour yet.
"We do -- "
"Oh, sweet, then no problem. I'll just coordinate with them. I do it all the time when I do state tours. I'll have my guy back in the US send me the standard packet, we can make up a strategy," he said brightly. "I love a strategy."
"You do," she repeated, clearly disbelieving, as someone got out of the car and held the door for them.
"I do, I live for that stuff. Okay, like, this is fine," he said, waving to the car, "But I need five minutes. It's for salami. Can I have five minutes for salami?"
He could see Alanna weighing whether this would actually be five minutes or closer to fifty; he squeezed his thumb and forefinger together, pleadingly.
"It's going to look really bad if I have Security pull you out of a salumeria," she told him.
"Yes!" he pumped his fist and raced for the storefront he'd seen earlier, with tons of cured meats in the window. She trailed behind ominously, so he hustled up to the bemused clerk behind the counter.
"I have this much money and I want one of everything," he said, holding up a bill he'd changed from American money earlier.
"Not enough," the man shook his head, but he was already pulling various paper-wrapped sausages together. "I'll give you the tourist package plus fish salami."
"Fish salami," Eddie breathed, eyes widening. "That sounds terrible."
The man grinned. "It is. Punishment for being pushy."
"I'll come back with more next time, I promise," Eddie said, passing the cash across and getting a bundle of anonymous tubes in return. "Which one's the fish?"
"That's for you to discover," the man told him.
Back outside, Alanna was looking at her phone. As he skidded to a stop in front of her, she held it up, showing a timer at the 4:30 mark.
"See, thirty seconds to spare," he said as he climbed into the car, stuffing salami into an already very full messenger bag. Alanna, sliding in after him, offered her purse. He put what he hoped wasn't the fish salami into it. "There's more where that came from."
"You'd be surprised how many men tell me that," she informed him gravely.
"I like you more every hour, Alanna."
"Probably for the best, because I'm here mainly to spoil everyone's fun," she told him. "Palace, driver, please."
"I thought that was Prince Gregory's job, spoiling the fun."
"Unkind." She swatted him gently on the arm. "His highness has a lot on his mind right now."
"And it's your job to smooth the way, eh?" he asked.
"I do what I can. I'm very good at it and I enjoy it, so it's not usually as annoying as I pretend," she said with a grin.
"I think you and I are gonna get along just fine," Eddie replied. "You set me up with your people and I'll text my PR folks, and in the meantime we'll pretend to be a power couple off to take over Monaco, how's that sound?"
"We did once try to invade Monaco, around the 16th century or so," Alanna said.
"Imagine what might have been," Eddie told her solemnly.
Askazer-Shivadlakia was not a large country, or politically important, or particularly wealthy. Traditionally, ruling it was tedious, but rarely a struggle; a good job for a man who liked math and thought diplomacy was exciting. Gregory did sometimes wonder if earlier kings got as stressed out by olive crop yields as he did, and if they'd felt as much like they were drowning when they came up on the coronation.
From where he sat, on the bench under the big bay window of his office in the palace's ground floor, he could see a couple of the old kings -- two were in portraits in his office, and one (so it was rumored) was buried in the ornamental garden just past the road leading up to the palace entrance. The sun was setting over the grounds, turning the garden golden and the road into a deep black streak among the grassy hills. He'd meant to move away from his desk for a few minutes to enjoy his dinner, but he'd only picked at the meal, and now he was lost in contemplation of the sunset.
There was a smart double-rap on the door frame, Alanna's efficient knock. From the doorway, she said, "Penny for your thoughts."
He sighed, not looking around. "The Shivadh dollar's pretty strong right now. You could get a lot more and better thoughts for a penny in France."
"I like the personal touch. Hand-crafted by a traditionalist," she replied. He turned to shoot her the best smile he could manage. "I mean it, Greg. Anything I can help with?"
"No, not yet," he said, turning back to the landscape. "Just ticking off a few things on the to-do list. Stuff I've been avoiding for a week."
"Like what?"
He shrugged. "You ever stop and look at something you're doing and think maybe you bit off more than you can chew?"
"Yeah, the first six months I worked for you," Alanna replied, coming to sit on the other end of the bench, more or less forcing the conversation. It was something he appreciated about her; she knew when to push.
"I wasn't that bad," Greg protested. "Besides, you knew what you were getting into."
"Even for you it was a lot," she told him.
"It wasn't."
"You were named crown prince and your first diplomatic act afterward was to adopt a puffin while you were on vacation in Iceland."
"I rescued the puffin," he retorted, still annoyed that she was bringing up the puffin a year later. "And I gave it back. You don't give things back if you adopt them."
Alanna smiled. She also knew that needling him about the puffin might take him out of himself a little. He rolled his eyes at her.
"So, what puffin is worrying you this time?" she asked. "Even if I can't help as your chief of staff, I can help as your friend."
"It probably is more a chief of staff problem," he said. "Dad's brought up some deficiencies in my palace management."
Alanna's brow furrowed as she frowned. "Like what?"
"I think I need to put a meeting on my calendar," he said. "Two -- make it three months from now, when we're well clear of the dust of the coronation."
"Okay," she agreed, opening the case on her tablet. "Who's attending?"
"You, me, head of communications for a start," he said. "Head of our tourism office, too. And add my father but make his invite optional."
"Sure," she replied, fingers dancing over the screen. "What do I call it?"
"Initial planning meeting, royal wedding," he said.
"Getting married?" Alanna asked, laughing. When she saw his expression, the laughter stopped abruptly. "I mean, really? Do...do I know him?"
"Not yet. Well, probably not," Gregory replied. "I need you to help me find him. It's a planning meeting to manage finding me a spouse. Come prepared to brainstorm."
"If you want me to set you up -- "
"No, I don't want to rope romance into this," he said. "I want to find someone appropriate. I need a king consort, not a boyfriend. Diplomatic, preferably royalty from somewhere nearby or with sufficient wealth that he knows what he's getting into. Potentially open-minded on the subject of adopting children and having extramarital affairs."
Alanna, quietly, closed her tablet case again.
"Greg," she said.
"I told you this was a chief of staff thing, not a friend thing."
"You cannot meeting-minutes yourself a husband," she said.
"I'm sure it's been done. Probably by kings before me," he pointed out.
"Love isn't a function of government!"
"I'm not looking for love, Al. I'm too busy for that. But Dad's not wrong that I need a partner, and the sooner the better. If we find someone with a reasonably even temper and decent ego we can make it work. Actually, a narcissist might be just the thing," he said thoughtfully.
"Might as well just marry me," she said.
"That's what Dad said. I would, but it'd hardly be fair to you. Anyway, I'm already out; people would know it was a sham if I did that. And you deserve a paycheck for what you put up with."
"But your husband doesn't?"
"It's not like being king consort doesn't have perks. And if I like the look of him and he doesn't mind me, we could make something work. I know it's a tall order but there can't be that big a shortage of sensible, good-looking gay men in Europe."
"There's a shortage of that in this room," Alanna drawled.
"Ouch!"
"I just mean you're not being sensible. But I suppose you are being...royal," Alanna sighed. "I don't suppose Jerry -- "
"Jerry's my cousin," Gregory said, horrified. "And straight. And a buffoon."
"People like a buffoon. Fine, not Jerry," Alanna said. "I'll start a list, but I'm doing this under protest."
"If you think about it, a husband-search is probably the most royal thing I've done," Gregory said, as she opened the tablet again.
"Royal pain in my ass," Alanna said. "Invite sent, but we will be circling back on this."
"You and my father both. Your country thanks you for your service."
"Hm." She stood up, tucking the tablet under one arm. "Try to get to bed before midnight, huh? The spreadsheets will wait a day."
"That's a lie, but I'll do my best."
He let her kiss him on the forehead, then turned back to the window as she left.
Chapter 3: Seven Weeks
Chapter Text
SEVEN WEEKS UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
After dragging the entire internet to their doorstep, where Askazer-Shivadlakia became a meme for about 29 hours, Eddie Rambler laid low. At least that was what Gregory assumed he was doing. He didn't see him much around the palace, and while Rambler didn't stop posting completely, he did seem to be working well with palace communications about when and where to share his glamorous life in a small European kingdom. Gregory asked Alanna for a daily update on the Maxtagram situation, but after two days of that Alanna took his phone away and maliciously installed Maxtagram on it so he had to check it himself. He considered using his new account to become an influencer, just to annoy her, but that would have been funnier when they were kids.
He was just finishing up for the day, and about to check Maxtagram as a break from paperwork, when he looked up from his desk and caught sight of the chef through his window. At first he didn't realize who it was; the sun was down and the figure on the road wasn't much more than a vaguely two-legged shape against the last red of sunset, with a weird bulge on one side and a single, strange antenna.
He moved to the window, open to let in the summer air, and confirmed to himself that it was Rambler; the bulge was a bag slung over one shoulder, and the antenna resolved itself into an archery bow.
Before he could withdraw, satisfied, Rambler saw him and lifted his bow in greeting, cutting across the grass to the window instead of following the road.
"Evening, your highness," Rambler said, coming to rest his arms on the ledge of the window, just below chest-height. "Working late?"
"Good evening, Mr. Rambler," Gregory said, feeling strangely formal and awkward, standing above him. Rambler didn't seem bothered by it.
"I told you, Eddie's fine," Rambler said.
"Eddie," Gregory agreed, casting around for some way to resolve this. He ended up seating himself on the bench, which at least put them closer in height, though it still felt odd. "What are you doing out at this hour?" he continued.
"Oh!" Eddie said excitedly. "Fishing! The lake fish come up to feed at dusk."
Gregory cocked his head at him. "You were bow-fishing?"
"I've been learning." Eddie jostled the bow slung over one shoulder. "Found out that your National Conservation guys, your park rangers? They teach classes in it at the lake east of the palace."
"We're very proud of our heritage," Gregory managed.
"You should be. I haven't had this much fun in years. You get your bow and you stand in a little boat like a stand-up paddleboard, and you push out onto the lake -- and when the fish come up to feed, whap!" Eddie smacked the window ledge for emphasis.
"Yes, I...grew up here, we went bow-fishing when I was a boy," Gregory said.
"I'll be honest, I didn't think it'd work," Eddie said. "But check it out!"
He flicked the bag off his shoulder and lifted it up; it turned out to be a wicker basket, containing several fish. They were average size, plump from the bounty of springtime in the lake. They looked healthy, which pleased Gregory as a monarch, and there were a respectable number of them with only small wounds, which impressed him as a sportsman.
"That'll show me to be skeptical," Eddie said, shouldering the basket again. "Anyhow, I'm gonna clean these while they're fresh and pack them in ice for Simon. Maybe do a late-night fish fry. Hey, have you eaten?" he asked, brow furrowing. "Getting late, your highness."
"A few hours ago," Gregory said. "I was just -- "
"Great!" Eddie interrupted, and started climbing through the window.
It was just far enough off the ground to be difficult, but even as Gregory went to help him through, he hauled himself up and swung his entire body over the ledge, in a move more reminiscent of a parkour video than a cooking demonstration. Gregory blinked at him.
"Can I leave this here?" Eddie asked, setting the bow down. "Perfect. Come have some fish with me."
"I...if you insist," Gregory managed, following as Eddie headed for the kitchen.
Once there, Gregory made his way to a stool at the prep table as Eddie bustled around, digging out knives and bowls. He put a pot on the stove and poured oil into it, heating the oil while he gutted the fish deftly.
"You look like you've done this a lot," Gregory observed after a while, for lack of anything else to say.
"Oh, yeah," Eddie said, sleeves rolled up, muscles in his forearms bunching and relaxing as he worked. "I used to sling fish at a fry shack. I could probably do this in my sleep."
"Sounds like a difficult job."
Eddie gave him a curious look as he laid the fish out in a neat row on a prep tray and began filleting two of the biggest. "Not usually what people say when I tell them that. Fry cooks don't get the kind of respect TV stars do."
"Well, there's hot oil involved, which as a royal I'm very familiar with," Gregory said, and Eddie's jaw dropped.
"Was that a joke about boiling oil?" he asked, delighted. "Where'd you pull that out of?"
"When you're attending boarding school and they know your father's a king, you get all kinds of good material," Gregory told him. "My friends used to call coming over to my room for evening study storming the castle."
"Wild. Did you get Vlad the Impaler jokes?"
"Mm, no, I think we're too Mediterranean for that," Gregory said. "One of my teachers called me Prince Charming for a year, though."
"That's equally wild but way less cool," Eddie said.
"How so?" Gregory asked, puzzled.
"Not cool for teachers to do it, that's punching down. Kids don't need that kinda stress."
"It wasn't terrible. It was good-natured, and if I couldn't hold up to that, I'd never hold up under all this," Gregory said thoughtfully. He'd never thought much of the ribbing he'd gotten over being a prince; it was just people who didn't fully understand the situation and were probably trying to process the strangeness of his existence. But it was a little nice to see someone having sympathy for the mortified fourteen-year-old Prince Charming.
"Uneasy lies the head, eh?" Eddie asked kindly, whisking something in one of the bowls. Gregory looked at him in surprise, startled as much by the literary reference as by a sudden return to reality from his thoughts.
"It kinda spoils my schtick, but I can read," Eddie added, grinning over his shoulder. "And Shakespeare was low entertainment for rude mechanicals, so I guess it's on brand."
"It's from one of the histories, though, isn't it?" Gregory asked, hoping it wasn't from Macbeth.
"Henry the Fourth, Part Two: The Empire Strikes Back," Eddie agreed.
"No, part two would be Attack of the Clones," Gregory said thoughtfully.
Eddie let out a startled laugh, almost dropping the fish he'd been about to put in the batter. He set the fillets down on the prep pan and turned to Gregory.
"That is the nerdiest thing I've ever heard royalty say," he declared, pointing at Gregory. "You just had that right there at the front of your brain."
"In my defense, Alanna really loves the prequels," Gregory said, which set Eddie off again. He laughed his way through battering the fillets and laying them carefully into the oil, then wiped his hands on a towel and set the old wind-up timer Simon kept by the stove.
"Do you like Shakespeare?" Gregory asked, curious now.
"Usually I joke that I've just spent a lot of time in parks," Eddie said. Gregory frowned. "Because Shakespeare's always happening in a park somewhere?"
"It takes an unusual level of dedication to see Henry IV part 2," Gregory said. "It's not really park fare."
"Man, this is really going to spoil my schtick," Eddie said, washing his hands and gathering up a mesh straining spoon, big enough to scoop out the fish with. "There's a reason I went into TV, my friend. I majored in Theatre." He put a dramatic flair on the last word, bowing regally. "Of the thirty-nine-ish plays of Shakespeare, I've seen thirty-six."
"Which ones are you missing?"
"Well, I've never seen The Winter's Tale, that's just bad timing on my part. I've never been sober for all of Titus Andronicus, so I don't know if that counts. And I've never seen Twelfth Night."
"Twelfth Night? Really? Isn't that one required to happen in parks?" Gregory asked. He could recall seeing at least three versions of it. Even his cousin Jerry liked Twelfth Night. He called it a banger.
"I've been saving it for a special occasion," Eddie said. "I mean, I've read it, I know what it's about. But like, I saw Hamlet three times in two years for school, more if you count all the movie versions I had to watch. Do you know how boring Hamlet gets?"
"Some would say it begins boring," Gregory said.
"Well, I didn't want to ever be the kind of douchebag who thinks, Man, Twelfth Night again? I want it to have the preciousness of rarity," Eddie finished, flipping the fish deftly in the oil. "I'm going to wait until I hear about a really great production of it and also it's my birthday or something, and then I'll just go all out with it."
"That's an oddly charming idea," Gregory said.
"Thanks, I'm full of 'em," Eddie replied with a grin. "Does Askazer-Shivadlakia have a state theatre or anything like that?"
"That was good, you didn't even have to look at your hand that time," Gregory pointed out.
"Thanks, I've been practicing," Eddie replied.
"We have a small national theatre, but it's mainly for cultural preservation. Most of the arts in the country are independent. We subsidize a lot of them through grants, but there are legal constraints on how far the government can dictate how the money is used."
"Guess I asked the right guy," Eddie said. "Well, I can't advise you to fund any of the histories and most of the tragedies end badly for the kings, but the comedies have some decent princes."
"I'll bear that in mind."
"I suppose it's a lot, running a country," Eddie mused, poking the frying fish. "I mean, you must know that kind of information for everything that happens around here."
"Some of it I outsource," Gregory said, as Eddie scooped the fish onto a sheet of brown paper he'd found. "And if I didn't want the job I wouldn't have taken it."
"Aren't you kind of obliged, though?" Eddie asked, salting the fillets and tearing the paper into pieces to wrap them in. "Malt vinegar?"
"Probably, somewhere," Gregory replied, gesturing at the pantry.
"Helpful." Eddie rummaged in a rack of bottles nearby. "Aha!"
"Askazer-Shivadlakia is a democratic monarchy," Gregory continued. "Power doesn't automatically pass within families. The king has to be confirmed by a popular vote. The kind of personality who wants to be king tends to run in families, so it's convenient that I'm the king's child and wanted the job, but if I hadn't we'd just have held a general election."
"Wait, so you're elected?" Eddie asked, disbelieving. "That's beyond wild."
"It's not really different from electing a president, although the scale is smaller, of course," Gregory said. He'd developed a little patter for this explanation years ago, around the time he had seriously started considering election to kingship when his father retired. Eddie gathered up the fish in bundles and brought the bundles over to him as he explained. "We had a traditional monarchy, but one of our recent kings -- Gregory II, actually, I'm named for him -- saw what was happening in Russia just before the Revolution. He decided some pre-emptive democracy might be in order. A small country like ours needs stability and wants one person in office long-term, so generally rule is a life term once elected. But if the people don't like the king, it's possible to call a vote of no-confidence and a new election." He accepted the brown-paper bundle of fried fish Eddie offered, pulling a piece off to taste it. "That's very good. You can tell how fresh the fish was."
"Thanks. Hey, hang on," Eddie said, pulling out his phone. "Say cheese."
Greg huddled behind his fish a little, trying to show it off as the real star.
"Can't hurt that you're photogenic," Eddie said, setting the phone aside and biting into his own fish dinner. "Has a king ever actually been voted out?"
"Gregory II's son was voted out," Gregory said. "He lost to my grandfather."
"He lost to...so you're named for a guy you're not related to?" Eddie asked.
Gregory swallowed a mouthful of the succulent, crisp-crusted fish before replying. "Our sense of tradition is strong. He's a spiritual ancestor, anyway. Reminder to be a good king."
"Tell us, Crown Prince Gregory III, what makes a good king?" Eddie asked, holding out his fish like a microphone. Gregory smiled.
"A strong head for detail," he said. "Empathy, diplomacy, statesmanship. And since I'm elected I do have to be at least a little popular. Have to mind my manners. No boiling oil. Except for fish."
"No boiling oil is a pretty low bar to clear," Eddie replied.
"It does take more effort than that," Gregory admitted, as Eddie set the rest of his fish aside and picked up his phone again. "I'm not...really a natural at the likability part."
Eddie frowned down at his phone. "Well, they voted for you, so you can't be too bad at it."
"Hadn't thought of it that way," Gregory said, pondering this. He'd thought of it more like...a force of nature. He was of age and wanted the job, and was the King's son, so it was easier for the voters to simply let it happen. The idea of people voting for him because he was well-liked, rather than convenient, was a novel thought.
"Is it okay if I upload this?" Eddie asked, flashing the phone at him to show the photo he'd taken. It wasn't half-bad, even if less of it was of the fish and more was of him than he'd hoped. His hair looked fine, and he was giving what Alanna called the Smolder with his eyes. "Comms said I could upload any photos taken personally, as long as everyone in the photo gave verbal consent. The fish think I should," Eddie added, pointing to the now nearly-empty cone of paper with a smile.
"I suppose," Gregory said. "You'd know better than I would, it's your Maxtagram."
"Prince...Gregory...strong Maxtagram...game," Eddie said aloud as he typed, then looked up. "Any opinion on the fish?"
"I should probably make some kind of comment about fried fish being a sometimes food," Gregory said thoughtfully.
"It's fish! It's good for you. Omega 3s and all that."
Gregory grinned at him. "Hashtag truly-tasty? Or is this keeping it new?"
"Ah, you've been reading my posts!" Eddie shook a finger. "A good catchphrase is worth its weight in gold, especially as a hashtag, but it's all just showmanship. I'm postin' this without any scolding about fried food."
"Fair enough," Gregory replied. "I really should get back to work."
"Well, I'm a fry cook who majored in theatre so I'm not qualified to manage affairs of state," Eddie said. "But I think you should know, fish fried by me is the highlight of any day. It can only go downhill from here. So if you want to get some sleep -- and buddy you look good but you do look tired -- I think you should throw in the towel."
"You'll be my excuse, eh?" Gregory asked.
"There's photographic evidence of it on the internet," Eddie said solemnly.
He was tired, and the food was warming; he felt like his shoulders had dropped a few inches just from the last half hour.
"All right," he agreed. "Next time, though, I won't be bribed by fish."
"I'm sure I can come up with something," Eddie said. "Sleep well, your highness!" he added, calling after Gregory as he left the kitchen.
He made it to his bedroom, left most of his clothes on the floor, and fell into bed, asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Chapter 4: Six Weeks
Chapter Text
SIX WEEKS UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
"Good morning, readers and friends and everyone who is always keeping it new!" Eddie said into the phone camera. It was being carefully held by Simon, who had foolishly allowed himself to be roped into it.
Eddie felt good, and he knew he showed it; no need to fake cheer or excitement. He'd been plotting this for days but had been shocked when Alanna agreed to his plan. He suspected she'd said yes so readily in part because she could see the tired, drawn look on the prince's face as easily as he could.
"I'm blown away by the hospitality of Askazer-Shivadlakia -- ha, take that haters, I finally learned it off by heart -- and I'm going to showcase some of that for you today," he continued. "People love their food here and they love to share it!"
He held up a slice of the fish salami, which was...well, it was certainly new, he told himself.
"But I've worked my way through all of the cured meats, so I think longtime fans of the show will know what that means..." he blew air through his lips in a staccato drumroll as he flung the slice of salami aside. "It's time for cheese!"
Simon very patiently kept the phone still while Eddie waved his arms in the air, miming like he was at a football game, cheering wildly.
"But cheese is too good to eat alone," he said, once he'd calmed down. "You know I love to share a plate. And when you're planning a shindig like a coronation, you have to know what the belle of the ball wants. So stay tuned to Maxtagram today -- as soon as I'm done filming this, I'm going to go find his highness, Crown Prince Gregory, and try to convince him to come with me!"
Simon, otherwise unflappable, looked up from the camera screen and said, "What?" in a voice full of shock, outrage, and delight.
Eddie, knowing it didn't get funnier than that, reached out and took the phone, ending the recording.
"Are you really going to interrupt the prince's day for cheese?" Simon demanded, as Eddie edited the video, threw a million hashtags on it, and posted it immediately.
"Well, I'm gonna try. I figure if I can't get him I'll find someone from his staff who has a strong stomach," Eddie said, tucking the phone away. "Wanna come see me work?"
"I should have made popcorn," Simon replied, following him down the hallway. They could hear the prince's voice in his morning briefing; Alanna, standing just outside the doorway at the back of the crowd, gave a little wave when they approached.
"...discuss this again after the coronation," the prince was saying. "In the meantime, if my father tells you something different, it is still his kingdom. If you're concerned about conflicting orders, speak to Alanna, she'll make the final determination. Alanna?"
"Here, your highness," Alanna called.
"Keep me in the loop on any miscommunication."
"Never happier," she replied, to scattered laughter.
"All right, everyone's dismissed," Gregory said, and people began to file out, a few nodding at Eddie or Simon as they left. Alanna stepped into the now-empty office, save for Gregory, and Eddie put his head in the door.
"Ah, Eddie! And Simon. Did you need something?" Gregory asked. "It's just I have two minutes before a two hour meeting."
"I'm going to say something you're not going to like, and that is this: Ditch it," Eddie said.
Gregory laughed. "I wish, but it's vital. If you can't cover it before the meeting, maybe email me a summary? Or talk to Alanna, she's good at condensing."
"Nah," Eddie said.
"...nah?" Gregory asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Ditch the meeting, come to town with me. I need your opinion on cheese."
"It's a major export but a luxury brand, so we can't depend on it for revenue," Gregory said promptly. "If the economy tanks we all eat very nice cheese nobody else will buy, but the crown will need to subsidize the producers."
"You could be eating very nice cheese in ten minutes without an economic recession," Eddie said.
"Affairs of state -- " Gregory began, but there was a soft beep from his phone. He looked down at it, frowning, then up at Alanna.
"Did you just cancel my meeting with the Agricultural Cabinet?" he asked Alanna.
"I had one of those in my twenties," Eddie said to Simon, who nodded sagely. "Great for growing tomatoes."
"No, the meeting's still happening, I just removed you from it," Alanna said. There were two more beeps. "And the follow-up briefing, and the accounting re-evaluation meeting after that."
"I created that meeting," Gregory said.
"No, you requested it, I created it, which means I can kick you out whenever I want."
Gregory rubbed his eyes. "Al, I can't get off on the wrong foot with my entire Agricultural Cabinet."
"I know," she said. "I'm bringing in the Duke. He's not doing anything, and they all like him."
"Jerry's never doing anything, and he exists to be well-liked," Gregory said. "He's not going to understand one word in three they say to him."
"But I will, and I can condense it for you," Alanna said. "Greg. This is your last few weeks before you're king. Go have some fun." He opened his mouth, but she barreled onward. "All the crops and their statistics will still be here after the coronation, and so will all the meetings. You need a day."
He looked back and forth from Alanna to Eddie, and Eddie could tell when he realized this had been planned.
"All right," he said, standing and spreading his hands in defeat. "Let's go. Show me this amazing cheese."
"Triumph!" Eddie crowed. The prince followed him out of the office, and he could hear Alanna lock up behind them. Simon peeled off for the kitchen, and Eddie held the door to one of the side entrances of the palace, which would set them on a footpath down to the main street of town.
Once they were out of sight of the palace, or at least far enough away they wouldn't be remarked on, Eddie dug in his bag and pulled out a hat, passing it over. It was bright blue and said TRULY TASTY in tie-dye patterned embroidery on the front. The prince accepted it, perplexed, and once his hands were full Eddie placed a pair of blue cat's-eye sunglasses on his face.
"What is this?" Gregory asked, pulling the glasses off to inspect them.
"I got you a disguise," Eddie said. "Glad I didn't have to talk you out of wearing the uniform with all the braid and stuff, actually. Can't have you mobbed while we're in town."
"Eddie, I'm the prince of a country with a smaller population than Manhattan," Greg answered, but he did put the hat on. "People are going to know it's me." His phone beeped again and he frowned at it. "Did you post about this on Maxtagram?"
"Well, a lesson I happen to have learned in Manhattan is that if you look like you don't want to be recognized, most people will mind their own damn business," Eddie answered. "Of course people are going to know it's you, you're highly recognizable and build like a Greek god. This is a hint you want them to pretend they don't."
Gregory clearly didn't have a response for this, but he also clearly tried very hard. "Do you know, in theory the kings of Askazer-Shivadlakia are descended from Apollo?" he managed.
"Explains some things," Eddie said. "But you're not hereditary king."
"Again, it's the spirit that counts," Gregory said, sighing and putting the sunglasses back on. Between the hat worn brim-forward like a nerd, the slightly askew glasses, and that unmistakable royal posture, he gave the impression of someone actively trying to seem awkward. "How do I look?"
"I haven't known you very long," Eddie answered, holding up his phone in selfie mode to show him his reflection, "but I feel confident in saying you've never looked less royal."
Gregory let out a startled bark of laughter at his own appearance. He reached out and tapped the photo button, preserving the image. "Do not post that to Maxtagram."
"No, that one's for the scrapbook," Eddie agreed, pocketing his phone again. "I'm not kidding about the cheese, though. Let me tell you my impressions so far and you can spout every fact you ever memorized about domestic cheese production."
The walk into town was very educational. Eddie thought he'd learned a lot from talking to cheesemongers before, but most of them were craftsmen -- they made small-batch cheese, or bought from the one large manufacturer, which was further inland, where most of the dairy farming in the country was done. They didn't have the overhead view of things that the prince did, and they didn't want to. Eddie liked to know how things worked, and he'd done very well for himself by making content that traced things back to their origins. He'd packaged it up in beach-bum language and easily digestible sound bites, but it was all there.
Gregory knew the cost of everything his country produced, where it came from and where it went, but he also looked at time. If the global economy suffered, what would happen to his people? If there was a sudden uncontrollable demand for some product his country produced, where could the supply chain be supported? Could local delicacies be made elsewhere and simply stamped with the royal seal? How long could that last before the assurance of quality that came with the king's seal was watered down?
"....which is why I think tax subsidy endowment accounts are so vital," Gregory said, as they arrived on the doorstep of the first cheese shop on Eddie's agenda. "It's a hard sell to people who don't understand endowment finance, though."
"I can imagine," Eddie replied. "And this was all super cool, but now I want you to try a thought experiment."
Gregory nodded, attention focusing.
"I want you to consciously attempt to forget that tax subsidy endowment accounts exist and think about how much you like good food," Eddie said. Gregory's brow knitted. "We're not here to judge the quality of king's-imprint domestic product. We're here to pick out some cheese you really like for a party you're super excited about."
"I think super excited would be an extremely generous term for my feelings on the coronation," Gregory replied.
"Thought experiment," Eddie reminded him. Gregory nodded and seemed to genuinely be making the attempt. Eddie pushed the cheesemonger's door open. "All right. Come with me."
Alanna reflected, an hour into the Agricultural Cabinet meeting, that the downside of being the executive assistant to the prince, soon to be king, was that you had many of the same boring experiences they did without any of the luxury.
Not that Gregory lived extravagantly; King Michaelis and his son both had relatively simple tastes and preferred sport and statecraft to partying or lavish spending. The Queen had been a little more fond of the finer things in life, but even then she wasn't particularly fancy by royal standards. But Gregory did get fancy parties and drivers and chefs -- which, all right, she did take advantage of at times...
The point, she supposed, was she was in this meeting so he wouldn't have to be and nobody was calling her Your Highness.
On the other hand, she'd volunteered when Eddie suggested it to her, thinking Gregory could use both the time away from his desk and a little PR boost with the populace. Eddie Rambler had a golden touch; where he went, people followed, emotionally if not literally. He'd raised the profile of Askazer-Shivadlakia significantly, and within the country being seen out with him could only be good for Gregory.
Her phone vibrated silently every so often and she kept an eye on Maxtagram, but as promised Eddie was being restrained. The photos he was posting were good quality, he always named the shop in the photograph, and so far nobody locally following the Maxtagram seemed to have caught up with them.
Jerry -- more properly, Gerald Duke of Shivadlakia, the 12th -- fidgeted in the chair next to her and tapped her phone with the cap of his pen.
"How's it going?" he mouthed.
"Seems fine," she whispered back. Jerry nodded and ostensibly turned back to the meeting. He was asking, if not especially well-informed questions, then at least not the most obvious ones. Jerry's family were old landed nobility from before Askazer and Shivadlakia had even made treaties, and they had apparently bred for charisma. There weren't any kings in his family tree but there were a lot of king regents, and one or two evil royal advisors. Not that Alanna didn't have a few of those in her own history, on the Askazer side, she supposed.
Gregory's family on his father's side were relative newcomers, immigrants from only a handful of generations back, which was perhaps why they treated rule like a civic duty, while Jerry treated it like a quaint chore. Jerry could have stood for king if he'd wanted, but he preferred to make himself amiable and be otherwise useless. In that sense he was a good tool to have around the place. He could be deployed against annoying bureaucrats, overly friendly grifters, squabbling government ministers, and memorably, once, a handsy ambassador bothering palace staff.
A shift in the air pressure of the room told her she'd missed something; people were stretching, speaking to one another, or rising to leave the room.
"Five minute break," Jerry said to her, cracking his neck. "Want me to see if I can stretch it to fifteen? You look like you could use a nap."
"No, my mind just wandered," she replied. "Did I miss anything vital?"
"I'll tell you later. It's all locked away up here," he added, tapping his temple.
"I'm sure there's empty space enough."
"You're a monster, Al," he informed her.
"Pain builds character," she replied ruthlessly. "Anyway, it's for Greg."
"Sure, you say that. I think you just want the chef to give you your own cooking show," Jerry said with a grin. "I know it's not just getting Gregory out of his office for a couple of hours. What's going on?"
Alanna shrugged. "I felt like he needed a reality check."
"Why?"
She sat back, staring up at the ceiling, relaxing while she could. "He wants me to find him a husband."
"Oh saints," Jerry cackled. "He has met you, right?"
"It's not that! I'd be extremely good at finding someone a husband. I have great taste in men and I'm highly efficient," she protested.
"Physician heal thyself, then."
"I don't want a husband, Jerry, I don't have time for one. The point is, the king's on him to get married for the good of the country, he's feeling a little raw about it, and he's busy. So he made me set up this husband-hunt meeting for after the coronation."
"Huh." Jerry slouched down next to her, contemplating this. "That's kind of sad."
"It's extremely sad and it's very out of touch in that dumb way he gets," Alanna sighed.
"He can be deeply stupid about other humans," Jerry agreed.
"So I thought if he got out and talked to someone who didn't work in politics for a few hours he'd maybe relax a little," Alanna said. She held up her phone, which was flipped to Eddie's latest post. It was, for the most part, just an anonymous pair of hands holding a large flat wheel of cheese. If she didn't know what Gregory had been wearing that morning or if she didn't recognize the insignia of the royal family of Askazer-Shivadlakia on his ring, she wouldn't know it was his hands holding the wheel. "He seems to be having fun."
"Well, then our suffering is not in vain," Jerry said. "Look out, better sit up straight, someone's coming to talk to us about figs."
It was afternoon by the time Eddie and Gregory said goodbye to the last of the cheesemongers and turned back towards the palace. Neither of them had bothered with lunch, but Gregory felt warm and expansive, please with what he'd seen and full of good food he'd sampled all morning. Eddie, who was carrying a messenger bag that was significantly heavier than it had been when they set out, whistled as they walked.
"You know, I think that was potentially more educational than the Agricultural Cabinet briefing would have been," Gregory said, enjoying the breeze off the beach below the town as they climbed the gentle incline back to the palace.
"See, I knew you'd have fun," Eddie replied.
"It's important. I want to be able to confidently speak about every aspect of our farm-to-table pipelines, and that naturally includes cheese," Gregory said, already organizing a campaign in his head -- something to do with a line of exports, perhaps.
"And also you had fun," Eddie said. Gregory shot him a tolerant look.
"Yes, I also had fun," he agreed, removing the hat but keeping the sunglasses on.
"And we found some great food. Not sure what I'm doing with some of it yet, but nothing goes to waste in Simon's kitchen."
"If nothing else, fondue's very popular here," Gregory said. "Might have a family dinner, invite in some of the cousins."
"That reminds me, I was curious," Eddie said. "Who's the Duke that Alanna got to stand in for you today?"
"Ah, Jerry. His family's been in state politics forever. He and Alanna and I were thick as thieves as children. At school he was always a year ahead of me and making my teachers feel grateful I was so well-behaved. He gets into some small scrape about once a year to keep us humble, but he's very good at making other people feel important."
"He's not like...out for your job though, right?" Eddie asked. "I'm not in Hamlet, is what I'm asking, I guess."
"Well, we do live in a park. But no," Gregory assured him. "He's a good man on your side in a pinch. Sort of a big brother. Cousin on my mother's side."
"Good when family gets along," Eddie mused. "Especially when it's a family business, which I guess the government sort of is, around here. My family does okay but I can't imagine the yelling we'd do if we had to rule a whole country."
"Are you all chefs?" Gregory asked, wondering what kind of family brought up a man like Eddie.
Eddie burst out laughing. "Oh, no. Most of my family work in Dad's auto shop. Or they're beach bums. Or both."
"Auto shop!" Gregory blinked at him.
"Sure. My dad specializes in trucks and does van art on the side. His sister works on beach buggies that my mom rents out from the surf shop."
"You have a pedigree I was wholly unaware of," Gregory observed, staggered by this information.
"Yeah, they put it in the puff pieces whenever someone needs a bio of me but my family doesn't like to get involved, so it doesn't come up a lot," Eddie said. "They're all pretty free spirits, they don't like a lot of attention."
"And you didn't care for the beach bum life?" Gregory asked.
"Well, I had a great childhood. All that stuff's awesome when you're ten and someone else is driving. I like surfing, and I'm okay with an engine. But I got older, wanted something different." Eddie shrugged. "I had bigger dreams than opening a taco stand next to the surf shop. Made for a great shtick in show business, though, and I like show business."
"I suppose we're opposites, in a way," Gregory said.
"How so?"
"I bought into the family tradition. You climbed out. Nothing wrong with that, just...different."
"I don't think it's opposite, exactly," Eddie replied, frowning -- more like he was puzzling it out than like he disagreed. "You wanted to be king, didn't you? Nobody pressured you?"
"No," Gregory said. "Father has always said it's a job you have to choose, and my mother agreed. I could have gone into business or law, or -- I suppose I could have opened a taco stand, though I don't think they'd have been delighted by that."
"So we both saw what we wanted, and we both looked at the consequences of reaching for it and accepted them," Eddie said. Gregory considered this as the palace came into view at the end of the road.
"That's...true," he allowed. "I have strong feelings about this place. I saw how hard my parents worked to protect it. It's a noble calling, at least I think so. And I like it, too."
"I gotta say I never thought of 'television chef' as a noble calling," Eddie said, as they drew closer to the palace. "But it's kinda how I treated it anyway. I knew kids who wanted to be famous but I didn't want fame, exactly. I just wanted to...talk to a lot of people about something I really loved. Fame's really more one of those consequences."
"Huh," Gregory said.
"What?"
"You're right, I don't think we are opposites." He took the sunglasses off, leaning against the lintel of the doorway into the palace. "And I had better go deal with the consequences of the Agricultural Cabinet."
"I'm glad you could come out today," Eddie said. Gregory held out the sunglasses and hat, but Eddie waved a hand.
"The merch is free. Hold onto it for the next time you need to ditch," he said.
Gregory felt unaccountably touched by this; not only the gesture of finding him a ridiculous, useless disguise, but offhandedly giving it as a gift, and implying there might be another need for it in the future.
"That's kind, thank you," he said.
"Pay you twenty bucks to wear the hat instead of the crown at coronation," Eddie added, and Greg laughed.
"I'm afraid I can't oblige that one. I hear the host of this show is a real beach bum."
"Yeah, well, wish me luck, this beach bum has a bunch of menus to present to his uptight new boss on Monday," Eddie replied. Even the ribbing for being a little uptight felt kind, like he knew Gregory didn't get much friendly teasing anymore.
"I'm sure I'll have some commentary on your Maxtagram posts to review by then," Gregory said. With a wave he ducked inside, leaving Eddie enjoying the sun on the Palace steps.
Thirty seconds later, as he was entering his office, his phone beeped. Eddie was posting to his Maxtagram, a selfie in the garden. It was captioned "Can't believe I just forgot to get a selfie with Crown Prince Gregory in a Truly Tasty hat. Letting you down, guys, it won't happen again."
Greg tapped the image to Like it, making little hearts dance around the text, and then headed to the conference room to find Alanna.
Chapter 5: Five Weeks
Chapter Text
FIVE WEEKS UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
Eddie was really getting to like the palace of Askazer-Shivadlakia. It wasn't just that he had a cool room with a great view of the grounds, or that it was full of art and interesting people. It was that it felt like a home in a way a lot of places didn't. He'd cooked for celebrities in their mansions, he'd cooked in museums and on sound stages and even in a couple of what in America passed for castles. But most big institutional buildings, even if he liked them, just felt a little soulless. They were event spaces, not homes.
The palace here was different -- it was a working building, the decor incidental to the real business of governing. The kitchens were beautiful (Simon's doing, he felt sure) and the hallways were draped in tapestries and lined in slightly worn rugs that softened the feel of stone underneath, but all of that was for a purpose, not for show.
He'd spent most of the morning in the kitchen with Simon, putting the finishing touches on his lunch presentation to the prince, going over checklists and the printed menu copies to make sure nothing was missing. Now the cold food was packed in a cooler and the hot food in a basket lined with tea towels, and he hummed cheerfully to himself as he gathered them up, making his way towards the prince's office.
"Eddie!" a voice called, and he turned in time to see the prince himself emerging from a conference room.
"Your highness," he called back, waiting for Gregory to catch up with him. He had a tablet under one arm and was dressed the least formally Eddie had ever seen him, in a t-shirt and worn dark trousers. "Casual Monday?"
"Wh -- oh," the prince looked down at his clothes. "I was getting fitted for the formal robes this morning, and they're dusty -- they warned me to wear old clothes." As if to demonstrate, he sneezed, and a light flurry of powder floated off him. Eddie, without thinking, shifted the basket to the same arm holding the cooler, and brushed Gregory's shoulders clear of the remainder. "Thank you," Gregory said, dusting the rest of himself down. Eddie patted him on the shoulder, enjoying the muscle underneath briefly, and then rebalanced himself, cooler in one hand, basket in the other.
"I hear there's a good drycleaner in town," Eddie said, as they turned to Gregory's office. "I don't know if they do royal robes."
"Apparently the dust is part of the tradition," Gregory replied. "Is that samples in your basket?" he asked hopefully. "I haven't had lunch yet."
"It is, and it's both still hot," Eddie held up the basket, "and still cold," he continued, holding up the cooler, "so we should hustle."
"I've had some thoughts about those cheeses," Gregory said, and Eddie cheered a little internally.
"Me too!" he said, as Gregory led the way into his office. "I'm looking forward to -- "
Eddie broke off, because Gregory had stopped a few paces inside the door. There was a man sitting in one of the office's guest chairs, book in one hand; even if his face wasn't on half the currency in the country, Eddie would have noticed his resemblance to Gregory. This was Michaelis, the current king. He'd just gotten accustomed to thinking of the prince as Gregory, and the renewed awe for the grandeur of Askazer-Shivadlakia's royalty filled him.
"Father," Gregory said, sounding both surprised and annoyed.
"Good morning," King Michaelis said, putting away the book he'd been reading. "Mr. Rambler, I presume. Pleasure to meet you."
"Your majesty," Eddie said, remembering his manners this time. "The pleasure's mine."
"What are you doing here?" Gregory asked.
"Well, I know Alanna marked me as optional on the meeting invite, but for all your jokes it's not like I actually have died," Michaelis said. "This is almost as much my party as it is yours, in a way, and your mother used to love having me do the gala catering sampling with her. I thought I'd offer my opinion."
"Sure you didn't just want more of those meatballs?" Gregory asked. Eddie chuckled, which drew both their attention, a fearsome thing in itself. "Eddie, are there enough samples?"
"Sure, the more the merrier," he said, sidling past Gregory to begin unpacking the food onto the desk. Gregory sat down in the other guest chair. Eddie decided to stand, just in case sitting in the presence of the king was a political thing.
"I heard about your trip into town for cheese-sampling," Michaelis continued, speaking to Gregory as Eddie unpacked. "I thought I'd see if it was productive." He turned to Eddie. "Obviously the reception is extremely important, but the palace trusts you to produce a good meal without too much guidance. I want to make sure Gregory's time isn't taken up with incidentals. It's easy to be distracted from affairs of state. Such as the Agricultural Cabinet," he drawled at his son.
"Great for growing tomatoes," Eddie tried again, but the joke still fell flat. He wondered if he could get away with making it a weed joke instead. Not in front of the king, that was for sure.
"It's fine, once or twice," Michaelis said. "Everyone thinks it was charming of you to go yourself, and Gerald handled the cabinet. I just want to make sure it was worth it."
"So, I have four menus," Eddie said, because there wasn't any great place for that conversation to go, and Gregory seemed tense. "We can mix and match the foods a little depending on what you like." He handed the four printed menus to the king, who set them on the desk to share with his son. "On one end of the scale we have my personal favorite, the hot sandwich bar with passed apps, which we've already discussed a little. On the other end is a multi-course royal meal a la russe, with personal service by the waitstaff. Let me introduce you to some herbed clay pot chicken on peasant bread rolls."
He'd crafted all four menus with local food and recipes in mind, but Alanna had made him well aware that the prince also wanted modernity. He hadn't counted -- and clearly neither had Gregory -- on the king joining them, and Eddie had no idea what the man's tastes were like, other than what he'd gleaned from Simon's standard dishes. But all the food was good, which went a long way towards satisfying even the most exacting of parents, and Eddie had thought to bring a bottle of wine from the country's highlands ("Well...highland, there's just the one mountain," the wine merchant had explained) which smoothed the way a little more.
Going through the menus and the various hot and cold dishes that accompanied them, Eddie decided the tension between father and son probably wasn't normal. He prided himself on being a pretty good judge of character, and Michaelis didn't seem like a bad dad, or Gregory a disappointment as a son. This was something else, which meant that until it came to a head he, at least, could probably safely ignore it. Maybe they would do the same.
So he kept serving and talking, two things he was good at, and ignored the vague elephant in the room. Still, he breathed a little sigh of relief when they finally reached the end of the presentation.
"I think if nothing else we've established something pretty vital," Gregory said, having finished off the last of the formal dessert nibbles.
"What's that?" his father asked, waving away Eddie's offer of a top-off on his wine.
"It's going to be great food regardless," Gregory said. "This was delicious, Eddie, thank you."
"It was good," Michaelis agreed. Both he and Gregory saw the 'but' coming, Eddie thought. "But the quality of the food is expected. It's only one aspect."
Gregory looked annoyed, but Eddie cut off a potential fight. "I'd love to hear your thoughts on that," he said sincerely, not moving to tidy away the plates or containers of food.
"The coronation is a ritual as much as it is an event. Everything about it should be a smooth, unified whole -- dare I say a magical event, without getting too flowery about it," Michaelis said. "We call ourselves kings at this point, at least in part, because we have a cultural love of pageantry. We want things to look their best and impress those around us."
"I want that as well," Eddie replied. "Do you see anything in what I've shown you here that you think fits in best?"
"Well, I can't say I'm thrilled with the idea of a hot sandwich bar," Michaelis said.
"Yeah, the prince wasn't either," Eddie agreed. He shot Gregory a grin, a hint to stay calm, because he was looking more annoyed by the second.
"Smacks of a Las Vegas buffet," Michaelis continued.
"There's a time and a place for that," Eddie replied. "Although maybe this isn't it."
"I like it," Gregory said, a little sharpness creeping into his voice. "The family feeling of it. Maybe not the format, but..."
"This is an affair of state," Michaelis said.
"Yeah, but Dad, I can't stand the formal dinner thing. You don't even like it."
"No, but I had to learn to live with it to keep others happy. You might too. Not to say it has to happen at your coronation," Michaelis said, making a calming gesture with one hand. "But the coronation will set a tone."
"Exactly! I want us to seem approachable as well as impressive. A six-course meal is nobody's idea of a good time even with food this good. Too much sitting down."
Michaelis, to his credit, seemed to consider this. "And nobody likes a compromise."
"No," Gregory agreed. Both men looked at Eddie, who nodded as if he was considering this deeply. He didn't have a single damn idea in his head, but a good eighty percent of being a television host was looking like you were actively listening.
"I'm not out of ideas yet," he said, although he absolutely was. To cover, he started cleaning up the desk.
"These recipes -- the flavors are great," Gregory said. "Don't throw the food out just because the look isn't right yet."
"But I do urge you to find a balance between informality and elegance," Michaelis said. His phone beeped. "And I'm afraid that's my afternoon appointment with the royal librarian."
"Need a book recommendation?" Eddie joked.
"Apparently I'm expected to dictate my memoirs," Michaelis said sourly. "Gregory, I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow."
He leaned over and kissed his son on the forehead, a seeming conciliatory gesture, and left. Eddie slowed his cleaning, waiting for Gregory to speak first.
"I am so, so sorry my father ambushed you," Gregory said finally.
"Sounds like he ambushed both of us, but it comes with the job," Eddie replied.
"Oh, for me too, I guess."
"Are you okay?" Eddie asked carefully.
"What?" Gregory replied.
"Well, obviously it's tough. He looks like he's feeling iffy about you playing hookey with me for cheese."
"He'll be fine. He's just worried about the coronation, like me. It's coming out in weird ways, you're not seeing him at his best."
"I'm not sure I made a great first impression," Eddie said.
"I'm guessing you have a lot of experience defying first impressions," Gregory replied, and Eddie laughed.
"Sure, that's true, I'm really more of a second-look kind of guy."
"Anyway, it's not his decision. Ultimately, it's mine, and whether or not he likes you, I do. So he'll have to put up with it."
Eddie smiled, genuinely touched. In show business it was rare for someone to stand so firmly behind anyone else. "Thanks. That means a lot -- "
He had closed the basket on the pile of dishes, and was just picking up the cooler when Gregory held up a hand.
"By the time we get to the reception, I'll be king," Gregory said.
"Yeah?" Eddie replied, confused.
"It somewhat hits you in waves," he said. He let his hand drop to rest on Eddie's arm. "You realize what'll be different, and...that morning I'l be crown prince, and that evening I'll be king. The mistakes will be mine to make, so I guess...don't worry about my father. I'm on your side."
"I think I'm supposed to be on your side," Eddie reminded him. Gregory looked down at his hand and pulled it back slowly.
"Well, that's probably a question for the philosophers," he said. "Anyway. Just do some thinking, maybe build another few menus -- will you have time?"
"All I got is time, baby," Eddie grinned. "Sure. I'll knock his socks off next time."
"And if my dad doesn't like my coronation banquet, the world won't end."
"Yeah, but it'll be uncool, and I'm here to prevent that."
"I'm reliably told I'm uncool anyway," Gregory said. "Do you need help getting that back to the kitchen?"
"Nope, it's fine." Eddie gave him the peace sign as he left. "I'll keep it new for you, boss!"
"That's Prince Boss to you!" Gregory called. Eddie chuckled, but by the time he made his way back to the kitchen he was more thoughtful.
Whatever Gregory said, this was clearly both a big deal and a significant problem. At this point more than Eddie's professional pride was on the line; besides, he'd given up on professional pride when he did that special where he had to do a kickline with a bunch of sports mascots. He wanted Gregory to enjoy his coronation, and impress his guests and his dad.
"How did it go?" Simon asked, looking up from his dinner preparations when Eddie walked in.
"So-so," Eddie said thoughtfully. "Little soon to tell."
"What went wrong?" Simon inquired.
"Nothing wrong, exactly. King came to the tasting," Eddie said, unpacking the cooler and shoving leftovers into the big fridge. "He wasn't big on what I had to show."
"Not the food, surely. He knows good food, and yours is good," Simon replied.
"Thanks -- no, the sandwich bar idea. He said it smacked of a Vegas buffet."
"I've had very good meals at buffets in Las Vegas," Simon replied.
"When the hell were you in Las Vegas, Chef?"
"I wasn't sprouted in Askazer-Shivadlakia, you know. If you want to learn about gourmet food, there are many places to study. When I was young I was offered Las Vegas or Paris, and I don't like Paris," Simon told him.
Eddie stopped and turned to stare at him. "You're French," he said.
"What has that to do with anything? You come from California, do you love Los Angeles?"
He had a point, and Eddie made a face to acknowledge it. Simon smiled.
"Anyway, you had three other menus," Simon continued. "None of them appealed?"
"Well, the prince doesn't want a formal meal. They've got real conflicting opinions on what they do want. I'm supposed to come up with something that's modern, traditional, innovative, and on-brand, all at once."
"This is a terrible burden for a man who earns his living on the internet," Simon said, mock-solemn.
"You make fun, but this is serious! I want to make a good impression." Eddie looked around. "You got any dishes I could wash?"
"Sink is full, if you want to, but the staff will do it later," Simon told him.
"I'll do it. Good for thinking, dishwashing."
"If you say so. I don't like dish soap, either," Simon said, turning back to the prep table. "I leave you to your thoughts."
Gregory didn't always eat dinner in the family dining room with his father, and lately he hadn't been there much, preferring to take a plate up to his room or eat in his office. For dinner, Alanna had brought him a plate as a check-in, and he thought Simon had probably heard about the tasting to judge from the composition of the plate. Simon had been their chef since he was a child and knew all his favorite comfort foods. Askazer twist-bread, roasted vegetables with fresh herbs from the kitchen garden, and a slice of meat pie spiced in the way Alanna's family had always given him when he'd visited. Not too much of any one food, but altogether it had been very satisfying.
He decided it would be a nice break to stretch his legs and bring the plate back himself; gathering up the remains of the meal, he locked his computer and stepped out into the hallway. Previous kings and nobles looked down on him from paintings as he passed, but they were old friends, and anyway he knew most of their scandals and secrets. A perk of being raised a prince was a healthy disrespect for royalty, he supposed.
It was amazing how productive work and a good meal had raised his spirits. Everything seemed a little brighter this evening, and perhaps he didn't even need to put in a few more hours tonight. Nobody would die if he waited until tomorrow to complete some of his work, and the idea of a good book before bed felt indulgent, inviting. Even the kitchen looked friendly, with a warm wash of yellow light spilling out into the hallway and the sound of voices inside.
He stopped to listen, wondering what they were talking about. It was like lying in the dark listening to your parents talk in the other room, as he'd often done at their fishing lodge when he was a child.
" -- his majesty is retiring for a reason," Simon was saying, his voice drifting out over the sound of spoons against pans. Gregory wondered what they were cooking -- dinner had already been served, but he knew Simon preferred to eat later, after the family meal was served. "He knows it's time for someone younger to take the reins, someone with more modern ideas."
"At least it seems like he's happy it's his son," Eddie answered. There was a soft noise, a sort of fwoom, and the brief smell of alcohol burning. "Nicely done."
"Thank you. My point is, perhaps the king doesn't handle this so well."
"That's what the prince said, yeah."
"So he takes it out on the food, maybe. Your food, I mean."
"Well, the food never did anything," Eddie replied. Gregory leaned against the wall, just outside the doorway. From here he could see Simon at the stove, tossing vegetables in a stir-fry. "Food's just there to be delicious," Eddie continued. "Kinda like me. Hey! I'm gonna put that on a t-shirt. 'Like me, food is just here to be delicious.' "
"That's very funny," Simon intoned. "All this is temporary, anyway. It will all settle down. These things feel more important in the moment than they truly are."
"Yeah, probably."
"And Prince Gregory will be a fine king. Very popular already," Simon said. Gregory smiled to himself, pleased at the praise.
"I don't know anything about kinging, so I can't speak to that," Eddie said. "But he's a nice guy. Funny, when he forgets to be a prince. If he weren't a prince..."
"He'd likely still be in politics," Simon said.
"Well, maybe, but I meant, if he weren't a prince, about to be a king, I'd definitely consider asking him out."
Gregory blinked, shocked.
"Would you now," Simon asked, sounding amused.
"Sure, why not? Good looking man, too. If I met him in a bar I'd like him just as well. He's probably got some princess from another kingdom lined up, though. Or maybe a Hollywood movie starlet," Eddie said. "Looks like that and royalty too? The ladies must be three-deep."
"One would think," Simon said drily.
"Anyway, I need to do some thinking," Eddie continued, leaving Gregory back in the earlier conversation, still in shock. "Maybe do some research. Like, royal traditions. We could base the meal in that."
"It would be interesting. I can tell you where to look."
"That'd be great," Eddie said.
"The palace library has several books of past chefs' recipes, there may be something in there on special events as well -- "
Gregory, realizing he probably shouldn't get caught lurking in the doorway, turned to retreat; the movement shifted the plate in his fingers, and before he could recover he'd fumbled it right in the doorway, sending it crashing to the ground.
He startled as badly as both Simon and Eddie did; they looked over, immediately concerned, and Gregory gaped at them for a second, wordless.
"Prince Gregory!" Simon announced, at the same time Eddie said, "Oh, snap!"
"I...the plate," Gregory managed. "I was just bringing it back, it slipped -- "
"Are you okay?" Eddie asked, as Simon pivoted smartly towards the little closet where the mop and broom were kept.
"Yes, I'm fine..." Gregory looked down at the fragments of china. "But the plate. It slipped."
"The palace has no shortage of plates, your highness," Simon declared, returning with the broom, gently nudging him with the handle to back up so Simon could sweep up the fragments.
"Come on in, take a load off. Have a snack," Eddie offered, taking his elbow to guide him into the kitchen.
"Oh, no, I should go," Gregory said distractedly. Eddie let go of his elbow, but his hand hovered nearby. "Simon, I'm so sorry -- "
"No matter," Simon said easily.
"Thank you for sweeping it up," Gregory told him earnestly. Simon nodded, clearly bewildered by his behavior, and he saw Simon and Eddie exchange a look. "I'll get out of your way."
"That's not necessary -- " Eddie began, but he was already out the door. He faintly heard Simon call, "Sleep well!" before he took the stairs up to his apartments two at a time.
When the prince was gone, Eddie took the dustpan from Simon and crouched down, holding it while Simon swept the bits and pieces of broken plate into it.
"What was that all about?" he asked, picking the silverware out of the debris.
"I've no idea. I suppose dropping the plate startled him," Simon replied.
"He doesn't seem the kind to get jumpy over a little broken crockery."
"No, he never has been," Simon agreed. "He well knows we have plenty of plates. It's not even the good china," he added with a sniff.
"Maybe the king isn't the only one who isn't handling the coronation well," Eddie mused. He lifted the dustpan and carried it to the big garbage bin in the corner.
"Mm, perhaps. Alanna mentioned he's been moody," Simon remarked. "I will have to take matters into my own hands."
"Lord, what does that even mean?" Eddie asked, fascinated.
"More regular meals and higher protein," Simon decided. "Also more oil and butter. I will make a cake, too. Sugar, good for energy. Good pastries, lots of chicken and beef, and desserts." Simon rubbed his hands together, pleased.
Eddie put the dustpan away and came to rest both hands on Simon's shoulders. "You are a chef after my own heart, LeFevre."
"Hey, all you friends and fans out there!"
Eddie's voice was a little tinny through the phone speakers. His usual bright, cheerful tone was tempered, but Gregory wasn't paying a lot of attention to that; he was mostly absorbed in his own thoughts. It was early, and he was still in bed, but his phone had told him Eddie posted a new video that morning, so he'd rolled over and opened it, curious.
"I hope everyone's still keeping it new," Eddie continued in the video. He did a full rotation with the phone, catching the sunlight on the front facade of the palace as well as the mist rising over the gardens. "Isn't it beautiful country? Reminds me of the California foothills. Whenever I feel like I'm in need of inspiration these days, I come out here and look around. Get it? Look around," he said, and spun the opposite direction to give another 360-degree view. It was endearingly ridiculous, which Gregory was beginning to suspect was Eddie's whole point. He was ridiculous, but it was an earnest ridiculous, and there wasn't a hint of self-deprecation in it. That was just how Eddie Rambler was and he didn't care who knew it or disliked it.
It served him right for listening at doorways, Gregory thought, not for the first time since he'd dropped the plate the night before. He'd fled to his rooms after the kitchen incident, and hadn't slept especially well, mortified at his own behavior and confused by his reaction to Eddie's remarks. It wasn't like he'd never heard anyone say he was handsome, or even that he was nice. But it was more often tabloids or random strangers saying it, not people he knew.
Definitely not people in that inbetween state Eddie occupied, somewhere between stranger and friend. Eddie knew him just well enough to like him, which was very flattering, but he hadn't read Gregory's press (condescending when he was younger, sometimes brutal after he came out, but you couldn't let that affect you). Eddie didn't know him personally well enough to know he was gay.
It was nice to be liked for himself, though. Some men liked the dream of being with a prince more than they liked the idea of actually going on a date with him. And some liked the novelty of 'a prince' more than the reality of 'Gregory'.
He didn't think of himself as someone people were attracted to, he supposed. He wasn't inexperienced, but he knew himself to be a little shy in social situations where he didn't have the diplomatic script to fall back on. The idea of an attractive, successful, interesting person like Eddie, who clearly could have his pick of partners, floating the idea of a date with Gregory -- essentially a quiet bureaucrat -- was just...weird.
Nice, though, Gregory thought, as the video of Eddie rolled on.
"You can see one of the closest farms, just over there, and I'm told all the dairy grazing is up that way. These are the winter pastures, closer in to the sea, so the cows are all up in summer pasture right now while it's still warm. And down here," Eddie turned again, pointing to the coast. "You can see the fishing boats coming in, and the ice trucks bringing fresh meat in along the coast road. And that mountain! I'm told they joke they just have a single highland, but what a view!"
Eddie whistled low, pointing to the high mountain rising behind the palace. Gregory grinned. The only joke as tired as "we've just got the one highland" was "you're not a local until you make the One Highland joke". Eddie was doing what he apparently did on all his TV shows -- show up somewhere, make himself at home, and show off the local culture. Nice to see his own country getting the Eddie Rambler treatment.
Perhaps he should ask Simon to gently let Eddie in on his secret. Could be a fun time.
"Slight setbacks recently, but I'm not worried," Eddie said in the video. "I know you all can't wait to see the shindig I throw for the new king, and I promise to document every moment I can of it, but right now we're still in the planning stages. Anyone who tells you the life of a professional chef is all chocolate tastings and kitchen tours is selling you a line. Still, if you love what you do, hell with everything else, right? I'll get through it."
He looked contemplatively up at the mountain.
Gregory, suddenly frustrated, closed the app and let the phone fall into the blankets. There wasn't the slightest point in considering a fling with Eddie, let alone actually allowing one. He was an employee, technically, and neither of them had the time for personal pursuits at the moment. Gregory himself was trying to convince Alanna that a political arranged marriage was a good idea. And Eddie was...well, Eddie. If he was out, Gregory didn't think it was very far, and Gregory'd had enough of closets.
And Eddie was a goofball who made dumb jokes, and he certainly wasn't appropriate for consideration as a king consort, which was the whole point of dating anyone at this point. An American television chef wasn't going to leave it all behind to co-rule Askazer-Shivadlakia, even if he did like the food.
Pointless. Eddie was simply a kind man who was nice to look at, and an amiable employee who would be gone in less than two months. Best leave him to menu-making and get back to the business of ruling.
Three days later all of that went to hell.
He wasn't sleeping well, or rather, he wasn't sleeping often. When he did sleep it was deep and thorough, but he'd wake restless, or have too much nervous energy to manage more than a few hours. He had actually gotten out ahead of most of his work for the day, however, so that morning instead of going early to the office he put on a pair of old running shoes, some jogging shorts, and a long-sleeved shirt, and went out to do a lap of the grounds.
There was a pretty good trail that circled most of the palace gardens, with scenic views and packed dirt, excellent for running. The whole loop was about four miles, a decent level run, and nobody was likely to be around at five in the morning --
Except Eddie Rambler, who almost sent him sprawling.
Gregory was finally getting out of his own head, zoned out and enjoying the run, when there was a movement ahead on his left and someone called, "Prince Gregory!"
He startled, nearly tripped, and skidded off the path to a stop, wide-eyed. The shape moving ahead resolved itself into Eddie Rambler, a blond-tipped shadow next to one of the ornamental cherry-blossom trees.
"Eddie," Gregory panted, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees. "You startled me."
"Sorry! I thought you saw me," Eddie said, holding up his hands in a show of innocence. A canvas bag hung off one wrist. "Didn't mean to interrupt your workout."
"It's fine, I could use to catch my breath anyway," Gregory said, straightening.
"Nice morning for a run."
"Yes, I thought so. Do you run?"
Eddie laughed. "Only from the cops. I just kind of assumed it was a nice day for it."
"Most runners don't really differentiate, to be honest," Gregory said. "If the world hasn't ended, it's a nice morning for a run. Walk you back to the palace?"
"Sure, I'd be happy for the company," Eddie agreed, falling into step with him.
"I always seem to catch you sneaking back with treasure," Gregory said. "What is it this time, spear-hunting the forest boars?"
"No, I -- wait, you have wild boar?" Eddie asked, distracted.
"Is that good or bad?" Gregory asked.
"Could I seriously go spear-hunt wild boar in a royal forest? I think if I do they legally have to write a folk song about me, right?"
"Oh, ah. Maybe. You could, is what I mean, but I don't recommend it," Gregory said. "They're large and very angry. But yes, in theory."
"Have you?"
"Hunted boar? No. I feel that we've fallen into some kind of rabbit hole," Gregory added, wiping his face with his shirt. He glanced at Eddie, who seemed flustered. "So you weren't out hunting."
"I was down at the harbor, looking over the catch. I thought about suggesting a clambake for the coronation, but boy did I get told."
"Ah, yes," Gregory agreed. "Shellfish at a party is bad luck. Old superstition. Something to do with drowning. Or more likely, one too many parties where they got bad oysters."
"Shame. Anyway, I didn't want to come back empty-handed, so I stopped at the butcher and got chicken wings. I figured I'd make my infamous trash tower."
"Should I ask?" Gregory inquired.
"Play your cards right and you can have some," Eddie replied. "Come up to the kitchen, I'll show you how it's made."
"I really shouldn't," Gregory said. "I have to change, and I have a full day ahead -- "
"Won't take long, wings cook fast."
"It's just..." Gregory trailed off, unable too really come up with a good excuse. He didn't especially want to, was the problem.
"Look, I know your dad probably thinks I shouldn't take up your time," Eddie began.
"It's not that -- "
"It's okay, I get it," Eddie said, still sounding very reasonable about it. "Tell you what, I'll bring you a slice when it's done, instead. It's definitely not appropriate for your coronation but that's not really why I'm making it."
Gregory paused, considering this, realizing he was simply being a coward. He had the time, his father's feelings on the chef weren't really all that negative and certainly weren't going to impact his own feelings, and he liked Eddie's company.
"No, I have time for anything called the Trash Tower," he said. Eddie looked surprised. "Will it horrify Simon?" he asked, starting to walk again.
"Oh, it horrifies everyone," Eddie assured him.
"What goes into it?"
"It's really something you witness more than a recipe you can explain," Eddie replied.
Simon was in the kitchen when they arrived, but he was doing something complicated with dough; he gave them a nod when Eddie greeted them and placed an apple in Gregory's hand as he passed, but otherwise ignored them. Gregory settled himself at one of the prep tables while Eddie set his cargo down.
"I invented it when I was about twenty," Eddie said, going to the fridge and taking out a bowl of mashed potatoes from some previous meal, as well as some cooked vegetables. "It's mostly about the presentation, but it's also about feeding a bunch of hungry college students with whatever they bring you to cook. It's flexible, but there's a sort of platonic ideal, and it has thankfully been many, many years since I didn't have enough money to buy exactly what food I wanted."
"This is a dish with a platonic ideal," Gregory repeated, skeptical.
"Most dishes have a platonic ideal, but only the Trash Tower is brave enough to admit it," Eddie said. "Want to help?"
"Dare I?"
"Grate cheese," Eddie told him sternly, placing a block of cheese from the fridge and a grater in front of him.
"All of it?"
"Most of it. I'll let you know when to stop." Eddie went back to the bag he'd brought in with him, unloading not just chicken wings but also cuts of beef, sausages, and an enormous bag of potato chips.
"Didn't figure they kept these in the palace," Eddie said, when he saw him looking at the chips. "Keep grating," he added, opening the bag to let the air out and promptly crumpling it up to crush the chips.
"Yes, Chef," Gregory replied. Simon laughed from his pastries as Eddie began laying out chicken wings on a roasting pan.
"Anyway, the basic premise of my relationship to cooking is that there is a simple, satisfying way to make almost any food," Eddie continued. "Simon, the oven?"
"Still hot from the pastries," Simon replied.
"Awesome." Eddie set the oven temperature a little higher and returned to the wings, sprinkling them with seasoning. "Every time I make a recipe, especially if I'm developing it for a cookbook or an episode, I ask myself which parts are necessary, which parts people might not know. And I try to do something fun with it, so that people who do cook for fun won't see just another recipe for, I don't know, pot roast or lasagne."
"Keeping it new," Gregory said.
"That's it exactly." Eddie put the chicken in the oven and set a frying pan on the stove, swirling oil into it.
"It's a very...youth-culture friendly slogan," Gregory said. "Good marketing, I guess."
"Turned out to be."
"Didn't you come up with it for the TV show?" Gregory asked, surprised.
"Ah! No, the show came later. I didn't come up with it, anyway."
"Who did?"
"Technically a Chinese emperor," Eddie said, like that was the most normal thing in the world. "Ch'eng T'ang, in the 18th century. But I sound like a real new-age asshole when I put it that way. I got it from Ezra Pound."
That clarified absolutely nothing and opened several fascinating new avenues into the inner workings of Eddie's mind, but Gregory honestly wasn't sure where to start.
He finally settled on asking, "Did he get it from the Chinese emperor?"
"Yeah, more or less. There's a story about Ch'eng T'ang having a bathtub with an inscription on it about how necessary it was to renew yourself daily. It's meant to be a lesson in good government," Eddie continued, digging in the pots and pans and coming up with a bundt cake mold. "Pound read about it in a book on Confucian moral philosophy."
"Where'd you come across it?"
"Modernist theatre. Modernism is all about renewal, and they all say Pound said it first, and as we've established, he got it from Ch'eng T'ang. Now, on the one hand, Modernism could be super playful, which is kind of where I plant my own flag. On the other hand, you start edging into Futurism, at which point renovation, making it new, gets a lot more about like...clearing away rubbish, erasing the past. It all goes very Mussolini after that. Did Mussolini make it here?" he added.
"Almost," Gregory said, digesting this bite-sized philosophy lesson.
"Almost?"
"Askazer-Shivadlakia always has a surplus of two things -- fertilizer and common sense," Gregory said. "Common sense told us that with fertilizer we could make reasonably effective bombs. A little sabotage here, a little mayhem there...we started to be more trouble than it was worth for the Axis to keep trying, given they had us surrounded."
"Honestly? Delightful," Eddie told him. "Anyway, I took Pound's philosophy, and by extension Ch'eng T'ang's, as a sort of personal slogan. I really liked the idea of always being in renewal. You keep what's already there, you just change it up a little. Always have a solid ideal to adapt from. Then you know where to fall back to, if you have to."
"A very Shivadh sentiment," Simon remarked. Eddie began stir-frying the vegetables, and for a while the crackle of oil and sizzle of some sauce he was concocting drowned him out.
Gregory, his duty done to the grated cheese, watched as Eddie began assembling...whatever it was. The chicken roasted while the vegetables fried, and then the frying pan was set aside while Eddie mixed more garlic into the potatoes. Then the still-hot chicken wings were pulled from the oven and stripped, Eddie making soft hah noises over his singed fingers the whole time, and the meat tossed with the vegetables.
It came together with remarkable speed after that. Eddie laid a few remaining whole wings in the bottom of the bundt pan, then stirred up the potatoes and pressed a layer on top of the chicken. He alternated layers of potato, vegetables with chicken, cheese, slices of sausage, and crushed potato chips, until the cake pan was full and all the other pots and pans were empty. Then he carefully covered the pan with a platter, flipped it, and tapped out a perfectly molded mountain of food, topped with golden wings, oozing with melting cheese.
"Behold, the Trash Tower," Eddie said. "Ready for the finishing touch?"
"I'm intrigued and aghast," Gregory told him. Eddie picked up a bottle of hot sauce and striped it sparingly in one direction, then patterned mayonnaise across it, sprinkling the last of the potato chips over all of it.
"Bravo, that looks terrible," Simon observed.
"Take my picture with it, every time I make this people lose their minds," Eddie ordered, handing Gregory his phone with the camera open. Gregory lined up the shot of Eddie holding the Trash Tower, snapped a few for good measure, and then passed it back as Eddie set the platter down.
"My kingdom has never witnessed anything quite like it," Gregory said.
"Few have. Well, made by me, anyway. I published the recipe a few years ago and it's pretty popular for tailgating, apparently."
"Do you excavate it from the top down, or from the outside inward?" Gregory asked.
"Slice it," Eddie replied. He took a knife from the rack and cut two slightly wobbly slices, tipping them out into bowls, topping each with one of the whole chicken wings. "Simon, you in?"
"No, I have eaten, and I need to take the pastries in to the breakfast room. Shall I tell your father you've eaten also?" Simon asked Gregory.
"Thanks," Gregory said with a nod. Eddie offered him a fork and he dug it into the food in the bowl, trying to get a little of everything in one bite, instinctively understanding that was the best way to attempt this. Eddie watched him sample it, awaiting a reaction.
"Well, that's different," Gregory said thoughtfully, still chewing. "I like the crunch from the chips."
"I do a vegetarian version with mushrooms, too, and there's one with rice," Eddie said, starting on his own. "Some of my better work," he pronounced, after couple of mouthfuls. He leaned against the prep table, next to Gregory, and took out his phone, opening the photo app to study the pictures of him that Gregory had taken. "Oh hey, that's good work," he said, even as he cropped and color-adjusted the image.
"Easy subject," Gregory replied, between bites. It somehow tasted better the more you ate.
"I do my best," Eddie answered, amused, dropping the image into a Maxtagram post. He set his bowl down to concentrate on typing out a caption. "Trash Tower by Eddie Rambler, photograph by Crown Prince Gregory," he said as he typed. "Anything you want to add?" he asked, looking up.
Gregory had leaned over his shoulder to watch him work, and their faces were very close; Gregory saw Eddie's eyes dart down to his mouth, and his lips part.
"I suppose just that it's surprisingly good," Gregory heard himself say, the diplomat-politician part of his brain on autopilot while the rest of him vanished in a brief whirl of fantasy. Eddie seemed frozen, surprised perhaps. Gregory dipped his head, and Eddie's eyes closed --
And then Gregory's phone beeped, loudly.
He jerked back, setting the bowl down and digging in his pocket. He was suddenly aware he was sweaty and disheveled from his run, halfway through breakfast, and Eddie was probably just startled by how close he'd been.
"It's Alanna," he said. "She wants to know if she can move my nine-thirty to eight-thirty..."
He twisted to consult the kitchen clock; eight-ten.
"I need to shower, I need to get dressed," he said, pocketing his phone and picking up the bowl. "All right if I take this...?"
"It's your bowl," Eddie said with a grin. "Go, get ready for the day. Glad you liked it."
"Thank you, Eddie, really. And keep me posted on that brainstorming for the menus," Gregory said, and hurried out of the kitchen just as Simon was returning.
He tried to put it from his mind for most of the day, but meetings and palace business were hardly compelling enough to keep him from replaying the moment. Especially since the bowl, from which he'd eaten every scrap of the Trash Tower, sat on his desk until lunch, when palace staff replaced it with a plate of spaghetti that very clearly had Eddie's meatballs in it (they were popular in the staff kitchen too, so he was informed). And in the afternoon his phone notified him that Eddie had posted to Maxtagram. Reluctantly, he set it aside for later.
Eating dinner with his father did put a damper on his thoughts, but then Eddie Rambler, curse him, was waiting in his office when he got back to it afterwards.
The chef was sitting at the window, feet propped up against the bookshelf to one side, playing a noisy game on his phone; when Gregory walked in he grinned at him and turned off the game, but he didn't get up.
"Do you know, I got Simon to try some of the Trash Tower? I told him it was better as leftovers, which is kind of a lie, but it got him to eat it," he announced, by way of greeting.
"What was the verdict?" Gregory asked, unable to resist that infectious smile.
"He told me that the only reason my ancestors weren't ashamed of me for putting mayonnaise in it was that he wouldn't consider what I'd used real mayonnaise," Eddie said. "It's potentially the most devastating burn I've ever gotten from a fellow chef, but he polished off the whole slice, so who really won?"
"Who indeed," Gregory replied, settling into his chair and spinning it to face Eddie in the window seat. He found he didn't want to ask why he was there, enjoying the friendly camaraderie of it too much.
"I put the whole conversation on Maxtagram, you should check it. What a hoot," Eddie declared. "I had a question for you, though."
"Fire away, you've caught the future king in an indulgent moment," Gregory told him.
"Well, I went to the royal library to do some reading and I thought, I really don't know much about how the country sees you. Like, what public perception of the nobility is here. I think your dad was right, I do need to factor that in more, even if thinking about it doesn't mean I use it," Eddie said. "And so eventually I got on the internet and looked you up."
"Brave man," Gregory murmured. Eddie let his feet fall and leaned forward.
"So I have to admit that one, I did not know you were gay, which normally wouldn't be relevant for a client except that you're the first out gay king of Askazer-Shivadlakia," Eddie said, tone growing serious. "And two, my immediate thought was that if I had known that, I would have come at this from a different angle, because that's a big fuckin' deal, man."
"Well, it is, and it isn't," Gregory said, mouth a little dry.
"And that was my third point," Eddie agreed. "I then thought that maybe I shouldn't treat it any differently, because obviously you aren't. Like no requests for, I don't know, rainbow cakes or anything."
Gregory made a face.
"Do not tell me rainbow cakes are tired or tacky, I love a rainbow cake," Eddie said, pointing at him warningly.
"No, but they're not appropriate for a coronation," Gregory said.
"Maybe. We can debate that some other time. And you know, I'm sure you don't want it to be about that, you don't want to be The Gay King, you just want to be a king," Eddie said. Gregory nodded. "Which, I feel you, because like...I did that same math when I started my media career."
Gregory stared at him, perplexed.
"I'm bi," Eddie said. "I'm also super private about my personal life, not just that part of it, but the whole thing, so it wasn't a huge deal to me not to talk about it. But it's important in the sense of, I don't know, principles? So we had to have like...meetings about it with the network. They weren't thrilled, which is about par for the course. And I thought, okay, this doesn't have to be what I'm about right now."
"You were all right with that?" Gregory asked.
"Weren't you?"
"I came out in college," Gregory said with a shrug. "As soon as I'd sorted myself out and figured out how to...how to be me in public. But Askazer-Shivadlakia is very different from America. We don't have some of the same hangups."
"Obviously, or you wouldn't have been elected. My point is, yeah, I was okay with it until I could get myself established, and that's...kinda recent. So I'm not out. But I'm not like, ashamed of myself. That's the math I'm talking about."
He got up from the window seat, and Gregory saw what was coming with just enough clarity to know he could pull away from this if he wanted. He just...didn't want to.
So he didn't get up, not when Eddie did or when Eddie crossed to his desk, or when Eddie leaned over him, hands on the chair's armrest, face close to his once more.
"I did not imagine this morning," Eddie said. Gregory, slowly, shook his head. "And you haven't got anyone?"
"No."
"Mm," Eddie said thoughtfully. His eyes darted from Gregory's eyes to his lips again, then sideways, then back to his face.
"But it's unwise," Gregory said. "I can't offer much, and you're an employee -- "
Eddie laughed. "I'm a contracted caterer. You're not king of my country, and I'm not in the market for anything permanent."
"But I am. I need a king consort."
"Right this second?" Eddie asked. Gregory shook his head again. Eddie pulled back just a little, crouching in front of his chair, not quite so intimidating. "Then I'd like to offer you, your highness, a little fun while you wait for your own Prince Charming."
Gregory leaned forward and down, catching Eddie's mouth in a kiss; Eddie's hands went to his neck, thumbs on either side of his jaw.
It lasted about two seconds before Gregory overbalanced and Eddie, not in a stable position to begin with, tumbled backwards.
They ended up on the floor of his office, Eddie propped on his elbows, Gregory sprawled over him. Eddie laughed as Gregory rolled and got to his feet, reaching down to help him up. He abused the help by pulling Gregory in close and kissing him properly this time, both of them on a level. Eddie wrapped one arm around Gregory's waist.
"Lock your door and let's make out," Eddie suggested.
"I have to work here," Gregory said.
"You practically live here."
"Yes but I don't live here," Gregory replied impatiently. "I have an apartment with comfortable chairs and a bed and a lot more privacy."
Eddie's mouth drew up in an amused smile. "A bed, huh?"
"I'm an extremely ambitious man," Gregory told him.
"Servants won't find it weird you taking me to your apartment?" Eddie asked, but followed him when he started for the door.
"They're called staff, and they go home at night."
"Ironic," Eddie remarked, as Gregory led him into the hallway and down towards the back stairs behind the grand staircase. Gregory thought he saw someone in one of the side-hallways, but nobody emerged, so he started up the gently curving staircase, Eddie behind him.
"How so, ironic?" he asked, turning left at the landing and following the hallway with its row of windows that would lead them to his apartment.
"The staff get to leave, the king never does," Eddie said.
"Well, a king serves his people," Gregory replied, hoping he hadn't left his rooms in too much of a state. He couldn't think of anything particularly embarrassing that might be visible, but normally only his valet and himself ever saw it and his valet was a quiet, nonjudgemental man in his sixties.
Eddie, if he even noticed such things as mess or interior decor, clearly didn't care. He followed Gregory into the sitting room, then grabbed him by one hand and beelined for the large curving sofa in front of the windows, tumbling down onto it and pulling Gregory into his lap.
From here, Gregory could look out at the sunset over the palace grounds, with the town below almost visible; he could look down at Eddie's upturned face, delighted and intent.
Or he could close his eyes and lean forward into a hell of a kiss, so he did that.
Just outside the grand staircase of the palace of Askazer-Shivadlakia, Jerry (Gerald-Duke-of-Shivadlakia-the-12th, he'd learned in a sing-song when he was little) intercepted disaster and, as usual, dealt with it.
Well, perhaps "as usual" was pushing it, but Jerry had a nose for drama and a knack for getting into it, so when he'd seen King Michaelis coming from one direction towards Greg's office, and Greg coming from his office with another man in tow, he gauged distances carefully and then moved to intercept.
"Uncle Mike!" he said brightly, as the king approached. "Just the man I was looking for."
"Right now, Gerald?" Michaelis asked, sounding a little tired. "I'm looking for Gregory."
"Already gone to bed," Jerry replied, which wasn't technically a lie. "Saw him off myself."
Michaelis got the slightly suspicious look he often got around Jerry, but Jerry supposed he probably deserved it. The whole family had expected him to be the responsible one, to babysit Gregory and Alanna despite only being a year older, and the whole family had been endearingly disappointed. Jerry regretted very few things in life, at least so far, and being a fellow troublemaker with those two wasn't one of them.
"I suppose it can wait until morning," Michaelis grumbled.
"Well, what's it about? Maybe I can help," Jerry said.
Michaelis looked genuinely surprised. "Help....with what?"
"Whatever you needed Gregory for. This time of night it's either a real emergency or something that should wait for morning," Jerry pointed out.
"I'm afraid it's royal business," Michaelis said, but Jerry could tell he'd successfully distracted the king from his mission. Gregory owed him one.
"In that case, definitely it can wait until morning," Jerry said with a grin. "Anyway, with all the coronation plans going off, I'm feeling extremely neglected."
Michaelis rolled his eyes, but a faint smile crossed his lips. "All right, what is it you need, Gerald?"
"I actually had a question for you. It's about farming."
That drew the king up short. "Farming? You?"
"It came up during the meeting with the Agricultural Cabinet the other day," Jerry said. "I'm becoming very interested in olives."
"Are you feeling all right?" Michaelis asked.
"I can have interests in the welfare of the country, you know," Jerry said defensively.
Michaelis, to his credit, looked apologetic. "You can, of course, and I'm sure both Gregory and I would be thrilled if you took an interest. What is it you'd like to know that you couldn't get from the Cabinet?"
"Oh, long term stuff, mostly. You know -- the royal vision," Jerry said. "We don't have to talk about it now but I'd like to get on your calendar."
"Won't be my vision much longer, but Gregory and I have had some discussions..." Michaelis looked thoughtful. "I'll have a meeting arranged. You, me, and Gregory."
"Oh, ah -- that'd be fine, but maybe after the coronation?" Jerry suggested.
"Why?" Michaelis asked.
Jerry rubbed his jaw. It wasn't really his business and both Gregory and his father could be stubborn about being told when they were being stupid, but after all, that was why Jerry cultivated a specific air of daffiness.
"There's a lot on his plate," he said finally. "The coronation, taking over royal duties, briefings...maybe the unnecessary stuff can wait a little while."
"Do you think he's not up to it?" Michaelis asked. Jerry blinked.
"Uncle...nobody's up to that much," he said gently.
Michaelis seemed to consider this, which was actually kind of impressive.
"Is he struggling?" he asked. Jerry frowned.
"Why ask me? I barely see him these days."
"Yes, but he'd tell you things he wouldn't tell me."
That was true enough. Gregory had confided in him at school, inasmuch as he did anyone. Not for a while though, now. Jerry wondered if he confided in anyone anymore. Al might know.
"I think anyone would," he finally said, diplomatically. "I'm sure if he starts to really drown he'll speak up, but Gregory's idea of drowning and our idea..." he made a weighing motion. He hadn't meant to get quite this deep just to keep Michaelis from walking in on his son with a secret lover, but, well, carpe diem.
"It's a good point," Michaelis said, eyes going distant. "Very good point. Well. Thank you, Jerry. Speak to Alanna about setting up that meeting whenever you think is best. But I'm going to hold you to that interest in olives," he added, shaking a finger at him.
"Absolutely," Jerry promised. "Goodnight, uncle."
"Goodnight, Gerald," Michaelis said, and to his relief went back the way he'd come, towards his own apartments in a different wing of the palace. Jerry, deciding this was enough hard work for the week, slumped onto the grand staircase, resting his head against the post of the banister.
"Deftly done," said a new voice, and Alanna stepped out from the shadows. Jerry, startled, clutched his chest.
"You could have helped," he said with a scowl as she sat next to him.
"And ruin the moment? You did fine. Though I should warn you, if you keep behaving competently, they'll keep giving you work."
"I could take an interest in things," Jerry protested. "I might be turning over a new leaf, for all you know."
"Well, you did Gregory a favor, anyway, so I suppose I should thank you. What was all that about?" Alanna asked.
Jerry shrugged. "Where did you come in?"
"Just as you buttonholed His Majesty."
"Ah. Well, you didn't hear it from me," Jerry said, tapping the side of his nose. "I was preventing an incident. Himself was coming down the hall looking for Greg just as Greg was taking an amore up to his room."
Alanna blinked at him. "An amore?"
"Boyfriend? I didn't get a good look but it was definitely an assignation."
"He isn't even dating anyone right now," Alanna said. "That was the whole point of the arranged marriage discussion."
"Well, he's clearly doing some arranging," Jerry replied. Alanna still looked unsettled. "He's a big boy, Al, I'm sure he's fine."
"It's not that I'm worried about," she said. "All this stress...he's not himself."
"I don't know. I don't see him as much as you, but seems like the best stress relief possible just followed him up the stairs."
"Creep," she said, smacking his arm. "Thanks for covering, though."
"All part of the royal service. I am interested, you know."
"In Greg's amore?"
"No, sorry, back a few changes of subject," Jerry said. "In the olives. When I was talking with uncle Mike. The agricultural meeting got me thinking. I didn't know crop planning was such a precise science."
"Precision hasn't usually been one of your strong suits," Alanna pointed out.
"No, but I love all that kind of planning stuff. Timetables. Like those word puzzles they used to give us in school."
Alanna twisted a little to regard him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Well, well. Everyone's growing up at last."
"Slander," Jerry said.
"Maybe, but I'm giving you a new job," Alanna said.
"I didn't have an old one."
"Fine, I'm giving you a first job," she said. "His Majesty listens to you because he knows you have no political agenda, which is a belief you can only weaponize for a short time. From now until the coronation, your job is to run interference on the King. Get him to leave Greg alone as much as possible outside of meetings. And if this amore hangs around, keep him out of the king's way."
Jerry looked down at her, eyes wide. "Keeping the prince away from the king?" he asked. Then, delighted, "Am I the evil vizier?"
"If you do a good job I will have Gregory officially appoint you vizier when he's king," she said.
"We haven't had a vizier in a hundred years," Jerry said, pretending to be starstruck. "What would I even do?"
"Nothing," Alanna said, "but with great drama."
"Sold," Jerry replied, and kissed her temple. "Go to bed. I'm headed there and Gregory's clearly already gone."
"Fair enough. If you find out who the amore is, let me know," she said, standing and dusting the seat of her trousers. Jerry gave her a thumbs up, then leaned back on the stairs to watch her go.
Eddie left the royal chambers (as he called them, narrating the adventure silently to himself) around midnight, well-satisfied with the world. He didn't expect to run into anyone, but he wasn't truly at ease until he'd made it back down to ground level and through the main hallway to the guest wing.
Eddie came from a family of people for whom the world held endless possibility, and he was rarely surprised when his unorthodox life brought him to new adventures. Still, this was high on the "didn't predict that" scale. After a couple of seasons of success on television he hadn't really blinked at being hired to cater a coronation, but there was still a certain spice in going halfway around the world to make out with the soon-to-be king of a delightful little coastal city-state.
In private, away from his office and staff, Gregory was different. He'd seen a little of it in their walk to town, and their morning meeting in the garden, and -- really almost anytime he was in Simon's kitchen or in Eddie's company without others around. The tension in his body dissipated, and his face became startlingly expressive. As he unlocked the door to his own suite, Eddie beamed to himself over Gregory's dark eyelashes and half-open mouth from a few minutes before.
It couldn't be easy to be one of the few visibly gay royals on the continent (in the world? Eddie didn't pay much attention to royalty, usually) but Gregory had apparently been very intentional about it, and he went about enjoying himself the same way, without the least hint of shame. If, perhaps, a little exaggerated dignity.
Well, at least they'd gotten past him calling Eddie "Mr. Dude."
Very well past.
Eddie settled crosslegged on the foot off his bed, checking his appearance in the selfie-camera view on his phone before hitting record.
"Evening, friends and fans," he said, keeping his voice low. "I'm pretty sure it's like lunchtime where most of you are, but I'm keeping quiet because it's late here. Just thought I'd say a happy goodnight to everyone -- every day here brings new challenges but also new delights. And at the end of the day I'm always ready to sleep. Even if it's just so I can get up tomorrow and try again."
He gave them his goofiest smile, wondering if Greg watched these videos. "So I'll say goodnight to you locals here in Askazer-Shivadlakia, and I hope everyone in America's having a wonderful afternoon, and...well, good morning to Japan, I guess."
He put up the peace sign, tilting his head towards it. "Everybody eat at least one really good meal today, okay? Night, you all."
Chapter 6: Four Weeks
Chapter Text
FOUR WEEKS UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
Gregory woke, the morning after his evening with Eddie, feeling energized and cheerful. It didn't immediately occur to him why, until he spotted his shirt, lying across the sofa where Eddie had tossed it last night. Gregory had tried to catch it, to set it aside in a more orderly kind of way, and Eddie had laughed and distracted him.
"Not everything's gotta be filed," Eddie had said, and the sentiment had struck a chord he hadn't really examined until now. The reminder that sometimes you had to simply let a mess be a mess had felt very freeing. The whole world didn't have to be in order before he could be crowned.
Pleased at the idea, he took a little longer in the shower than usual, and the valet had come and gone with his clothes, whisking away the messy shirt and leaving clean ones. Gregory dressed, deciding on a bright blue shirt from the two the valet had left, and met Alanna in the hall on the way to breakfast.
"Good morning," he said, wondering if Eddie might be pestering Simon in the kitchen. "Sleep well?"
"I did, thank you," she replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You look nice."
"Thank you. Begin as you mean to go on, I guess," he told her. "Not to trumpet the perks of being king, but it's easier when you have staff who pick out your clothes. What's my first meeting this morning?"
"The usual staff briefing this morning, but otherwise you're open until about two. Because of the -- "
"Budget meeting that I need to do the numbers on," he nodded, peeking into the kitchen. Just Simon, frying eggs.
"Good morning, your highness," Simon said.
"Morning," Gregory replied. He held up three fingers to indicate how many eggs he wanted and Simon nodded. As they headed to the dining room, Gregory caught Alanna smiling at him in a way that made him suspicious, but he couldn't put his finger on why.
Michaelis and, to Gregory's surprise, Jerry, were both at breakfast. Alanna took a scone from the dish and settled in, spreading it with jam.
"Good morning, Gregory," Michaelis said, looking up briefly from his tablet. "You look well rested. Bed early last night?"
"And some good sleep," Gregory agreed. Jerry made a soft noise, but when Gregory looked over all he saw was an innocent smile.
"Just as well. Have you got a few minutes this morning?" Michaelis asked. A look crossed Jerry's face that Michaelis seemed to register. "I'll try to keep it brief," he added.
"Sure, after the staff meeting. Al -- "
"Adding it to your calendar, just in case," she agreed, tapping on her phone.
"You should go to bed early more often. You're in high spirits today," Michaelis said, somewhere between approval and a grumble. Jerry and Alanna both bit their lips. Gregory wasn't sure what was going on, but it looked like Al and Jerry might be conspiring. Given one was his assistant and both were family, it'd probably be to his benefit to stay ignorant.
"I'll bear that in mind," he said, as Simon came in with the eggs and a full rack of toast. "I didn't see Eddie in there with you this morning, Simon."
"Ah, no," Simon agreed. "I think he's spending much of the day with the Conservation officers. He seems very determined on the subject of wild boar."
"Good eating on those. Acorns all winter and berries all summer, makes them tender," Michaelis remarked, cutting up his egg. "Devil to hunt, though."
"Alanna," Gregory said, considering things, "Could you block off the hour before the budget meeting today? Just mark it busy on the calendar."
"Sure. Anyone to add to the meeting?"
"No, I want to have time to clear my head beforehand. If anyone has anything they need addressed they'll know to get it to me before one."
"Want me to have Simon hold lunch for you?"
"No, I'll be going out," Gregory said. Alanna's eyebrows rose gently. "Actually, have him pack up a lunch, I'll take it with me. Ask him to make it on the large side."
"One hour and one large brown bag," she said. "Got it."
Not everything had to be filed, and Eddie had been clear he was here for a good time. Gregory could make a little mess in at least one corner of his life, for now.
The palace of Askazer-Shivadlakia was technically public property and the grounds, including the lake, fishing lodge, hiking trails, and a portion of the forest, were administered and cared for by the conservation corps, which Gregory's grandfather had founded. Because of this, there was a conservation corps visitor's center not far from the palace, and that had to be where Eddie had taken his bowfishing lessons. It was probably where he was trying to convince some poor, nature-loving conservation officer to let him hunt a wild boar.
Gregory hummed to himself as he made his way down the trail to the visitor's center, the small basket of food swinging from one hand. Not only was he getting a well-needed breath of fresh air before an all-afternoon meeting, but he'd have a good lunch by the lake with Eddie.
Besides, Eddie probably hadn't packed a lunch, and it was a nice gesture. Although...
He stopped, just outside the rustic low fence of the visitor's center. Eddie had been very casual about all this -- they both had -- and bringing him a picnic lunch not a full day after they'd spent the evening on the couch together...
"Your highness!" Eddie's voice rang out from the left, and Gregory turned to see him, two conservation officers, and (unsettlingly) a man with a guitar, all loitering on the rocks at the edge of the lake's beach. "Come over, we're all down here."
"So I see," Gregory replied, steeling himself for an awkward moment. "Have you found a folk song about the wild boar yet?"
"How'd you know?" Eddie asked, laughing.
"I saw the guitar," Gregory said. The man with the guitar smiled at him respectfully.
"What brings you out here?" Eddie asked.
"Oh, I ah..." Gregory held up the basket. "I wanted a break from work, and imagined you hadn't brought a lunch with you."
Eddie beamed at him. "From Simon?"
"Well, I definitely didn't make it," Gregory said, passing the basket over. The conservation officers gave him a nod as they stood to leave, and the man with the guitar high-fived Eddie as he walked off down the beach. Eddie began unpacking the basket onto a flat rock, gesturing for Gregory to take the slightly more sloped rock next to it.
"Join me, Simon sent enough for three," he said, laying out bread and cheese, a little jar of mustard and a pot of olive oil, some dried figs. "Productive morning, at least, I hope?"
"Yes, very. Not as interesting as yours, I imagine," Gregory said.
"Well, I definitely learned a lot," Eddie agreed.
He looked up just in time to catch Gregory watching him, and Gregory smiled. Eddie matched it, and then they were both laughing quietly.
"This was very sweet of you," Eddie said.
"Not a little over the top?" Gregory asked.
"No, why would it be? Got you out of that stuffy office, and tells me you wanted to see me."
"I wouldn't want to be obvious."
"Why not? I would," Eddie replied. "I like being obvious. Means nobody ever doubts where you stand. Why wouldn't you want to spend time with me? I'm delightful. I definitely didn't expect I'd get to see you today, or at least not so soon, and that's great."
Gregory considered this. There was a charm to being obvious, he supposed, especially if you were as charismatic as Eddie. It was refreshing, to say the least.
"Well, then I'm glad I came down," he replied.
"Me too. Now, let's eat," Eddie pronounced, and Gregory nodded and bent to his food. "You listen attentively while I tell you the legends of your people I have just now learned from a park ranger."
He was glad he'd had the break that evening, when the budget meeting, infuriatingly but also expectedly, ran long. Staff brought in dinner during the course of it, and by the time he'd finally handshaked-and-armclapped the last of the attendees out the door, it was late.
He considered going in search of Eddie, even perhaps stopping by his guest suite, but decided against it. Eddie was a perceptive man; he'd see that Gregory was in a meeting and find some other entertainment.
When he reached the door of his apartments, there was a neon pink sticky-note on the handle that read "DO NOT DISTURB" in Eddie's sprawling hand.
Gregory grinned, plucked it off the knob, and tucked it in a pocket as he stepped inside.
The light was on in his bedroom, and he could see one of Eddie's loud-print shirts against the bedspread. When he leaned in the doorway, he could see the rest of Eddie as well -- still in his clothes, loud shirt included, but sprawled on top of the bed, asleep, one hand on his chest and the other above his head.
He had a post-it note stuck to his forehead that said, "Disturb".
Gregory plucked it up and laughed; Eddie startled awake, and then tilted his head against the pillow.
"Hey, thank you for disturbing," Eddie said, smiling warmly.
"One does one's best. You didn't need to wait up for me," Gregory said.
"Good, because I clearly didn't. What time is it?"
"Only about ten."
"Power nap, then," Eddie said, sitting up and crossing his legs. "I thought you might want a friendly ear after the late meeting. Or a friendly hand," he added, waggling his eyebrows. Gregory sat on the edge of the bed next to him and then flopped back, stretching. Eddie rested a hand on his stomach.
"Listen, I will not be hurt if you are tired and want me to fuck off," Eddie said. "Just so we're clear."
"Not at all, I'm glad you're here. But I'm not sure I'm the most inspired person right now, given I've still got the words 'fiscal year' imprinted on my eyelids," Gregory replied. "Just so your expectations are correct."
"No expectations here," Eddie said. "If you want me to stay -- "
"I do."
"Well, good," Eddie answered. He leaned over, filling Gregory's vision, and kissed him. "Want a truly wild suggestion?" he asked, against Gregory's mouth.
"I'm learning the folly of saying yes to you," Gregory said.
"How about you go to bed and I will also go to bed, but in this bed, and we can continue the conversation when we wake up?"
Gregory could feel the moment his muscles relaxed, the drop from King Ascendant to Crown Prince all the way down to just Gregory.
"That sounds amazing," he said.
"I know!" Eddie sat back and reached out, pulling him upright. "Go get changed."
Roughly eight minutes later, in a worn old shirt and cotton shorts, Gregory shuffled under the covers and felt Eddie climb in behind him, wrapping around his body like a large, sleepy bear. He closed his eyes and let himself go blissfully slack.
"I've never said this to anyone before," Eddie said, as Gregory drifted off, "But I'm going to enjoy the hell out of sleeping next to you."
The next morning, when he woke up and Eddie was indeed still in the bed -- sprawled out over Gregory's chest, gently snoring into his collarbone -- Gregory managed to find his fast-dying phone in the bedclothes and text his valet not to come in until summoned. Eddie mumbled sleepily into his chest.
"Time 'sit?" he asked.
"Early yet. Just letting my valet know not to interrupt us," Gregory replied, patting Eddie's pale hair, sticking out wildly from his head. "Sleep a little longer if you'd care to."
"No, I'm up," Eddie decided, pushing away just enough so that he could roll over onto his side. Gregory plugged the phone into its charger and then turned to face him, curious. "Sleep well?"
"I did, yes."
"Good. Al worries you don't sleep enough."
"Ah, Al to you too now, is it?" Gregory asked, amused.
"She's great. And she cares a lot about you."
"I know. I care for her, too. It's not often the noble families have children who get along. Lots of attempted murders between cousins in past generations."
"Huh." Eddie rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. "Must be weird, having roots that deep. Like, how far back can you go in the family tree?"
"Not terribly far on my father's side -- two, three generations past him, when they arrived in the country. My mother was old nobility, I can probably get back fifteen generations on her side. But yes...there's a strong foundation of history to stand on. Thank goodness, all things considered. You sound like you're close to your family. Surely you understand what that's like."
"A little." Eddie shrugged. "It's really just my parents, though. My mom's parents were big hippies, they've been in a couple of cults, and we're not actually sure where they are at any given moment. They've got a VW Bus and a will to wander."
"My goodness."
"Good people but not like...dependable. And Dad's parents don't like him so they don't see us much."
"Whyever not?" Gregory asked.
"They're real Stepford types. They don't acknowledge I exist."
"Because you're a TV chef?"
"Among other things. The shame and horror," Eddie said, grinning. "Dad and I don't like them either so it's no big deal. They think I'm trashy, that's all. Lots of people do."
Gregory thought reservedly of his objections when Alanna had hired Eddie. I wanted gastropub, not dive bar. Eddie laughed, and Gregory realized it must have shown on his face.
"Yeah, that's about the size of it," Eddie said, though Gregory hadn't even spoken. "Look, I do a show about working-class food and the working-class people who make it. Restaurants that I put on the show get huge bumps in business. If I like the food, I invest as a silent partner. I've got a portfolio of dive bars and greasy spoons from Bangor to Baja. Hell, after the coronation I'm going to drop a few grand in Askazer-Shivadlakia, too. Luxury cheese exports and handicrafts. My folks raised me to believe in what I do. Other people don't have to."
"A very healthy way to live, I suppose."
"It has its pain in the ass moments, but I do love it. There's real freedom in not giving a damn. Sooner or later I'm going to get tired of television, being on the road all the time, and I like knowing my whole identity isn't tied up in it. I can walk away if I ever want to. Settle down, maybe sell my interest back to the owners, open a chain or something."
"No firm ideas?"
Eddie shrugged against the sheets. "How do you make fate laugh?"
"Announce your plans," Gregory said. "We've heard that one in Askazer-Shivadlakia."
"Which reminds me, realistically, this week we need to set the theme and menu for the coronation feast."
Gregory groaned, covering his face with his hands. Eddie rolled, propping himself up, and kissed the backs of Gregory's hands.
"Don't worry. I'll pull something off, I always do. You have a good kitchen staff, they'll help, and I'm going to try to source all the food locally, so we won't need to worry about shipping delays."
"If we can't come up with something that Dad likes, I think we should just go with the formal meal," Gregory said.
"You're the boss. It's not interesting, but it is safe. I'll have Alanna set a final tasting for the end of the week, we'll make sure your dad's in a good mood, and I'll do my best to knock his socks off. In the meantime," Eddie added, pulling one of Gregory's hands away from his face, "I should shower and sneak out before anyone's up. Wanna come shower with me?"
That was the week guests began trickling in for the coronation. Not many at first, since there was a full month until coronation, but distant family began returning for a nice long holiday on the coast, and a handful of reporters started to set up shop and look around for local color. Gregory began to be interrupted with requests for interviews, local television spots, and occasionally a royal favor for a family friend.
He was running late for a call-in to a podcast recording, and was literally running from the conference room to his office, when he burst into the main hall and almost bowled over a crowd of elderly women. He skidded to a stop, startled, and as one they turned to look at him with interested eyes.
"Your highness!" Eddie called, from the middle of the knot of women, at least a head taller than any of them. "Everybody curtsey!"
Gregory stared, mortified, as two dozen women, all visibly over the age of sixty, dropped into dainty curtseys they'd clearly learned in school as children. Without even meaning to, he fell into tradition as well, stiffly bowing at the waist, deep enough to demonstrate his respect for their age. A few laughed.
"All right, nonnas, come on, this way," Eddie continued, leading the women towards the big staff-canteen kitchen. "Show a little of that Shivadh hustle!"
He wanted to stop and find out what was going on, because it certainly looked interesting, but his phone beeped insistently. He put it from his mind as he ducked into his office, where Alanna had already set up a mic for recording. It wasn't until that evening, eating dinner in the family dining room, that he remembered what he'd seen.
"Did you happen to see the gaggle of grannies in the castle today?" he asked Alanna over a bowl of pasta -- an old highland recipe with thick noodles and seared, thin-sliced beef.
"Oh yeah! Eddie had them in to give him a demo. You're eating the result," she said, pointing her fork at his bowl. He looked down, surprised. "He wanted lessons in hand-pulled noodles and what we do with them around here. He rounded up every woman in town who still makes her own and threw a party."
"A noodle-pulling party?"
"Can't argue with results," she said. "He's got kids coming in tomorrow to help him learn how to make cookies. Don't worry, I got releases signed by the parents and there are plenty of chaperones."
"Doubt that's going to help with the coronation feast."
Alanna looked complacent about it. "You never know. Anyway," she added, studying her phone, "You can take some of that to-go if you want, you don't have anything booked for this evening."
He frowned. "Why would I want to take some to go?"
"I don't know. If you wanted some later, or to share with someone," she said airily.
Gregory stared at her, setting his fork down. "Who would I be meeting that you didn't know about?"
Alanna gave him a look. Gregory felt his eyes widen.
"I don't know who he is and I don't need to -- " she began, but he cut her off with a gesture.
"It's not serious," he said. "I mean -- it's not a relationship, not really. It's just some fun. I had thought we were being discreet."
"Like I said. Don't know who he is," Alanna said. "Frankly, I think it's good for you."
"Is this what you and Jerry were giggling about at breakfast the other day?" he demanded.
"Yes," she said unrepentantly.
"Does Dad know?"
"If he does, it's not from me or Jerry. But no, I don't think so."
"Well, small mercy."
"Why?" she asked. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled. Isn't this what he -- ah," she said, as Gregory pointed at her.
"A little too thrilled. And he's not marriage material, anyhow," Greg said.
"That's a cruel thing to say about a date." Alanna looked appalled.
"Not like that! He's not interested in long-term, is what I mean. And even if he were he wouldn't..." Gregory searched for the word. "I don't know that he'd enjoy the royal life."
"Well, as long as you're having fun," she said.
Gregory considered this. "You know, I think I am."
"Good." She gathered up her phone, standing. "I'll see you tomorrow morning -- yell if you need anything."
"Alanna," he called, as she reached the doorway. She turned. "You know if there was someone serious I'd tell you. I value your opinion tremendously."
She grinned. "You'd better. Until tomorrow, your highness."
Eddie, still dotted here and there with flour and hugely pleased with himself over the noodle lesson, was helping scrub down the big kitchen that fed most of the palace staff when someone walked in and said, "You!" loudly at him.
"Indeed, it is I," he replied, bowing low and flicking a tea towel off his shoulder in a salute. When he straightened, a man with a faint resemblance to the royal family was staring at him. "I'm afraid I haven't read my Who's Who, but you're probably one of the noble cousins, huh?" Eddie asked, grinning.
The man dodged someone going past with a pile of dirty plates and hustled into the kitchen, squinting at him.
"You're Eddie Rambler," he said, surprised.
"Most of the time," Eddie agreed, offering one slightly damp, soapy hand, then wiping it with a towel before re-offering it.
"Oh! Sorry, I'm Jerry," the man said. "Gerald, 12th Duke of Shivadlakia."
"You're the bad example!" Eddie said, delighted.
Jerry laughed. "Is that how Greg described me?"
"It's how everyone describes you," Eddie said. "They also always add they think I'll like you, which is either a statement about me or a testament to your likability."
"Probably both," Jerry said. "Sorry, about three separate facts are coming together in my head and I'm still sorting them out. You're here to cater the coronation."
"Yep," Eddie agreed, going back to wiping down the steel prep counter.
"It's only the last time I saw you I didn't realize you were, well, you," Jerry said. "I'd have introduced myself before now if I'd known. Offered to show you around, sort of thing."
"Wouldn't say no now," Eddie replied, wondering where Jerry had seen him earlier. "Well, actually, I would, but only for tonight. If you're into giving tours I'll take a ticket for tomorrow."
"Honestly, I wouldn't know where to begin. And I'm sure you've been kept very busy," Jerry remarked. "How's preparations coming?"
"It's a work in progress," Eddie replied. "Hey, I've been asking everyone today, what's your favorite food?"
"Cocktails," Jerry replied.
"Huh. Actually, that might be helpful," Eddie said thoughtfully. "I'm considering a kind of country house murder mystery vibe, given everyone's going to be in tuxes and gowns anyway."
"I'm being fitted for my gown tomorrow," Jerry said.
"I'm sure you'll wear the hell out of it."
Jerry laughed. "I see why Greg likes you. And a little bit why Al says his dad is..."
"Middling? Yeah. He might go for the cocktails thing, though, as long as I don't actually phrase it as country house murder mystery."
"Murder mystery vibes aren't appropriate for a coronation?" Jerry suggested.
"I think it's fine, but you can see the problem he might have. Anyway, he wants a formal dinner. If I can pull him in with swanky custom cocktails, he might be more open to innovation in the food." Eddie gave the table a final swipe and glanced at the chef, who looked up from his own cleaning and nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"My, you've been reading the comportment books! Jerry's fine. I don't stand on ceremony." Jerry clapped him on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work."
"Keepin' it new," Eddie responded, and Jerry laughed as he walked off.
"Psst -- hey!"
Gregory, leaning back in his chair with his boots up on his desk and phone in hand, looked up from a muted Maxtagram video, showing Eddie making cookies with children -- including what looked like Alanna's niece Gabriella -- to see the real Eddie leaning in the window of his office, arms resting on the sill.
"I was just catching up on your extremely busy day," he said, pointing at his phone. Eddie grinned.
"So you know that I have cookies to share," Eddie replied.
"I have a feeling we'll be eating cookies until my diamond jubilee."
"Do you get one of those if you're elected? I guess it doesn't matter. Anyway I have a bag of cookies," Eddie said, holding up a bag in one hand, "and also a bag of wine," he added, indicating a slim backpack on his back.
"Sounds like you're on your way to a grand adventure," Gregory remarked.
"Come along. I'm going to hide out in the gardens and watch the stars come out."
Technically, he shouldn't; he had to finish this speech soon to get it to the communications people tomorrow to be doctored up and returned to him so he could give it at the opening of the royal vault so they could get the crown jewels out.
So that he could be crowned with them, which still felt surreal.
On the other hand, technically he should blow the speech off, at least for a little while; it was bound to be relaxing, and he'd had a full day.
Eddie cheered when Gregory dropped his boots to the floor and got up, coming to kneel at the window bench and look down at him.
"What kind of wine?" he asked.
"Why, are you picky?" Eddie retorted.
"I want to know my coronation chef is pairing wine with cookies properly."
"Not intentionally, I just stole what I saw. It's a chardonnay, it'll be fine."
Gregory nodded and slid around, dangling his legs out the window; Eddie stepped back and he dropped down, grateful for Eddie's steadying hands.
"Here," Eddie said, offering him a bar of shortbread. "For the journey."
"How many cookies have you already eaten today?" Gregory asked, nibbling on it while they walked.
"Not that many. I learned how to eat for an audience years ago," Eddie said, clearly leading the way to some goal he had on the palace grounds. "The rule is that you never take more than one bite for the camera. You watch any food television host. They take one bite of everything. The rest is a camera cut that leaves the meal to your imagination. It's part of why food shows make people hungry."
"That's a good trick."
"Small bites and big reactions," Eddie said. "Very key to what I do."
"It's not far off how one gets a law passed around here, either," Gregory replied. "It's very good shortbread."
"Potato starch," Eddie said.
"Oh yes?"
"Probably doesn't help with law making, but it's great in shortbread." Eddie ducked through a gap in a high hedge and led him into a little clearing that looked down on the harbor. From this angle the town was almost across the water from them, lights slowly going on in shops and houses. They'd barely penetrate the darkness once the sun was fully down.
The backpack Eddie brought had two bottles of wine wrapped in a blanket; he set the bottles aside and shook out the blanket, spreading it on the ground before opening the first bottle with a corkscrew on a pocket-knife. Gregory settled himself on the blanket and leaned against his shoulder, watching him pour.
"We have a bouquet of cookies for you this evening, some of which may even make it into the coronation menu," Eddie said, handing him a glass of wine. He opened the other bag and revealed a covered bowl stocked with various sweets. "The only one not included are the tricolors, because those take like two days to make."
"I've had tricolors. Very fond of them, actually."
"Duly noted," Eddie replied. "I'm tempted to veer away from anything with nuts for the official event, but there are these, which are walnutty things, and these almond whatses, and some of the chocolate chip cookies have pecans in them."
"Yes, the very famously traditional Askazer-Shivadlakia chocolate chip cookies," Gregory drawled.
"Chocolate chip cookies have been around since the 1930s. Almost a hundred years. I actually had a look in some of the previous chefs' personal cookbooks in the library, you know when chocolate chip cookies made it here?"
"I couldn't begin to guess."
"Me either, the notes don't say. But chocolate chips made it here in 1946. There's records of chefs using them in recipes instead of full bars of chocolate because you could get the chips but not the bars. Some kind of rationing issue. Anyway," Eddie said, "your granddad ate chocolate chip cookies in this palace, that's good enough tradition for me."
"Then me too, I suppose," Gregory said, taking one.
"Wanna eat it like a food host?" Eddie asked. Gregory gestured for him to continue. Eddie held up a cookie, broke off a chunk about the size of a coin, and popped it into his mouth. He rolled his eyes, groaned in appreciation, and waved the hand not holding his wine glass dramatically. "Now you."
"I'm not going to groan like that," Gregory warned, but he did break off a chunk like he'd seen Eddie do, and when he ate it he couldn't help but nod in appreciation.
"All that dignity's going to catch up with you one day," Eddie said.
"Probably already has. Too late to do anything about it now," Gregory said. He began picking at the other cookies, trying a little of each, while Eddie explained what each was and told stories about the kids who'd brought the recipes. By the time he'd sampled everything, the first bottle of wine was empty, and they were both lying back on the blanket, staring upwards, Eddie giving a sort of impromptu lesson in the history of the cookie.
"I thought you studied theatre in school," he said, as Eddie paused in his discussion of the uses of date honey in early recipes for baklava. "And somewhere in there you must have learned to cook. When did you have time for history as well?"
"I had a lot of backstage time during rehearsal and access to a good library," Eddie answered. "I like history. Might go back and get a degree in it someday."
"You don't think it would be strange? Going back to school as Eddie Rambler?"
"Sure. Strange as attending college as Prince Gregory ben Michaelis to begin with," Eddie answered.
"I suppose that's a point." Gregory rolled over, propping himself on his elbows. Eddie gazed up at him serenely. "You could put out a line of dormitory cookware."
"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind. Always thinking, me," Eddie said. "That reminds me, I've got a question for you. I've been asking everyone lately, just to see what they say."
"Of course."
"When you were a kid, what was your favorite food?"
"Hm." Gregory thought about it, plucking at the grass just at the edge of the blanket. "You'd think it would be something unique -- something only served in Askazer-Shivadlakia."
"Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Kuzhui, perhaps."
"Kuz what now?"
Gregory smiled at him. "Kuzhui. It's a kind of casserole made with flaked fish."
"That certainly sounds unique."
"But when I went off to boarding school, eating in the dining hall every day..." Gregory shrugged. "It was good food, but it was meant to feed a lot of growing children very quickly. And school wasn't nearby, so the food was different, too. I did miss Simon's cooking."
"What did he make that was so good?"
"Not the fish casserole," Gregory said. Eddie chuckled. "No, what I really wanted that first holiday home from school was potato salad."
"Potato salad!"
"Sure. It was a very specific cold potato salad my mother used to pack in a thermos, for when we went to the fishing lodge. That first day, we'd get there just before sunset. My father would bow-fish, and my mother and I sat in the boat and ate potato salad on crackers, and read books. At least until I was fourteen or so, and Dad started teaching me to bowfish too."
"That sounds nice, actually," Eddie said. "Simon's recipe?"
"My mother taught him to make it. She learned from her family chef. We still have it once in a while, but usually only at the fishing lodge. We don't go boating as often anymore. What about you?" he asked, aware he was rambling back into nostalgia.
"Oh, I don't go boating much either," Eddie said. Gregory nudged him with an elbow. "Well, I do make a decent potato salad."
"But what was your favorite food?"
Eddie tucked his arms behind his head, closing his eyes. "It's a little gross."
"Fish casserole," Gregory reminded him.
"Well, what I mean is the food isn't material, it was part of something bigger. Kind of like how yours is, actually. On weekends or whenever we could weasel out of school, my folks would throw us in the car and take us on day trips or overnights to, I don't know, wherever -- national parks, tourist traps, different beaches with cool waves for surfing. Plenty to see in California if you drive pretty much any direction from the coast."
"Wouldn't know what that's like."
Eddie laughed again. "We'd get up super early, pack the car with games to keep us busy and coolers full of lunch, and hit the road. Eventually we'd stop off somewhere and eat lunch at a picnic table or on the beach or whatever. It was the travel that made it special."
"What was in the lunches?"
"Chips, for sure. Celery sticks, peanut butter. Cheese and crackers -- real cheap cheese, bless my parents. Bananas. Soda and juice. And we all made our own sandwiches so we'd have what we liked, then we'd wrap them in waxed paper and put them in the very top of the cooler, so they'd stay cold but they wouldn't get soggy."
"Very rustic."
"That's a charming word for it. Anyway, a sandwich eaten out of a waxed paper wrapper, that was my best meal."
"Any kind of sandwich?"
Eddie opened his eyes, amused. "I had a specialty. Peanut butter, banana, and bacon bits, with hot sauce."
Gregory knew he couldn't keep the look off his face, so didn't try. Eddie pointed at him, snickering.
"That's what my siblings looked like. Kept them from trying to steal my sandwich, though."
"It'd keep me from trying, certainly."
"Don't knock it. Although probably all the fresh air and getting to skip school contributed to the flavor." Eddie sat up, stretching a little. "There's a lot here that reminds me of home. It's that balmy warm weather in the evenings, especially. Really beautiful nights you have in this burg."
"We put them on specially for visitors."
"As long as it doesn't rain, your coronation's probably going to be gorgeous."
"I hope so. I won't see much of it. Trapped inside most of the day making oaths and wearing extremely heavy hats and robes."
"Huh," Eddie said, in a way that made Gregory look up at him. "That is a shame. You and your dad are both pretty outdoorsy, right?"
"I suppose so. A little less now that he's older, but yes."
"And everyone loves a picnic," Eddie said thoughtfully. Gregory sat up too, watching him.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"Well, picture this," Eddie said. "Coronation's over. Everyone's leaving the, what, the throne room?"
"Yes."
"Stuffy in there?"
"Extremely."
"Late afternoon. We're all ready for a drink and something to eat. Everyone's in a good mood because their very handsome and charismatic new king has been crowned."
"Thank you," Gregory said.
"Welcome. As they leave the throne room, they're guided outside into the palace gardens -- "
"Charming, but we can't make diplomats sit on blankets," Gregory said, catching his drift.
"No, I wasn't going to. I was thinking cafe tables, like they have at the bistros in town. Draped in checked tablecloth, in the kingdom's colors. Lawn chairs with cushions. Not formal, but very well presented. And on every table there's a picnic basket."
"Like a gift," Gregory said, enthralled by the idea.
"The baskets have a bottle of wine, little jars of mustard, jam, honey -- people love stuff in little jars," Eddie said. "Snack foods. Cookies to eat with the big cake Simon can bring out at the end of the meal."
"But what's the meal itself?"
"In the basket, finger sandwiches in waxed paper -- maybe beeswax wrap, that's more environmentally sound. Fresh whole fruit. But that's just the foundation. Here's the spectacle," Eddie said, turning fully to him. "Just as everyone sits down, waiters come out of the palace with thermoses. Two for each table. Hot soup in one, cold potato salad in the other. Your mother's recipe. To honor her. What kind of soup does your dad like?"
"There's a mushroom soup -- "
"Perfect. Hot soup, cold potato salad, sandwiches, snacks, fruit, wine. Easy to prep -- time intensive but not difficult to make. Easy to get everything I need, too."
"I like it," Gregory said. "I like the idea of -- being king at that banquet."
"Will your dad go for it?"
"Maybe. Probably. If we make the presentation formal enough."
Eddie grinned. "We, huh? Well, let me come up with a sales pitch for him."
"How?"
"Not sure yet, but I'll figure it out. This time the presentation will be more for him than for you anyway. I can think about that later. I'll give it to him this weekend, that'll give me a few days to pretty everything up."
Gregory saw real pleasure and interest in Eddie's eyes, which were lit up with the idea. He leaned in and kissed him, feeling oddly as though he could capture a little of that euphoria if he did.
Eddie made a soft noise and grabbed the front of his shirt, deepening the kiss. Gregory figured this one was on Eddie to write down and file away and work on, so he let himself be distracted for a while.
Eddie held up his phone, camera aimed outward for once, and called, "Simon! Simon, turn around."
Simon, standing over a large pan at the stove, announced, "Je refuse!"
"Aw, come on Simon!"
"I will not be held hostage to a telephone," Simon continued, sounding as even-toned as ever.
"You're the hottest new food media star, though," Eddie pleaded, circling to one side. "Give them all a look at your beautiful face!"
He caught just the edge of Simon's eyeroll, which was enough encouragement for him.
"I am not a performing internet monkey," he said, but he did turn and give the camera a dry look.
"Hah, looking good. So tell us what you're doing," Eddie said, aiming the camera down into the pot.
"I am checking the doneness on the potatoes," Simon told him. "They're for potato salad."
"And why potato salad?"
"Because you have a harebrained scheme," Simon announced.
Eddie turned himself and also the phone, so that he could capture Simon in a shot with him. "It's true. All my schemes are like this," he told the camera. "But you like me anyway, huh?"
"You're charming, so I forgive you," Simon said, shaking a finger at him.
"I'll take it. What goes into the potato salad?"
"Palace secret. But I can tell you that you must include cider vinegar and garlic. And of course it helps if your personal paid chef made it for you."
Eddie laughed. "Personal paid celebrity chef. My followers made you a fan club. They've got t-shirts and everything."
"Silliness," Simon said. Then, almost as an afterthought, "But I would like one of the t-shirts, please."
Eddie stopped the recording before he started laughing, but only just.
"That's awesome," he said. "Thanks. I'm going to tag a staged video of me making potato salad onto the end of that, and it'll go out this afternoon."
"Pleased to oblige. I do want one of the shirts. My nephew's birthday is coming."
"That is a kickass uncle gift. Are you sure you're going to be able to handle the volume of potato salad we're going to need for the actual event?"
"I won't be doing most of it. Everyone else can peel and slices and such. I'm just there to make sure the herbs all go in, in the proper amounts," Simon reminded him, carrying the pan to the sink and straining the potatoes. "I always liked this recipe. The Queen knew exactly what her peoples' tastes were."
"Wish I could have met her."
"Me too, I'm curious what you'd make of each other. Probably similar to you and his royal highness's first meeting. Maybe less awkward," Simon allowed. "A very gracious woman, her majesty. Ah, well, but soon we'll have a new king and perhaps a king consort."
"Thanks for the subtle hint, but I figured it out," Eddie said. Simon shot him a sidelong grin. "Is he in the market for a husband? He seems pretty married to the job."
"He's asked Alanna to help him find a suitable man," Simon said. Something in his tone caught Eddie's ear.
"Suitable?"
"An arranged marriage. Very traditional but rather outmoded." Simon carried the potatoes to a mixing bowl and began shaking them in gently.
"He's looking for a, what, a mail-order prince?" Eddie asked.
"In her words, he wants the whole thing done with," Simon replied. "I'm not worried. She will talk him out of it. Or at least into letting her manage his relationships for him."
"We'd all be in better shape if Alanna managed our lives, probably," Eddie agreed, thoughtful. "Arranged marriage. Not a very good deal for the prince, I feel like."
"How so?" Simon asked.
"Well, we know why he's looking, and we know he's a decent guy," Eddie said. "But what kind of person puts themselves up for an arranged marriage with a king they've never met? You get maybe one or two royals who feel like he does, but you're going to have to pick them out of all the grifters and attention hounds."
"Royalty is good at sorting the wheat from the chaff, fortunate for us," Simon replied.
"Let's hope so. Anyway, not your problem or mine, right?" Eddie asked, though he felt oddly pensive about the idea. Gregory deserved more than a political ally. In private he was kind and fun and intensely vulnerable. It was too easy for someone to take advantage of that.
On the other hand, most of the really awful ones would probably be scared off by the public nature of it -- too much work for some, with the king being a functional part of the political system. What would that job even be like?
"When the Queen was alive, what kind of job was it?" he asked. "What did she do, on a daily basis?"
"A great many things," Simon told him. "She traveled. Ambassador of culture. She was in several advertisements for national tourism. If the King couldn't attend a social function, she represented him. Eventually she brought the prince to such things to train him."
"She was old blood, though, that's what the prince said. That kind of thing probably has to be picked up when you're a kid."
"They have a saying, actually," Simon said. "The lord's father is the stableman's son."
"Uh..." Eddie frowned, trying to parse this out.
"It means that the best partner for a noble is a commoner," Simon translated. "Destined lovers in Askazer legends are often of different classes. Yes, Gregory's mother was the daughter of an old house, but that house had many maids and butlers marry into it. It's the name that comes down, not the bloodline exactly."
"Like how Prince Gregory is named for a king he isn't related to," Eddie said.
"Exactly. He'll look among the nobility, here and outside the country, but it's also very likely his eventual consort will come from the town, or get off a tourist bus, or have family who sells fish harborside."
"A place after my own heart," Eddie said.
"Mine also. I could never leave here, once I arrived. Now," Simon added, turning to him. "You can help me make real mayonnaise."
"I have made real mayonnaise before!" Eddie protested, but he followed Simon to the big walk-in fridge for eggs.
Chapter 7: Three Weeks
Chapter Text
THREE WEEKS UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
It wasn't that it bothered Eddie, exactly, but the idea of a man like Gregory settling for an arranged marriage -- probably to a virtual stranger -- gnawed at him. It felt out of character. Not for Crown Prince Gregory III, that was very much in his wheelhouse, but for Greg the man?
It felt like a building block of the wrong color -- it fit the shape, but the design wasn't right. Not that it was Eddie's business, considering they'd already agreed this would be a fun way to pass the time and not a commitment. He'd be gone in less than a full month. Still -- Gregory didn't need that and neither did Askazer-Shivadlakia.
The night before Eddie was supposed to present the new picnic idea to Michaelis, Gregory actually came and found him, which he didn't normally; usually Eddie searched him out and was rarely turned away. This time, Gregory turned up in the kitchen after dinner, eating an orange for dessert and watching Simon tidy away the dinner pans while Eddie prepared the picnic basket for the following day. Eddie took the hint and put a little hustle on, then agreed to "a quick meeting in my office" with the Prince.
Now, lying in Gregory's bedroom, breathless and relaxed, he let his curiosity get the better of him.
"I feel like I gotta ask you something," he said, "but it's definitely none of my business and probably annoying."
"I'm positive I've heard you ask that kind of question before on your show," Gregory said.
"Have you been watching my show?" Eddie asked, delighted.
"It's streaming," Gregory answered, defensive. "And Alanna said there was one about fried pork belly I had to watch because just seeing it raises your cholesterol."
"Oh yeah. That episode was a lot. But actually most of the questions get cleared beforehand. I'm not a journalist, I'm just a hungry dude. And I don't know them. Not as well as I know you, anyway," he said. He watched Gregory consider this.
"You might as well ask. If I don't want to answer it I simply won't."
"Is it true you're going to get Alanna to find you a husband?"
Gregory let out a bark of laughter, a shock reaction. "Did she tell you that?"
"Simon said you're considering an arranged marriage."
"That's more accurate. Sure, I have a meeting about it set for after the coronation."
"Why?" Eddie asked. "I mean, if you were just a dude that might be different, but you're king. Royalty mates for life, usually. It's a big mess if they don't."
"So?"
"So you want to spend your life hitched to a stranger?"
"Don't we all, in some way or another?" Gregory asked. "We're very, very lucky if we get to choose our bosses. Friends start out as strangers. There are politicians in my cabinet I wouldn't prefer to work with but until they die or I do, there we are."
"But this is a life mate. Someone you're going to sleep next to."
"It's much more important that I'm going to work next to them," Gregory said, eyes dark but not sad, exactly. Perhaps a little resigned. "I'd love to marry for love but time is fleeting and it's a little impractical."
"Well, I'm not here to throw stones. I'm just curious," Eddie said. Gregory gave him a smile.
"Some would say I'm young to commit my whole life to governing the country," he said. "It's a much more complicated, difficult thing than a marriage. And -- and if someone did love me, my duty is to the country. It'd be hard on him, whoever he is."
"Your parents did okay."
"Let you in on a secret," Gregory said, inching closer. Eddie leaned in. "They were absolutely in a threesome with the country."
It was Eddie's turn to laugh in shock. "Gregory!"
"It's true. A love like that, where we both loved each other and the work, I'd jump for in a minute, but the odds aren't on my side. So, I'll find someone agreeable, who likes the country and puts up with me, and we'll figure the rest out as we go."
"Well, it's your love life," Eddie said. "I have a suggestion, though."
"I'm all ears."
"You are..." Eddie narrowed his eyes, pausing for effect, "...amazingly good at sex. I'm going to suggest that you make sure whoever you end up with, they appreciate this about you. You can't waste your talents on an unappreciative audience."
"Well, that's very flattering. I'll do my best," Gregory said, rolling over to kiss him. "In the meantime I'm happy to share."
The following evening, King Michaelis and Crown Prince Gregory took a stroll through the palace, starting in the rarely-used throne room and following the path that, presumably, attending visitors would take to the garden.
"What've you got planned?" Michaelis asked, but Gregory just grinned at him.
Outside, on the flat stretch of grass and flowerbeds of the west garden, bordered by hedges, a single elegant table was standing, covered with a tablecloth in the checked blue-and-orange of the flag. Behind it, slightly to one side, stood two waiters, each holding a thermos, and Eddie, holding a printed-out menu. On the table was a picnic basket. As they arrived, Eddie pulled out one of the chairs.
"Your majesty, your highness," he said. "I have a new concept for the coronation banquet to show you."
Michaelis gave him and then the chair a measured look, but he stepped up to the table and allowed himself to be seated. Gregory sat himself, eyes on his father, hoping a more immersive experience would help.
"Prince Gregory said something to me that inspired me," Eddie continued. "He liked the idea, so we thought we'd give you the practical demonstration."
"On the lawn?" Michaelis asked. Eddie nodded. "Well, I'm interested."
He reached for the picnic basket, tipping it towards him to unpack it. The wine came out first; with long habit he handed it to Gregory, who took a corkscrew from Eddie to open it while his father unpacked the rest. There were small packages wrapped in white paper, little jars of mustard and slightly larger ones of pickles, a pot of soft cheese, a bowl of fresh fruit.
"Allow me to present to you an elegant, full service, traditional coronation picnic," Eddie said, as the waiters came forward. They laid a pair of bowls in front of each man, one pouring soup while the other gently spooned potato salad. Michaelis unwrapped one of the paper packages, studying the finger sandwich with interest until he saw the potato salad.
"I told Eddie about how we used to have it when we went fishing," Gregory said quietly.
Michaelis nodded, picking up a fork, taking a small bite. Gregory stifled amusement at the idea of his father also knowing the one-bite rule.
"I want you to picture this whole field full of tables -- six to eight seats per. Each table has a basket like this with sandwiches, fruit, assorted other foods and wine," Eddie said. "Music, dancing...everyone's happy to be celebrating the coronation. Your favorite soup -- "
"And the queen's favorite picnic food," Michaelis finished. For a half a second, Gregory wondered if the whole idea touched a nerve, if the reminder of his mother was a little too painful. But then Michaelis tilted his head to look up at the chef, and his face was thoughtful, not pained. Slowly, his eyes crinkled, a smile crossing his face. "Well, she would have loved this idea."
"I'm glad to hear it," Eddie said sincerely.
"Croquet," Michaelis added, and Eddie's smile turned puzzled.
"Come again?"
"Ask Alanna where the croquet sets are," Michaelis said. "We have a number of them. And I believe some kites, as well. For the children. We can purchase some if there aren't any."
"I will...absolutely do that," Eddie said. He glanced at Gregory, who tried to telegraph calm. If his father was making contributions, then he'd made up his mind to approve.
"It's been ages since we had a garden party," Michaelis said.
"A picnic, dad," Gregory replied.
"It's a garden party," Michaelis declared, and Gregory made a choice not to die on that specific hill. "Have the communications staff find appropriate music and hire extra waitstaff. Very well done, Mr. Rambler."
"Thank you, your majesty," Eddie said.
"You can go up to the kitchen. You as well," Michaelis said to Eddie, and then to the waiters hovering nearby. "We'll bring in the plates when we're done."
Eddie, clearly reassured, retreated with the staff. Gregory took a bite of the potato salad, as good as it ever was.
"I really liked this idea," he said, as his father tried the soup.
"Yes, so do I. It's very suitable," Michaelis said. "And also pleasant," he added tolerantly, when Gregory opened his mouth. "I know that's important to you. Clearly so does this chef."
"He's a very thoughtful man, once you get to know him," Gregory said.
"Well, I did always try to teach you to dig deep. It's a wise king who looks for the truth, let alone finds it."
"That's a really high bar to set right now," Gregory said. "I was hoping for the first few years we'd just be happy if I don't get voted out. A quest for an objective truth is more of a ten-years-into-a-golden-age kind of a thing."
"I waited at least fifteen before I did mine," Michaelis said, grinning.
"And what objective truth did you find, Dad?" Gregory asked. Michaelis looked up and around, thoughtful.
"I didn't," he said. "But you were born about fifteen years into the reign, if that helps."
Eddie was waiting for them when they came inside. He wasn't obvious about it; the kitchen was empty as they put their plates in the sink and the basket on the counter, but Gregory saw him lurking in the back entrance and told his father to go on ahead, that he'd see him for breakfast tomorrow. As soon as Michaelis was gone, Eddie emerged, fists clenched in triumph.
"He loved it, right? He totally did. You have to actually give me the high five this time," he said, and held up his hand. Gregory gave him as good an imitation of his father as he could muster, looking him up and down, then raised one hand to tap his palm lightly against Eddie's.
"I knew it," Eddie crowed, breaking into an ugly, enthusiastic dance move. "Man this is going to be a slam dunk, easiest dinner I ever catered. We're gonna be under budget, I'm gonna look like a boss, and you are going to have a really great banquet," he said, dancing around Gregory. "They're gonna think you are the coolest. Am I in charge of buying the kites or is that like an Alanna job?"
"She'll outsource it to staff," Gregory said. "I'm pretty sure they'll have to buy new croquet sets anyway. We used to use them to tap the fig trees to get the ripe ones down before harvest, we definitely destroyed at least two sets."
"Aw, tiny Gregory with a big wooden mallet, beating on a fig tree. I wish there was footage," Eddie said.
"Thankfully, there isn't. That was very well done, Eddie," Gregory said. "He's fully in. There was some feedback on the sandwiches and he'll undoubtedly have notes about the wine pairings but I will pay you extra to be tolerant."
"No need. I'm happy to hear his thoughts. Simon had some strong opinions on the wine too," Eddie said, calming himself down. "Okay. So. Tomorrow, I'm going to have to shift into high-gear asskicking mode. Do you want to celebrate tonight, or should I come find you in a couple of days after I've gone on a blitz of food-buying and menu preparation?"
"If you'd like to come by tonight," Gregory said, tilting his head in the direction of his rooms. "Give me an hour or so? I have to wrap up a few things."
"Sure. I'll spend the time coming up with a secret knock," Eddie said.
"I'm on pins and needles," Gregory told him. He leaned in briefly, stealing a kiss, and then left the kitchen with a spring in his step, while Eddie redoubled his triumphant dancing.
The knock, when it came, was quiet, but also extravagant and complicated, really more of a drum solo; it was still going on when Gregory opened the door.
Eddie, both fists upraised and knuckles at the ready, beamed at him and let his arms fall, then bent to pick up a carton next to his feet.
"This is, technically, business," he said, brushing past Gregory into the room. "I'm hoping Simon will distract your dad with the wine pairings, but you are being crowned king, which is a big deal, Sweet Prince, and that calls for champagne."
"Isn't Sweet Prince from Hamlet?" Gregory asked.
"It is," Eddie agreed, pulling tiny piccolo-bottles of champagne out of the carton.
"And isn't it what his friend calls him when he's dying?"
"Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest," Eddie agreed. "It's also what you're supposed to quote to lift the curse if you've said the word Macbeth inside a theater. It's a turn of phrase, gorgeous. The point is, I have some champagne for you to sample, both so that we can celebrate and so that you can choose what you'd like served before the feast."
Out came a series of tasting glasses, as well as a bowl of coffee beans and a sleeve of saltine crackers.
"Sip lightly, swallow, give me your notes, then sniff the coffee, eat a piece of cracker, and rinse your mouth with water," Eddie said, as he began opening bottles. "You can spit if you want, but I didn't bring a bucket."
"You've done this before," Gregory said.
"Yes, but not often. Believe it or not, there's not a lot of call for wine tasting in burger joints," Eddie said, offering him the first glass.
The tasting was fun; with a little of the pressure off he could enjoy the flavors and the zing of the bubbles. All but one of the wines were true champagne, and the last one was a California sparkling wine that Eddie explained came from a vineyard where he had an investment.
"Just for fun," he said, and Gregory leaned into him, warm and tipsy from the drink.
"You are fun," he agreed. Eddie laughed.
"I do my best," he said. "Enjoy this. I won't be around as much for a while."
"I am." Gregory inched closer, until Eddie put an arm around his shoulders. "I'll miss you when you leave."
"You won't have time. I've seen your schedule. And anyway, I'll be back," Eddie said. "Now that I know what a hot spot this place is, I'll have to film an episode here. Maybe do a whole season in Europe. What passes for diner food in these parts?"
"Couldn't say. I'm sure you'll sniff it out, though."
Eddie laughed into his hair. "I am good at that. You'll let me do at least one segment in the palace though, right? My loyal fans will know if you don't, they recognize the kitchen now."
"As long as you promise not to poach Simon," Gregory said.
"Simon wouldn't leave if you fired him."
"Nice to have loyal staff."
"Loyal hell, he just knows he's never gonna get his hands on appliances that nice anywhere else."
Gregory laughed hard enough to snort, and then laughed at that. Eddie was warm under him, and for at least a little while the kingdom could look after itself.
"C'mon, let's get you to bed," Eddie said, half-lifting him and dragging them both to the bedroom. "You can miss me all you want tomorrow."
Chapter 8: Two Weeks
Chapter Text
TWO WEEKS UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
After the menu was approved, the time flew by. Gregory saw Eddie less than he'd like; he was distracted with interviews and photo sessions, more logistics meetings for the coronation, and mounting duties as his father handed off governance to him. Still, he tried to always sidetrack whatever walk-and-talk he was on so that they passed the kitchen, and if Eddie saw him wave he'd grin and wave back. If he didn't, it was generally because he was so deep into something that he didn't notice, so at least he was keeping busy as well.
"I don't think there were nearly this many pressmen at my coronation," Michaelis said one afternoon, coming into the office as a cameraman and his partner left. "I'm not sure if I should be jealous."
"I wouldn't. There's just more...I don't know, news, now," Gregory said, waving a hand. "And when Eddie put us on Maxtagram, it got a lot of people interested. I think there's ten or twenty real, proper influencers who are going to feature us. The cafes in town are keeping track of how many foreigners call them cute and authentic."
"Influencers," Michaelis said, rolling his eyes. "They didn't have that when I was crowned, either."
"I've been thinking of becoming one."
"Oh?"
"It doesn't seem overly difficult, especially if you've got a palace," Gregory said with a grin. Michaelis nodded, amused. "You could host a podcast. Talk about statecraft, diplomacy. Pressuring your son into running a small country."
"I pressured you!" Michaelis pretended outrage. "When you were five you told me you wanted to be king."
"And what a mistake that proved to be," Gregory drawled. "Did you need something?"
"Not in particular, just to see if you were holding up."
Gregory tapped the end of his pen on his blotter. "I am, actually, yes. There's less waiting around now, and things seem to be going smoothly. Busy, but tolerable."
"I'm glad to hear it. The rest of the palace is going wild. Can't walk but someone runs past with bunting or plate or some damn thing."
"Ah yes. Alanna's been scarce, I thought that might be why."
"That chef has everyone on the jump." Michaelis studied him. "He's very enthusiastic about the picnic."
"He's just pleased you liked it. So am I."
His father seemed about to say something else, then changed his mind. "Well, it's one small moment in what I think will be a very long reign. They trot out that old footage of me being crowned once a year, but nobody remembers all the details anymore, and thank goodness. Try not to blaspheme or fall on your face and you'll be fine."
"What even counts as blasphemy anymore?" Gregory wondered aloud, as Michaelis rose to leave.
"You'd know better than I would," Michaelis told him. "Come to breakfast tomorrow, I want to see you eat a full meal."
"Promise, Dad," Gregory said, and Michaelis lifted his hand in an acknowledging wave as he left. Gregory heard Alanna call a greeting to the king, and then she was ducking into the office, tablet and stylus at the ready.
"Well, it appears I have open office hours," Gregory said as she sat down. "Keeping busy, I hear."
"Yes, but no disasters yet. Probably means there's going to be one right beforehand, but it'll be useful on my resume eventually," she said.
"You're not pulled too tight?" Gregory asked. Her smile softened.
"No, I'm fine. It's making me remember how much I love planning parties and how very happy I am I don't do it for a living," she said.
"Dad said Eddie has the staff 'on the jump'," Gregory said.
"I think they're all breathing a sigh of relief he'll be gone for a couple of days," she said, and Gregory frowned.
"Gone?"
"He might not have told you -- there's an issue with the, ah, mushroom supply," she said, checking her notes. "He's going to drive down the coast, try and buy up any he can find in bulk. It'll take a few days to get to Messina and back."
"No, I hadn't heard. I hope it's a productive trip."
"I think he wanted to get out of the palace, give everyone a breather, maybe take some time for himself, too," she confided. "It must be hard, coming all the way out here for two months."
"Well, he travels a lot, I suppose he's used to it," Gregory said, wondering why Eddie hadn't told him. True, they hadn't seen each other much, but he would have wanted to know -- he could have arranged for a car, and staff to help if he wanted it --
Which was of course when Eddie knocked on the door.
"Your highness," he said, and then with a nod, "Hey Al!"
"Eddie," she replied. "I was just telling Gregory about your trip to the coast."
"Oh yeah! Man, I wish you could come, but it's a little more than a jaunt to town," Eddie said. "Don't worry, though, I'll be back in plenty of time. I was coming to let you know about it, should have known Alanna would get here first."
"Will you be all right driving?" Gregory asked.
"Oh, because of the other-side-of-the-road thing? I've been practicing, and Simon's lending me his car."
"Sounds like quite the adventure," Gregory said with a grin that was only half-forced. "Come find me when you return, I'd like to see these mushrooms you're on a mission to find."
"Will do, boss," Eddie said, and trotted off, probably back to the kitchen. It took Gregory a few seconds to register the look on Alanna's face.
"No," he said, pointing at her.
"Oh my god," Alanna said.
"Alanna, do not -- "
"The dive bar chef is the amore!" she cried.
"The what?" he asked, startled.
"Jerry and I called your mystery boyfriend the amore and it's the guy who you said was more dive bar than gastropub!"
"He's not my boyfriend and I'm not having this conversation with you," he told her. "Besides, I didn't know him then."
"You're dating the chef! It's just like Gregory II's father did, you remember we had to learn about it in history..."
"It's nothing like that," Gregory said, trying for dignity and probably failing. "It's not a romance. I've told you that much! It's just...convenient."
"I hope it's more than convenient," Alanna said. "I mean I hope it's fun. He seems like he'd be fun."
Gregory sighed. "Yes. He is fun. And being honest, last week I think it kept me sane."
"I know! I just didn't know it was him," Alanna said.
"You can't tell anyone, Al, it's nobody's business and it's just a fling."
It was her turn for dignity. "You insult us both by suggesting I'd tattle. I wouldn't do that to you or him."
"I don't even want you talking to Eddie about it, I don't want to make it any weirder than it already is."
Alanna got up and rested against the desk, leaning over him. "One, you could not make it weirder if you tried, because you're super weird. Two, Eddie's a nice guy, so I hope you've talked with him about the temporary nature of this."
"I have, I promise."
"Good. Three," she added, standing and heading for the door, "I want you to think about this moment in a couple of months when you propose, in all seriousness, an arranged marriage."
Gregory sighed. "Message received, Al."
"Just so it is."
When she was gone, Gregory leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He didn't want it to be weird; in fact, he wanted it to be as normal as it could be. If he weren't king, or if Eddie weren't famous and living on another continent most of the time...well, one couldn't invite someone to immigrate on five weeks of acquaintance, and Gregory was king. He and Eddie were on different paths. That happened, and you simply had to enjoy the paths before they diverged. With any luck, he'd meet a couple of prospective king consorts he'd like just as well as Eddie, but could actually stay in Askazer-Shivadlakia.
"Holy crow, friends and fans," Eddie said, sitting in a taverna that had agreeably allowed him to film there in return for some publicity. "Did you all ever think I'd be coming to you from Messina, Italy?"
He pointed up and around him in all directions. "I didn't even know Messina was a real place until like...probably college," he said. "And that's not my fault! Half of Shakespeare's plays are set in real places and the other half are in like, whatever, fairyland, and you never know which is which. In case you're wondering, Much Ado About Nothing is set in Messina, which is real, and it is also where this video is set."
He grinned at the camera. "I'm here on a mission to get some mushrooms, but if I had a little more time or budget this would absolutely be an episode of Truly Tasty. So I'm going to give you a little mini-episode and cut here to a cooking tutorial in the kitchen right....now," he said, and hit stop on the video. The cooking tutorial, by the taverna's hip young owner, was already in the can, and he joined up the two videos and tossed them on Maxtagram.
One of the best things about Maxtagram was that if you posted a video, people knew where you were; his parents never worried about him if he had posted there within the last twelve hours, and it was easy to let people know you'd reached your destination safely. He wondered if Gregory had a notification set up, or just saw them whenever he happened to think of it.
Nuts; he was here to buy mushrooms and see the city, not worry about the king-to-be. It was one reason among many other and probably saner reasons that he'd decided on the trip. He was into the crown prince, in a way he recognized was more than just surface attraction, but Eddie himself had been the one to suggest it could just be a good time. Couldn't go back on that now. It wasn't fair to Greg, and it wouldn't exactly be easy on Eddie either.
No, he'd take a few days to get out of the palace, and when he came back he'd be in a shallower state of mind. He could hang out with the crown prince, who among other things badly needed a little pressure release, and who in any case was a lot of fun to be around. They'd finish up the affair, say fond and already-nostalgic goodbyes, and in a hundred years Eddie could tell his grandkids he'd shacked up with a prince, and nobody would believe him.
His phone rang, a number he hadn't put into his contacts yet, and he picked up with a cheerful, "Yello!"
"Eddie," Gregory's voice, down the line, was both amused and dry.
"Uh oh, what'd I do now," Eddie said.
"I saw the video. You're supposed to be here for Askazer-Shivadlakia, not canoodling around with Messina."
"She means nothing to me," Eddie said dramatically. "It was the heat of the moment."
"Hm, it was the smell of the pasta, I have a feeling," Gregory answered.
"Oh my god, the things they do with noodles," Eddie replied, lowering his voice and leaning into the phone. "I should have come to Italy when I was like twelve."
"Pretty sure you were still in school at twelve."
"Not if I could help it. Anyway, it's just the one video. I'll be back late tomorrow. Day after tomorrow in the morning, at the latest."
"Did you find your mushrooms?"
"And then some. Almost positive none of them will kill you."
"It would be highly operatic to be poisoned at my own coronation, but yes, I'd like to avoid that fate," Gregory said.
Eddie grinned. "Only the best for the king. Hey, can I call you later tonight?"
"What, you aren't going out drinking with that chef from your video?"
It struck Eddie that the prince was jealous, which was...remarkably hilarious. "Yeah, but you know you'll be my first call when I'm maudlin drunk."
There was a pause, and then Gregory cleared his throat. "Look, this is a favor you absolutely don't have to do."
"What is it?"
"Don't go out with that guy tonight. Get yourself a cup of gelato and have an early night instead," Gregory said. "Or don't, it's a stupid request -- "
"I'm not especially stoked to get drunk with chefs. Having been a chef, I know what we're like," Eddie said. "Sure. Gelato and an early night, no problem."
"That's all right?"
"It's fine, Greg," Eddie said. "Good excuse, actually. See you tomorrow, huh?"
"Tomorrow," Gregory echoed, and hung up. Eddie put his phone on the table and sat back, considering.
Well. Gregory ben Michaelis, crown prince of Askazer-Shivadlakia, missed him and didn't want him going out with someone else. Flattering, of course, and touching in a way; Eddie liked Gregory and found himself enjoying the idea that Gregory liked him as much. Trouble, of course, it was trouble in a couple of ways, but it was also nice to be missed.
The truth was that being a media personality, a celebrity influencer, was fun, but it wasn't why he'd gotten into show business. He liked teaching people about the world, and experiencing it as he did so. He was already tired of being on the road so much; he'd done enough Truly Tasty to get a sense of American cuisine, and what newcomers were bringing to it. If he wanted to settle down in the next few years, maybe start a real cooking show in a kitchen of his own, he could. He'd always figured it'd be in America -- out in California, or maybe New York, or even somewhere like Austin or Chicago. But...here he was, in Italy. Askazer-Shivadlakia was within spitting distance of Italy and France, two great countries for food and eaters. It had a climate like Southern California and a leader that really seemed to care about agriculture and food and the links between them.
I could stay there, he thought to himself. It'd be dumb, but I've been dumber.
On the other hand, no need to overstay his welcome. It was probably less cool of a place if you were a permanent resident who had to pay taxes and take out your own trash and stuff. He'd maybe get back to the palace faster than he'd intended, but then he'd cook this meal, celebrate the coronation, and head back to America to consider his next move.
Alanna came in as Gregory was hanging up with Eddie, and she grinned annoyingly at him.
"We are too old and our friendship is too valuable to me to fire you out of spite, but I haven't ruled out having you framed for sedition," he said.
"Greg, I love you, but you couldn't frame a poster without my help," she replied.
"I'm about to be king of a whole entire country."
"Try doing that without your to-do list," she said, and he gestured defeat. "Was that Eddie?"
"As though you didn't know," he replied.
"He has a very audible phone voice," she admitted. "Sounded like he missed you."
"Did it?" he asked, sounding a little wistful.
"Sounds like you miss him, for sure," she said.
"He'll be back tomorrow, so he says."
"Faster than expected. So why are you sulking in your sulk fortress?" she asked.
"I'm not sulking. I'm just...considering everything," he replied. "The coronation's getting closer, things are moving very fast."
"This sounds silly to say," she said, "But you're only king of one very small country."
"And not even that yet. No, I know. It's a big job, but not President of the United States big."
"At least you're a useful king," she said. "Are you getting cold feet about it? Or is this something else?"
He folded his arms on the desk, resting his chin on them, slumped over. "Remember when you told me to think about how I'm sort-of dating Eddie when I think about that arranged-marriage meeting?"
She nodded, the ribbing, amused expression fading from her face.
"It's months away, I don't know why I'm even thinking of it, but..."
"Little more difficult to consider the idea when you've got someone you like close to hand?" she asked.
"I do like him. But it isn't that way and it can't be."
"You keep saying that," Alanna replied, raising an eyebrow. "But you don't ever really say why. I get not wanting to just blurt out that he isn't marriage material -- "
"He isn't marriage material for me. I like him. I think he's nice and funny. He's less intense in person than he is on his show."
"I have to say I watched the show and I still didn't expect him to be so...real," she said.
"That's the problem, though!" Gregory said, sitting back again. "He's so real. He's a person, not a political prop, and even if I wanted him to be that he never could. He never would. He has no other way of being, he's not a diplomat or a royal. He has no manners, he has no training for something like this. He grew up on a beach in California. He's a TV star. He's a tacky TV star. It's something he's proud of."
"Why shouldn't he be?"
"Well, exactly," Gregory said. "But I have to be honest about how that would probably go. I can't consider people who wouldn't be suited to the throne."
Alanna was quiet for long enough that he looked at her curiously. She was thoughtful, clearly considering something.
"With all due respect," she said, "And I'm saying this both as your friend and as your staff, I think you're wrong."
"How so?"
"I think he'd make a great royal. People love him. He makes that easy, and maybe that's a little fake sometimes, but people genuinely like him, because he's genuinely likeable. Not just starstruck Americans, either. Your subjects love him."
"You can't be serious," he said. "You've told me what he's dragged us into. All the influencers and such."
"They know that's not his fault, not really, and they like that he loves the country enough to want to share it with others. Honestly...you and your father have to make the laws, you have to make unpopular decisions for the good of the country, and they get that, but they don't have to like you, they already voted for you. Eddie's like the fun parent. He's spent a lot of time here talking to people. Learning about the food. He hasn't imported a single thing for the reception except these mushrooms and even then he only did that because we didn't have enough. The food's all local. Even the picnic baskets are from a basket weaver in town. I didn't even know we had a basket weaver."
"How'd he find them, then?" Gregory asked, distracted.
"I have no idea. No clue where he got all his new ideas about dairy farming, either, but the milk board is interested. And he knows more than you think," she added, before Gregory could follow that tangent down a rabbit hole. "Ever notice he always addresses you and your father properly? He always gets your titles right."
Gregory thought back. He hadn't noticed, probably because he was used to it. But it was telling that Alanna had.
"Remember when he had the kids in to do the cookies?" she asked. He nodded. "After they made the cookies, he took them on a tour of the palace. He had a lot of stuff written on his hand and I think he made up answers when he didn't know the real ones, but he was very enthusiastic about it."
"Did you go on this tour?" Gregory asked.
"Well, I'd eaten the cookies, I couldn't not go on the tour," Alanna said reasonably. "The point is, whether or not you want to marry a guy you've only known five weeks, he has the skills a royal spouse needs. I'm not saying you should and definitely I doubt he would, but..." she made a weighing motion.
"I don't know if people would find him as whimsical on a throne as they do in a kitchen," Gregory said.
"Do you think they'd do better with some stranger you don't even know that well?" she asked.
"If the stranger is the better partner, they should. I have to put the country first," Gregory pointed out.
"Then you definitely shouldn't be dating a guy who brought a bunch of tourists here," Alanna replied, voice tart.
"Alanna."
"Your grandfather was a commoner when he became king. I know his wife's parents weren't thrilled with him being their son-in-law or the king, but he won the vote. Putting the country first means listening to what it actually needs, not what you think it should need."
Gregory studied the ceiling. "Well, it's a nice idea."
"You know I've got your back whatever you decide. Eddie Rambler isn't your last chance unless you make him your last chance and I don't think he'd love it if you did. But if you're doing a husband-search you could do a lot worse."
"I do listen to you, you know," he said. "I'll think about it."
"That's all I can ask," she said. "I'll see you for breakfast, huh?"
"I'll be there."
"Goodnight, your highness."
When she was gone, he stretched, rose, and closed the window, locking the office up after himself.
It was a nice idea. But not exactly practical.
Eddie arrived at the palace after dinner the next day. Gregory caught a glimpse of him through a window, unloading box after box of mushrooms from the car, in dirt-smeared shirtsleeves and a wrinkled pair of cargo shorts. He looked so good that Gregory caught his breath, and then felt stupid for thinking a t-shirt and cargo shorts were sexy. But the flex of Eddie's arms carrying the boxes in was nice to look at. And the easy way he moved, at home here already, made all of Gregory's resolutions to continue to treat this lightly very difficult to keep.
"Hey!" Eddie said, as Gregory stepped out of the side door to greet him. "Good timing! Here," he said, and plopped a box into Gregory's hands. He took it out of instinct, then stared down at it.
"How many mushrooms are you feeding us?" he asked.
"They cook down a lot," Eddie said. "And I figured if I'm cleaning you guys out of mushrooms so completely I've gotta go to Italy for more, I might as well get everything I can. Anything we don't need, I'll dry them and you can give them out to your subjects as a coronation gift. But I really just gave them to you so I could do this," he added, and leaned over the box, kissing Gregory briefly. It was fast and discreet enough that Gregory almost wished he'd taken a little longer. "You'd have loved the drive and hated me stopping to take selfies every ten minutes on the way down."
"Probably," Gregory agreed, as Eddie took another box from the back of the car, leading the way inside. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
"I'm definitely going to need to do a show in Italy," Eddie said, voice full of ideas as he set the mushrooms down in a corner with the other boxes. "Maybe a special miniseries of some kind. I could call it Rambling Down Italy."
"Keep It Noodle," Gregory said, and Eddie burst out laughing as he went outside to lock up the car.
"That's good! I'm stealing that," he said. "Glad to be back, though. Italy's been around for a couple thousand years, it can wait, and I have cooking to do here and..."
He leaned in close, holding up a small, paper-wrapped object from his pocket.
"Let me make you breakfast in bed tomorrow," he said quietly. "I have a truffle."
"Just what every young man loves to hear," Gregory replied, but he kept his voice soft too. "I'd like that."
"Then let me shower and get changed, so I don't smell like a car full of mushrooms, and I'll drop in," Eddie suggested. Gregory nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna go make sure the mushrooms are stored and let Simon know I'll pay for the interior detailing on his car. Wait for the secret knock."
"It's really more of a drum solo," Gregory said, but Eddie just laughed and ducked back into the kitchen.
Eddie did the drum solo about forty minutes later, but he also let himself in when it was done; Gregory, who'd brought a few reports up to his rooms to read while he waited, set them aside and made space for him on the couch while Eddie put a small bag of food in the refrigerator of the kitchenette.
"Do you ever get to stop working?" Eddie asked, coming to join him on the couch. He sounded less petulant than many would have -- more curious, like he was...concerned, almost.
"Eventually," Gregory said. "I mean, most nights."
"But it won't be like this for you when you're king, all these fifteen hour days? I realize this is hypocritical coming from a chef, but at least when I'm filming I get mandated union breaks."
"Oh -- yes, this is temporary. There's just a lot to take in, a lot of transition plans to make," he said. "Some staff are leaving when my father does, so this week I've also been looking at resumes and considering revisions to our pension plan. And there's a lot of decisions to make for the coronation even now."
"Mm, which crown to wear?"
"Fortunately that one's out of my hands, but you're not far off. Decor for the throne room, finishing touches on speeches, making the final call on seating arrangements."
"Seems a little beneath you," Eddie observed.
"Well, sometimes two of the people attending have parents who hate each other, and you just have to seat them together and hope for the best because a third person needs a seat at a different table so that nobody gets stabbed over certain votes taken ten years ago they're still mad about. Sometimes you have to shuffle the feuding members of a family so that they can't needle each other about who got Grandmother's good china. Babysitting petulant petty nobility won't be the majority of my job, but it's probably good practice regardless."
"Maybe a lottery would be easier. Pull a number and let the chips fall. If people fight, they fight. A stabbing would probably liven things up," Eddie said. "Although it's hard to enjoy my cooking when that kind of shenanigan is happening."
"Don't tell me it's the first time you've been in the kitchen when someone's been stabbed," Gregory replied. Eddie laughed and grabbed him, pulling him over to straddle his lap.
"I've lived a sordid life, for sure," he said, hands firmly on Gregory's hips. "But I feel like I'm moving up in the world lately."
"Ah," Gregory bent to kiss him. "Kept man of the crown prince. I see."
"Am I?" Eddie asked, amused. "You did seem very jealous of my Italian friend in Messina."
"Well, I don't get you for very long," Gregory said, and something in Eddie's face made him uncomfortable enough to add, hurriedly, "And I was concerned about the mushroom expenditure."
"I promise I kept all the receipts," Eddie said, whatever feeling he'd been having flitting away. "Anyway, let me prove to you I missed you."
"I'd very much like that," Gregory told him, and bent in for another kiss.
The next morning, Gregory woke to a clank and a swear-word, and rolled over in bed to find Eddie rummaging in the kitchenette. He'd located a frying pan and a mixing bowl, but seemed to be on a quest for something more complicated.
"I don't have a stand mixer," he called, and Eddie straightened from his inspection of a cupboard.
"I'd be horrified by that but Simon has three, so the ratio of stand mixers to residents in the palace is okay," he said. "Do you have a mandoline slicer?"
Gregory grunted, sitting up. "I have no idea."
"Well, I'll make do," Eddie decided, cracking eggs into the bowl. Gregory noticed the precious paper-wrapped truffle sitting nearby.
"You didn't actually have to make me breakfast," he said.
"And give Simon first crack at the truffle?" Eddie threw him a smile over his shoulder. "French toast or scrambled eggs? I brought fixings for both."
"French toast, please," Gregory said, and Eddie nodded. While Eddie cooked, he checked his phone -- no urgent emails, no impending disasters -- and put on a robe, settling back on the bed when Eddie brought him a plate. The french toast was lacey at the edges, a delicate brown with gold highlights, and atop each piece were paper-thin shreds of truffle.
"You do, fortunately, have sharp knives," Eddie said, settling across from him with his own plate. Gregory took a mouthful, enjoying the earthy bite of the truffle against the gold crunch of the fried bread.
"They don't get much use," he said. "I'm not what you'd call an enthusiastic cook."
"Well, nobody's perfect," Eddie said. Gregory rolled his eyes. "If you were an enthusiastic cook I'd honestly start to be worried. Royalty, politician, bow-fisher, and he looks good in a suit. If you could cook, too, you'd be some kind of experimental clone. Do you sing?"
"And play the piano, neither especially well," Gregory said. "Little hypocritical of you to ask, don't you think?"
"What's that mean?" Eddie asked, pretending too be wounded.
"Shakespeare-quoting, truffle-hunting celebrity, a TV star and influencer and he can cook?" Gregory recited, in a decent approximation of Eddie's accent. "What else do you do, appraise gemstones and raise racing pigeons?"
"If it helps, several people have tried and failed to teach me to knit," Eddie said.
"Off with his head," Gregory replied soberly. Eddie laughed as he took another bite of his breakfast. "I was thinking, though."
"I'm in trouble now."
"Eddie, really," Gregory protested. Eddie subsided. "I know this coming week leading up to the coronation is going to be busy for both of us. But if something goes wrong, or if you need me to back you on something, come find me."
Eddie nodded, considering this as he swallowed. "Deal, but I have a condition."
"Oh?"
"I want to know you're eating and resting, and I can't do that myself. If necessary I will sic Jerry on you."
Gregory gave him a half-smile.
"So if I don't see you in the family dining room for at least one meal a day, I'm gonna break out the big guns, okay?" Eddie tilted his head. "And that's not part of the job. It's because I like you and I see how hard you work. Can't have the king passing out during the coronation, either, it'd really harsh the reception."
"I'll do my best," Gregory said. "Though I will also say it is possible to bribe me with desserts."
"I'll bear that in mind," Eddie replied, laughing.
Chapter 9: One Week
Chapter Text
ONE WEEK UNTIL THE CORONATION OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
Gregory was asleep, or rather barely on the verge of awareness. He knew he was warm. The sheets were soft, and he could feel the light weight of the blanket on top of him, insulating him from the world.
And then Eddie Rambler called, "GOOD MORNING!"
Gregory opened his eyes just in time to see Eddie peeling back the blanket enough to uncover his head and shoulders. The light in the room was dim, but still enough to make him squint.
"Up and at 'em," Eddie said. "It's a busy day for me and probably the last time I'll get to see you for very long until the coronation."
"Why?" Gregory asked, more of a plea to the universe than a request for explanation.
"It's crunch time. This morning I need to drive into town and I think you should come along. Keep me company."
"Town?" Gregory managed.
"We gotta load up a truck with picnic baskets and haul them back here so the kitchen staff can start packing them," Eddie explained, correctly interpreting his question. "Simon's busy boiling every potato ever, and the rest of the staff are helping when they can, but they've still got regular meals to serve."
"Mm." Gregory swung himself mostly out of bed, groping for his robe. Eddie put a mug of coffee in it instead, and he drank it down. "Thank you. This wouldn't have anything to do with me missing dinner yesterday, would it?"
"I told you if you didn't have at least one meal a day in the family dining room I'd be forced to take action," Eddie said.
"I meant to. I did eat."
"I know, or I would have done this last night."
"Not that I'm not glad to see you but you are a lot first thing in the morning."
"Baby, I'm a lot all day," Eddie said, and Gregory couldn't disagree.
He hadn't seen Eddie much since his triumphant return from mushroom-hunting, but then neither of them had much time to spare at this point. As he dressed one-handed, constantly sipping from the coffee in his other hand, Eddie gave him a rundown on what he'd done and what he still had to do -- which Gregory suspected was more for Eddie than for himself. What had been prepped, what was left to prep, and what was currently in progress meant much more to Eddie, logistically, than it did to him.
Caffeinated and dressed, he trooped after Eddie towards the garage, but put out a hand to stop him from taking Simon's car again. Instead, Gregory pulled the dust-sheet off a pickup truck at the back.
"We can take my car," he said.
"Your car?" Eddie asked, studying the battered vehicle.
"It has more cargo space," Gregory explained.
"Does it have a floor?"
"Don't be so picky." Gregory hoisted himself into the driver's seat, taking the key off the dashboard, and Eddie clambered up into the other side. The truck engine purred when he turned the ignition, to Eddie's surprise (and a little to Gregory's). He eased it out of the garage and onto the main road leading away from the palace.
"I learned to drive in this car," he said, as they bounced down the road.
"I'm gaining a new respect for you and your secret, reckless disregard for your own life," Eddie replied.
"I think the gardener had it before I did. But it's pretty good for running around the countryside when I don't want the pomp and circumstance of an official motorcade."
"Yeah, the pomp got beat out of this thing years ago," Eddie said. "Not that I'm judging, I have a deep appreciation for useful junk."
"Don't listen to him," Gregory told the dashboard.
"How are you, anyway?" Eddie asked, eyes carefully on the road. "Feeling okay about getting crowned in a few days?"
"Surprisingly, yes," Gregory said. "Possibly I'm just too tired to sustain any kind of anxiety about it, but I think I'm honestly okay. It'll be a big change, of course, but I've done all I can to be ready."
"You're not worried about the actual event?"
"Oh, no, big state occasions don't bother me. I mostly just repeat what they tell me to repeat. As long as I don't mess up the oath of office or drop the sacred orb of rule, I should be fine."
"The sacred orb of rule?" Eddie asked. "Is that like an actual orb, or is it a kind of metaphorical..." he trailed off when he saw Gregory suppressing a smile. "You lying liar."
"There was, once!" Gregory protested. "I think my grandfather got rid of it. He said it was just an encumberance."
"A real pain in the orb," Eddie replied. "Can't blame him, though. Change can be a good thing."
"I like to think so. I hope my constituents see it that way," Gregory replied. "I'm not going to make a bunch of policy decisions right up front, but I'm setting up a lot of dominoes for incremental change. You're part of that, actually."
"Me?" Eddie asked, delighted.
"Well, you're keeping it new, aren't you?"
"Doing my best," Eddie agreed.
"There you go. I don't want to drag the country into the modern era; it doesn't need dragging. It's just going to be a waltz in that direction. With lots of breaks for snacks," he added. Eddie laughed.
"I like that. A waltz into the future," he said. "I've been thinking about that a lot myself."
"What, modernizing? Maxtagram isn't new enough for you anymore?"
"Funnily enough, no. There's always another platform on the horizon," Eddie said, watching the landscape pass. "More, I've been thinking about making changes. I'm in a place where I can write my own ticket, which I don't think really came home to me until I just...up and left the country for eight weeks to come here. I have money, I have social clout, I have a network. If I didn't want to do Truly Tasty anymore, I wouldn't have to."
"Don't you?"
"Well, I'd like to see it continue, but there's no shortage of people who could take over. I don't mind it, I'm just looking at a lot more possibilities outside of it than I used to have. And the network isn't the one who calls the shots anymore. I could do a new show, or no show at all. I could come out if I wanted."
Gregory glanced at him. "Considering it?"
"Yeah. Making some plans. Nothing I've told my PR team yet, but they knew this was coming eventually."
"I wish you more luck than I had."
"Why, what happened?" Eddie turned to him, brow knitting.
"Nothing specific, just the usual savagery from the tabloids. Dad wasn't thrilled at first but honestly I think mostly because of the press. He's come around since," Gregory added.
"I'll at least hold off until after the coronation -- can't be stealing your thunder," Eddie said. "The point of it all is that if I say I'm bisexual or talk about a history of relationships with men, and the network tanks the show or fires me, I don't need them. I don't need Truly Tasty."
"What would you do instead?"
"World's my oyster. Could become a personal chef like Simon, but I think I like attention too much," Eddie said ruefully. "Think I mentioned opening some restaurants. I could rest on my laurels. Sell a line of cookware on Maxtagram. But I've been thinking I'd like to do something less intense. Maybe a traditional cooking show."
"In a studio?" Gregory asked, amused by the visual. "With one of those tastefully cluttered kitchen sets?"
"Studio, maybe, I don't know. Short videos are trendy at the moment and I could do fifteen, twenty shorts in a day. Spend a week on set and stock my Maxtagram queue for the year. Not that thrilling, though." Eddie sighed. "It's just there's so much food I still don't know how to cook. I'd like to do something where I learn a new dish each week and teach it to the viewers. Eddie Gets Educated."
"Right after Keeping It Noodle, the Rambler tour of Italy," Gregory laughed. "The internet will love it."
They turned onto the main street of town at that point, and Eddie directed him about halfway down, and around to a loading dock on the back. The shop owner, clearly out early specifically to meet Eddie, looked startled to see his king presumptive behind the wheel. He bobbed a little bow, took the signed invoice back from Eddie, and vanished into the shop. Gregory, distracted by loading box after box of baskets into the truck, vaguely registered the man handing a solitary basket to Eddie, but didn't think anything of it until they were back on the road.
"Hey, pull over here," Eddie said, after a few minutes of contemplative silence. He gestured to a scenic overlook that gazed down onto the bay and harbor, brilliantly blue in the early morning. Gregory, obedient, pulled the truck into the turnoff and put it in park.
"Last Maxtagram selfie?" he asked, as Eddie got out of the truck.
"No, come on out! I have a surprise for you."
"For me?" Gregory asked, joining Eddie, who was clambering up onto the hood of the truck with the single basket he'd taken from the shopkeeper.
"Yeah, c'mere," Eddie said, patting the hood next to him. Gregory got a leg up and slung himself into the space Eddie indicated, as Eddie turned to face him, one leg tucked up on the hood. He accepted the basket, perplexed, and lifted the hinged lid, revealing a jaunty blue-and-orange striped fabric lining, in which sat a small paper carton. He lifted the carton out and opened it, torn between confusion and delight. It turned out to be a small cake, about four inches square, covered in white frosting, adorned with blue and orange birds.
"It's a congratulations cake!" Eddie said, excited. "It's for your coronation. Man, that came out great," he added, admiring it.
"Bit small for the feast," Gregory said, but he knew his voice gave away how touched he was.
"Ah, this is all for you. Well, and a little for me," Eddie admitted, taking two forks out of the basket. "It seemed like...I don't know, all this fuss is more for the country than for you. You're going to have to spent the whole time vowing or praying or glad-handing. So this is a cake of your very own. Nothing better than cake for breakfast."
"Thank you, Eddie," Gregory said, accepting one of the forks and taking a corner off neatly. "Lord, that's good," he added, around the first mouthful. It was a chocolate cake with what tasted like pomegranate filling between its two layers, and some kind of extra-rich frosting.
"Yeah, you all make some pretty decent cakes," Eddie said, taking a lump of frosting from the other side. "I'm glad you like it."
"I do. The coronation will be fun, but...well, I suppose in the way being married is fun," Gregory said. "The day is all about the person, of course, the king -- I mean I will be the one the cameras are on all day. But everything will happen around me. I'm a bit at the whim of fate at that point."
"Well, now that I know you don't have a sacred orb of rule, I might have to make one out of a water balloon and really liven up the coronation," Eddie said. Gregory laughed, taking another bite of cake.
"You wouldn't really," he said.
"No. I'm irreverent but I'm not mean. Anyway, I won't have the time. Once you sit down, I stand up and start moving."
"Hm." Gregory considered it -- all of it, really. The warmth of the hood under them, the chocolate and pomegranate, the bright blue of the water below, the shadow of the palace behind them. It was wonderful; it was comfortable in a way little in his life ever was. Very tempting, in some ways.
"Who was the best king?" Eddie asked, helping himself to more cake. "Like, in all of the history of the country, which king was the greatest? Who is Askazer-Shivadlakia's King Arthur?"
"Gilles Roman y Askaz," Gregory said promptly. "He was the king who united Shivadlakia and Askaz and made it stick. Tradition says he's actually an ancestor of Alanna's but we've never bothered to verify it."
"I'm picturing Alanna in armor on a horse and I'm not hating the visual," Eddie said.
"I think he did do some conquering in his youth and he was a famous swordsman, but he united the two nations through diplomacy and charm. He married a princess of Shivadlakia."
"Slay a dragon first?" Eddie asked, grinning.
"Sadly for us, no. There's an epic about him on a wolf hunt, but it's declasse at this point, since we like wolves and maintain a conservation program for them." Gregory offered Eddie the rest of the cake, setting his fork aside. "He already had two mistresses -- "
"Oho!" Eddie cackled.
"It was a long time ago," Gregory retorted. "Anyway, he was out riding the border of Askaz, and oral history tells us he was trying to think of a way to unite the sea-bordered Shivadlakia with his own inland kingdom, because he knew with unfettered access to a harbor his merchants would be unstoppable. He was considering invading when he saw a beautiful woman bow-hunting a deer. She shot the deer but it leapt, and it fell on his side of the border. She shouted at him not to touch it because it was hers, he shouted back it was on his land and that was poaching, and she got so angry she pulled him off his horse and tried to take a swing."
"Love at first sight," Eddie said.
"For him, it was. He supposedly wrote in a letter to someone or other that he knew instantly that she was his...well, the old language isn't precise when it comes to being translated into English, but roughly, he knew she was his soulmate."
Eddie digested this, along with some cake, pondering it. "What happened to the deer?" he asked finally.
"That's what you want to know?"
"Perfectly good venison going to waste. I hope he let her take it or he's no gentleman."
Gregory grinned. "He did. More or less. While she was butchering it he built a fire and offered to cook some, because it meant she'd hang around a little longer while he figured out who she was and how to get her to come meet him again."
"So he cooked his love a meal?" Eddie beamed. "My kind of story, Greg."
"More than you know. There's an apocryphal version that I've always been fond of, which says it was the princess's brother that shot the deer and got into a fight with him over it, and he married her to stay close to him," Gregory said. "It is historically confirmed that the queen's brother was a close advisor to the royal family for their entire reign."
"Close advisor," Eddie said, eyebrows waggling.
"Well, exactly."
"No shit!"
"They're the reason the country has a...relaxed attitude about that kind of thing. At least, that's my theory. I can thank Gilles Roman y Askaz for my stellar reputation despite my many handsome boyfriends," Gregory said, grinning sidelong at him. "I'm surprised you didn't come across at least one version in all your folk research, but it's not a story we tell often to outsiders. Might have to change that when I'm king, maybe commission a play from the national theatre."
"Well, as long as it's in a park, I'll come watch it," Eddie said.
"That'd be nice. But you're leaving soon -- we'll have to schedule it for some future visit."
"I could leave soon," Eddie said, looking out over the harbor. "Or I could stay a little while longer."
Gregory tilted his head. "After the banquet, you mean? I assumed you'd have a lot to do, given all your plans."
"Sure. But I could do them all here." Eddie turned to him. "Especially if the network wanted to cancel me, I'd really have no good reason to go back to the US. I'm several hours away from my biggest demographic here, so I could do pretty much what I wanted without having to give a damn about my numbers. I said I wouldn't cheapen your coronation by making it about me, and I meant that, but a week or two after..." he shrugged. "I think...I know what I said a couple of weeks ago and I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but I think there's something here worth staying for. Isn't there?"
Gregory knew what he was asking, and it made him lightheaded, but the little anchor deep inside him, the one that was preparing to be king, held him back.
"The problem," he said slowly, "is that it would be...nice, and convenient, and maybe even as good and functional as you think -- but it would be a solution to a problem, and I don't want to make you that."
"What, good and functional?" Eddie asked lightly.
"A solution," Gregory said. "You're a person."
"I like solving problems," Eddie pointed out. "I don't mind it."
"I'm worried that would change," Gregory replied. "My life, Eddie -- it's not my own. It belongs to the country. Anyone who serves the country has to feel the same, and you've only just finished telling me about how you can finally do just as you like. I wouldn't ruin that for you, not for anything."
Eddie seemed to be considering this, with none of his usual blithe disregard for reality.
"I suppose I see what you mean," he said at last. "And we've had the conversation about...sacrifice."
"So you understand," Gregory said, relieved, because honestly if Eddie had tried to argue...
"I do. Not sure I completely agree, but I understand," he said. "And...at least this way it's settled. Come on, let's get going," he added, hopping off the hood. "Busy day ahead."
"You're all right, though," Gregory said, a half-question, as he started the truck up again.
"Sure," Eddie replied, his smile sunny and, as far as Gregory could tell, real. "I'm the one who said this could just be fun. And it has been, so no regrets," he added, and kissed Gregory on the cheek before settling back on his side of the truck.
Chapter 10: Coronation Day
Chapter Text
THE CORONATION DAY OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
Eddie, standing in the kitchen in his most comfortable shoes and his tallest chef's hat, clapped his hands for attention. Simon, three sous chefs, and innumerable prep chefs and waiters all looked up from where they were setting up their stations.
"Greetings, patriotic comrades," he announced, and they laughed lightly. "Welcome to zero day. In less than twelve hours we will be feeding the nobility of Askazer-Shivadlakia -- "
He waited for the applause over his flawless pronunciation to die down.
" -- as well as diplomats, politicians, industrialists, rich fuckwits, and other powerful people from powerful places," he said. "If you have ever brought your A-game, I need it today. Don't think about the time limit or what's going on in the palace, just think about making the absolute best, most impressive food you can make. Nobody is getting fired for screwing up today, so if you do screw up you need to tell me as soon as possible so I can fix it. Is there anyone who does not know what they're doing?"
He held up his own hand, to a sprinkling of laughter.
"Is there anyone who has a question or a problem?"
Silence.
"In that case, get going," Eddie said, clapping Simon on the back. "Battle stations and let's show 'em what we're made of!"
Coronations didn't come around very often, which Gregory supposed was probably for the best. He hadn't been born yet when his father was crowned, and while he'd been to one or two in other countries during his childhood, he'd generally been given a toy to play with quietly while his mother and father paid attention to the ceremony. He'd been through portions of his own crowning in rehearsal but not the whole thing at once, and he didn't realize how dull some parts were.
It opened with a reading of the history of the monarchy, which was mostly boring because Gregory already knew it and also they didn't keep any of the interesting trivia in. To keep his mind occupied he counted fancy hats in the audience and tried to decide which, if any, would be likely to become a meme; then he tried valiantly to put a name to every face he could see, and awarded himself about a 75% success rate. He identified at least one Maxtagram influencer who had managed somehow to sneak in, but before he could find a way to notify anyone, the sergeant at arms had noticed and quietly taken her phone away. She looked annoyed until Gregory caught her eye and winked at her, which settled her down and made her blush a little.
He returned his attention to the reading just in time for the master of ceremonies to reach his father in the history recitation.
"King Michaelis I, son of King Jason I the Interloper," he intoned, filling the word interloper with amused irony. Granddad thought it was hugely funny that he, the duly elected king, was called the interloper, and Dad wasn't unamused by it either. "Today, we crown King Gregory III, son of King Michaelis I and Queen Miranda IV, duly elected by ballot of the will of the people of Askazer-Shivadlakia."
First time bowing; Gregory stood, bowed, swooped his robes a little to situate them more comfortably, and sat back again. There was polite applause.
His father, in a special audience alcove where very few other than Gregory could see him, rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long day.
Still, there were moments when Gregory felt a strange spark, a sense of unreality that this was happening. It was almost supernatural. In rehearsal, stuff like kneeling to accept the ceremonial sword, wrapped in a length of fishing-boat hawser, had seemed silly at best, but now there was the hush of a room of witnesses, and the hairs on his arms stood on end as he took the sword. He almost struggled to stay awake during some of the singing, which was operatic but not really his bag, but then when the crown was placed on his head...
Well, he was probably just tired, and overwhelmed from the long day, but when he felt it settle over his hair, a crown his father and grandfather and at least a few of his mother's ancestors had worn, he felt like there was a sudden tether in his chest, tying him to his country, rooting him as part of the land. He understood, if only fleetingly, old legends about the king's spiritual communion with the people.
Then the kneeling pages were rising and the master of ceremonies was coming around from crowning him to shake his hand, and people were taking pictures and beginning to stand to process out from the very humid throne room. Gregory stood, waiting by custom until the last of the witnesses had left. Michaelis, second-to-last out, stopped to give him a brief hug and whisper a reassurance in his ear before leaving.
"And now I'm king," Gregory III murmured to himself, before gently shedding the official robe of office on the throne and walking to the doorway, where Alanna was standing with his uniform jacket.
"Good job," she said, helping him into it and smoothing it across his shoulders.
"I do sit and bow like an absolute champion," he replied. She beamed.
"Ready to party till dawn?"
"God save the King -- is that a coffee?" he asked, blindsided as she produced a covered cup from a little table nearby.
"Cold brew, sugar, milk," she said, and he gulped it greedily. "Thought you could use a pick-me-up."
"Thank goodness. Do I have three minutes for the restroom?"
She nodded and took the cup back from him as he dashed across the hall, and by the time he emerged, Jerry had joined her. He was wearing a magnificent floor-length orange gown with blue trim, and orange opera gloves to match.
"Come on, come on, everyone's in the garden," Jerry said, leading him towards the party. "It looks amazing, Greg. Sire," he added impudently.
"So do you. Out to make every tabloid front page tomorrow morning?" Gregory asked, gesturing at the gown.
"Do you like it? Figured it was about time I did something unexpected, and it takes a little heat off you."
"Thank you. It does suit you," Gregory agreed. "By the way, Alanna says I need to make you my vizier. What did you do to get made vizier?"
"Never you mind. Is there a ceremony?"
"Not that I know of, but I'm sure you can invent one. Make yourself up a robe and some kind of medallion of office while you're at it," Gregory answered, and stepped through the doorway into a kind of warm fantasy world.
The garden had been filled with tables covered with checked tablecloths and a basket on each, just as Eddie had described. Overhead, paper lanterns were hung from old-fashioned wooden fishing poles, waiting to be lit when it was dark out. There were croquet wickets set up at the far end, past the small stage for the musicians and a temporary parquet floor that had been installed for dancing. People were finding their seats, poking curiously at the baskets, and making small talk with one another, enjoying the warm afternoon. A traditional Shivadh folk quartet was tuning up on the stage.
The nearest people noticed Gregory emerge and began to clap; the applause rippled outward, and Gregory smiled deprecatingly and gave a wave, the same wave his father often gave at state events. Jerry subtly broke a path for them as Alanna guided him to the king's table, where his father, Jerry, Jerry's parents, Alanna's grandmother, and a handful of diplomats were seating themselves. The diplomats looked aghast at Jerry, but his parents and Michaelis didn't even bother batting an eye.
"Crown's crooked," Michaelis said, reaching out to Gregory to straighten it. "There. Can't look disreputable for at least another few hours."
"Thanks," Gregory said distractedly, seating himself. Around them, everyone else took their seats too. There was what felt like an indrawn breath, and then from seeming nowhere, an army of waitstaff appeared, thermoses in hand, laying bowls before the assembled guests to serve out the hot soup and cold potato salad. People began to eat hungrily, chattering to each other about the weather, the coronation, the food. Gregory felt he should probably make the speech he'd prepared, but the noise level was rising...
Jerry, catching his eye, stood up and began tapping his spoon against his glass, calling for quiet. Voices settled, and even the clink of spoons in bowls stopped.
"Attention everyone! As your new Grand Vizier to the King, allow me to introduce to you King Gregory III, who has some notes prepared," he said, bowing at Gregory, who stood and nodded back.
"Thank you, Gerald," he said, which drew a face from Jerry. "I promise to be brief. Gathered dignitaries, friends, allies, and I'm sure one or two spies..."
The crowd laughed on cue, thank goodness.
"I would like to thank you all for attending the coronation today," he said. "I am so pleased and proud to represent the third generation of my family to rule by popular acclaim. I hope I will rule as wisely -- and as long -- as my father," he added, nodding at Michaelis, who acknowledged it with a wave.
"Ruling a kingdom is an incredibly complex task, and my ministers and staff have been very patient with me," he continued. "Tomorrow we begin a long job of work, maintaining the peace and prosperity the country owes to its people. All I can do is keep a hand on the rudder. I trust you all to tell me if we're steering into rough waters."
He took a breath, because it seemed difficult to catch it. "In the meantime, we are grateful for your ongoing support. I would be remiss not to credit our dear Alanna, who was instrumental in planning all of today; my father, King Emeritus Michaelis I -- " he paused for applause, and his father looked faintly embarrassed but nodded regally, "-- and all of the palace staff, who have been very tolerant of the disruption to our normally quiet life. I hope you also enjoy the wonderful picnic meal, cooked by our very popular and very...boisterous friend, Mr. Eddie Rambler, and our palace chef of many years, Simon LeFevre."
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye; Simon giving a little wave, standing next to Eddie at the edge of the picnic ground, both in chef's whites pristine enough they must have changed for the feast.
"As I expect any member of the palace to do, Alanna and my father, our staff and friends, have also often reminded me of my responsibility to serve the country first, to preserve the best of our traditions, and to maintain a sense of awe at the honor I've been given," he said. "Please enjoy the food, the dancing to come, and the company of one another in this spirit: that today we celebrate not only a coronation but a long tradition of excellence in our small but proud nation."
He sat down amid cheers and applause, and a renewed interest in the food; Michaelis leaned over and said, "A good speech. Glad you kept it short."
"Me too," Gregory replied with a grin. "Thank you, father."
"I do wonder, though," Michaelis said, as he started on the mushroom soup.
"Oh? About what?" Gregory asked.
"Well, your mother and I raised you to serve the country and consider the needs of others, given how fortunate we've been," Michaelis said. "Lessons you took to heart, obviously. And all this talk of duty to country is fine and admirable."
"But?" Gregory asked, curious as to where this was going.
"But I wonder if I forgot to tell you that a king should also be happy," Michaelis said.
"I wouldn't have taken the job if I didn't love it. Of course I'm happy," Gregory assured him. "Starving, but happy."
"Good. Eat up now. People will want to come bend your ear soon enough," Michaelis said. "Jerry!"
"Uncle?" Jerry asked.
"Do your best to keep publicity hounds and that woman who snuck in from the internet away from Gregory for a bit, would you?"
Jerry laughed. "That woman from the internet has more followers than the population of the country, but I'll do my best."
"Make sure she gets her phone back, it can't harm anyone at this point," Gregory added. "Find her somewhere to sit, tell her the king apologizes for the inconvenience, and get her to share any flattering photos she may have managed to take."
Jerry laughed. "On it, boss," he said, and took a glass of wine and a sandwich with him as he wandered off.
"Don't let him give her your phone number, you'll never hear the end of it," Michaelis said.
"I doubt he'll remember past go talk to the pretty woman from the internet," Gregory replied. He craned his head around to see if Eddie was still there, but he'd disappeared, probably back into the kitchen with Simon. Michaelis followed his gaze.
"The staff will look after themselves," his father said. "And they have outdone themselves on this soup, so let's not make their work meaningless by letting it get cold."
Gregory smiled and bent to his dinner. "Right you are, dad."
Eddie set up the camera on a tiny portable tripod, perched gently on top of a sculpted topiary bush with a flat top. He checked the stability and then the angle, adjusting it so that the just-lit lanterns and a small sliver of the party, through other, higher hedges, was visible behind him. Finally, he pressed the record button, pulling his toque off.
"I don't mind telling everyone, I am worn out," he said, giving them a wide grin to show it was a good tired. "Everything went off without a hitch, though -- or at least with only the normal number of hitches. I know you all come here for the real talk that I don't always have time for on Truly Tasty, so this is your semi-annual reminder that screwups in a kitchen are normal, and the mark of a good chef is in how you handle the unexpected. But today we had very few!"
He held up a hand, gesturing to the party going on behind him. "For all my followers in-country, congratulations on your new king! He did great today and I'm sure he'll rule wisely. They're partying until dawn and so should you. For the rest of my followers, it's like mid-morning where most of you are, I think? Maybe don't start drinking until you get off work. I was gonna go grab a cocktail myself, but I think I'm ready for bed. My work here is done, honestly. All except the dishes, anyway, and someone else is being paid to wash those."
He laughed, mopping his forehead with the edge of his toque.
"I was thinking about staying a few extra days but I traveled light coming here, so it's easy enough to pick up and go -- you know me, I always have places to go, stuff to do, new food to eat. So tomorrow morning I'll probably be off on a new adventure!"
Behind him, the music struck up, which he took as a cue to wrap -- his followers didn't like music or other noise under his videos, generally, unless it was kitchen noises.
"You all got a great place here," he said. "I know my motto's always been about keeping it new, but there's something to be said for age -- newness is about reinvention, reimagination, not necessarily never getting to touch any history. You can't change something if you don't understand it, after all. Anyway, I'm gonna miss this place. Might make it back here someday soon though! I'd like to do a show that brings people a real taste of the region. Next time you see me I might be on a train, or in Paris, or maybe back in Messina -- but for now this is Eddie Rambler, reminding you to keep it new, and signing off."
He stopped the recording, taking his phone off the tripod and settling onto a decorative bench that was probably older than America, and definitely older than he was, to do a few minor edits. There was the sound of a throat clearing, and he looked up, startled.
"I didn't want to interrupt your recording," King Michaelis -- ex-king? Was it really king emeritus? He should have looked up what you call a former king -- stood nearby, hands in the pockets of his sober black uniform.
"Your retired majesty," Eddie said. "Give me thirty seconds and I'll google what I'm supposed to call you."
Michaelis gave him a tired smile. "For direct address, I find 'your grace' rarely goes amiss. Vague enough not to break protocol, strange enough it's probably an honor to be called it."
"Well, your grace, what can I do for you? Sneaking off for a smoke?" Eddie asked, feeling a little daring.
"I was coming to find you, actually," he said.
"Oh, no -- is something wrong -- "
"No, nothing to worry about," Michaelis said quickly. "It's a great success, in fact. Many, many drunk people."
Eddie smiled. "How's the king?"
"He's holding up. I wanted to speak to you about him, actually. May I sit?"
"It's your bench, technically," Eddie said, gesturing to the other half of it, turning to face him as the former king settled himself. Michaelis held his hands between his knees, leaning forward, seemingly in thought.
"I'm not sure, when Gregory was born, that we wanted him to be king," he said slowly. "His mother was ambivalent about the nobility, having come from it, and we both knew by then that it could be stressful. Difficult. You've seen, I think, what Gregory's been up to since you arrived."
"Seems like a lot of work, but he likes it," Eddie ventured.
"He does, thank goodness. I think the only reason I trust it's his choice is that he so clearly saw how conflicted we were over the idea. He'll be a good king as long as he keeps his wits about him." Michaelis inhaled, let out the breath, then breathed in to speak again. "I made an error with him, though. I think I made him think that it was all or nothing, that service to the crown meant one couldn't have things for oneself. I thought he'd see that -- he and his mother were precious to me for reasons having nothing to do with her being the queen or him being my heir. But before the coronation -- a few months ago -- I told him he needed to find a partner. It's an important role in our government, the...well, traditionally the queen, but that's a loaded word when your son prefers men."
Eddie couldn't help himself; he snickered. Michaelis glanced at him and nodded.
"Just so," he agreed. "Perhaps I put too much pressure on him. And perhaps the affair you've been having with my son really is just a last fling before he takes on all this responsibility."
That dropped the smile off Eddie's face. "We didn't know you knew."
"I didn't rule a country for decades by being unobservant," Michaelis replied. "I'm not angry, and even if I were, what would I do about it? You're both grown men. I'm just telling you I know, and also that if...if it is more, then you, and I, and Gregory all have a significant problem."
Eddie tilted his head. "Which is?"
"He clearly thinks he needs to marry someone appropriate. Someone of the blood, or at the least someone who can help him rule. Perhaps he thinks that isn't you, and perhaps it isn't, but..."
"Ah," Eddie said. Michaelis gave him a curious look. "That's not it, but you're close."
"Do tell."
"He said I was a solution to a problem," Eddie said. Michaelis nodded. "But he also said I was a person, and he wasn't going to treat me like I wasn't."
"Well." Michaelis considered this. "That is both the smartest and stupidest thing he's said since the puffin incident."
"The...puffin...?"
"I'll let him tell you that one -- or better yet, ask Alanna," Michaelis said. "I suppose what I'd like to know is...are you? Or could you be?"
"A solution?" Eddie shrugged. "Who knows? I like him. I like him enough I asked to stay, and I respect him enough that when he said no, I agreed. Do I think it would be weird and cool to be -- " he grinned at Michaelis, " -- queen of a country? Sure. I don't know about your son but I love this place. I could see a life here, maybe. But it's all still new and shiny to me, and he's smart not to ask on those terms."
"But on other terms, you might stay. Just to see," Michaelis said slowly.
"I'd have to wrap up some business in America and I don't know how good your spies are, but I'm about to very publicly come out as bisexual, which could draw attention Greg doesn't want if I do stay. But sure, if I had a reason that wasn't about the king, I wouldn't mind."
Michaelis nodded. "When were you planning to go?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Ah. There's a little more broken heart there than evident?"
Eddie blinked at him. "Yeah, maybe."
"Well, before you go tomorrow morning, speak to Alanna," Michaelis said. "She may have some final business for you."
Eddie nodded, puzzled and confused but also well aware that something momentous was happening. "Thank you. I'll do that."
Michaelis nodded and stood, dusting down his trousers. "Goodnight, chef."
"Goodnight, your grace."
Michaelis snorted, heading back towards the party, and Eddie sat on the bench for a good five minutes, trying to work out what exactly had just happened, before he came to his senses. He looked down at his phone, pushed the post button on Maxtagram to send the video he'd filmed before the king arrived, and then stood up, stretching, and went to bed.
Chapter 11: Day One
Chapter Text
FIRST DAY OF THE REIGN OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING GREGORY III
Gregory had given most of the staff the day off after the coronation, which was the only rational thing to do. Plenty of them had worked hard for days leading up to the coronation and some had worked until dawn the night before, serving at the party. Giving the administrative staff the day off meant they could give most of the kitchen staff the day off as well.
He'd told Simon he should take the day, but he doubted Simon had listened, and the smell from the kitchen told him he was right. He popped his head in to find Simon making crepes at the stove.
"Good morning, sire," Simon said with a small grin.
"I'm going to have to get used to that. Morning," Gregory yawned, already missing Eddie's noisy presence in the kitchen most mornings. Better this way, but...he'd probably feel the absence for a while.
"There are crepes also in the dining room, and fillings to put into them. Leftovers from last night, mostly, but I've cooked the last of the fruit in a sugar syrup, there are mushrooms sauteed with shallots, and the potato salad is always better the second day, you know."
"Surprised there's any left."
"A very popular dish," Simon agreed. "Any requests?"
Privately he wondered if there were any chicken wings available, but that was just silly nostalgia.
"No, I'll browse the dining room," he said. "Coffee?"
"In the carafe."
"Dad?"
"Awake and scheming. Being king always kept him out of trouble," Simon observed.
"I'll do my best to find him a hobby," Gregory replied. "I'll be in the dining room if anyone comes looking."
Simon acknowledged him with a wave as he left, sleepily ambling his way to the dining room. When he was about ten feet away he heard Alanna's voice, slightly raised, vigorously defending...thick-cut bacon?
" -- supposed to have texture," she was saying, her voice strident. "You're supposed to really experience it."
"Flavor is an experience," said another voice, and Gregory stopped, startled. "When you slice it thinly, the fat renders out -- "
"Exactly! The fat's supposed to be there!" Alanna argued.
Gregory hurried forward and then stopped again in the doorway, perplexed by the scene in front of him.
Michaelis was sitting at the dining table as usual, quietly eating a crepe stuffed with fruit, a little bowl of oatmeal at his elbow. Alanna was sitting near him, tablet discarded on the table, hands gesturing as she vigorously defended traditional Askazer-Shivadlakia bacon, which had more in common with pork belly than American breakfast meat. She was turned slightly so that she faced...
Eddie, who was sitting next to her and apparently arguing with her for the benefit of his camera, which was filming the whole thing from the far side of the table.
Eddie's back was to him and blocking Alanna's line of sight to the doorway, but Michaelis had a clear view and noticed Gregory immediately.
"Sire," he drawled.
Alanna's head shot up in surprise; Eddie turned, but not to Gregory. Instead he reached out and ended the camera recording before twisting around.
"Eddie," Gregory said, realizing how stupid that sounded even as he said it.
"Way to interrupt filming, your majesty," Eddie replied. "That was great though," he added to Alanna. "We can continue discussing how wrong you are later."
"I'm not wrong!" Alanna insisted.
"She has strong feelings about pork," Eddie told Gregory.
"Better her than me, I guess," Gregory said. "What are you doing here?"
"Eatin' breakfast," Eddie said. "Starting trouble. The usual."
"He's good at both," Michaelis put in.
"I thought you were leaving," Gregory said.
Eddie chuckled. "Saw my video, huh?"
Gregory held up his phone. "Maxtagram sends me a little notice when you post."
"Plans changed," Eddie said. "Just waiting for my PR guys back in the states to wake up before I run this up their flagpole, but engagement's been off the charts since I got here and Alanna says once they fixed the tourism website they started getting tons of interest. In the next six months they expect tourism's gonna double."
"...and?" Gregory asked, bewildered, finally coming into the room to sit down. Michaelis pushed a bowl of potato salad towards him gently.
"And that means that the communications team needs some help," Alanna said. "We're hiring Eddie to help out."
"I'm going to make a bunch of videos on like...local culture," Eddie said. "You know, like where to get the best coffee, how to talk to the locals, the best way to get the train here from Paris, that kind of thing. Where to rent bicycles and where to ride them. Oh! And how the surfing is in this part of the globe. Excited to try that."
"I thought you were going to start a cooking show," Gregory replied.
"I could, but I can do that anywhere I've got a clean corner of a kitchen to cook in," Eddie said. "I can cook here as well as anywhere."
"Here, in Askazer-Shivadlakia?"
"Well, I finally learned how to pronounce it," Eddie said, as Simon came in with a fresh plate of crepes. "You'll help me out, Simon, won't you?"
"I'd like a raise," Simon told Gregory.
"Probably due," Gregory agreed, turning back to Eddie.
"Anyway I need to file a bunch of tax stuff, but there was no reason not to get started immediately, so I asked Alanna for her thoughts and she said Americans do bacon wrong, which is a hill I was surprised to find I would die on," Eddie said.
"Keep eating Shivadh bacon and you probably will," Gregory replied, deciding that whatever was going on, it was probably best to just lean in. He spooned some potato salad into a crepe and took a bite. Eddie turned to Alanna and gestured at Gregory as if to say, see? The king agrees with me.
"Oh, like I've never told him to his face he's wrong and stupid before," Alanna sniffed. "Sire, as your chief of staff I'm going to hire this man but I'd like it recorded that he's wrong about bacon."
"Keep me out of it," Gregory said. "He's your problem now."
"I highly doubt that," Michaelis murmured, and Gregory and Alanna both looked at him him surprise. Eddie seemed smug. Michaelis, finishing his oatmeal, stood and set his napkin aside, bending to rest a hand on Gregory's shoulder.
"Be happy, sire," he said, turning to leave. "And good luck!" he called from the hallway.
"Does he....?" Gregory pointed after his father, but he was looking at Eddie.
"Apparently we've been 'obvious'," Eddie said, employing airquotes. Then, possibly just to annoy him, he added, "And he thinks a good 'work life balance' is 'important'."
"So I'm coming to understand," Gregory admitted.
"Look, nothing's set in stone," Eddie said. "But it wouldn't be awful if we decided to find out if it could be, someday. I'm extremely charming and functional once you get to know me."
"Sure, that's what they all say," Gregory replied.
"Your dad seems to have pulled a u-turn on me from where he was a few weeks ago, anyhow," Eddie offered.
"He has very strong opinions."
"Yeah, that definitely doesn't run in the family," Alanna put in, gathering up her tablet. "I'm going to tactfully withdraw and let you two figure this out," she announced. "I'll have your nine o'clock briefing ready, Greg, but I can tell you it's going to be a blank page because anyone who didn't take the day is hungover or still drunk."
"Good, I suspect I'll need some time," Gregory replied, not looking away from Eddie as Alanna left. They were quiet for a few seconds, Eddie patiently waiting for something, Gregory sorting his thoughts.
"You understand," he said slowly, "You will need a royal visa to remain in-country and work for the palace. The normal visas generally take several weeks and if you want to make official content for royal communications, we'll have to fast-track that."
"Well, I know a guy," Eddie pointed out.
"And if you hold a royal exception visa, you represent the royal family," Gregory continued thoughtfully. "That's a heavy responsibility, Eddie. I'd want to personally teach you what you needed to know. And everyone here knows everything about the royal family, so our attentions towards you won't go unremarked."
"I think I'll survive," Eddie said quietly.
"If you, say, wanted to have dinner with me. Or go bowfishing at our lodge. People might talk."
"I'm ready to let 'em if you are," Eddie said.
"Yes. I suppose I am, actually," Gregory replied. Eddie reached out and tugged Gregory's wrist, pulling him out of his seat and into Eddie's lap, which was undignified, but also felt right. The way the coronation had. Like a puzzle piece settling into place, or a tether being tied.
"I have an idea for a coming-out video but it's gonna require multiple filming locations and some special effects," Eddie said, his face serious. "There may be some extremely tacky choreography. I can't promise good taste."
"Why start now?" Gregory asked, and Eddie cracked up laughing. Gregory leaned down to kiss him, fingers threading through Eddie's wild hair, eventually settling in the bright pink collar of his loud flower-print shirt.
Chapter 12: Epilogue/Coda
Summary:
This chapter is not meant to go into the final book, but I wrote it while editing the rest of the book and thought folks might enjoy seeing it. Consider it a kind of fanfic!
Chapter Text
Eddie Rambler checked his tie and waistcoat in the mirror, turned to his king, and said, "Tasty?"
King Gregory III, duly elected monarch of Askazer-Shivadlakia and despairing boyfriend of a television chef, rolled his eyes and nodded. Eddie shot him a grin.
"I'm wearing very nice black eveningwear," he said, wrapping his arms around Gregory from behind, while Gregory fiddled with his cufflinks. "The flower pattern on the waistcoat is extremely traditional, the tailor said so."
"After you asked him what the loudest possible print you could get away with was," Gregory pointed out.
"You love it."
"I am, in fact, extremely fond of your loudness," Gregory agreed. "It's a real failure of character on my part, everyone says so."
Eddie kissed the back of his neck and released him, hopping up on the low table in the dressing room and swinging his legs. "You ready for tonight?"
"Sure. What's not to enjoy? It's the one year anniversary of the coronation, the party will be mellow, and you'll be there."
"As your boyfriend for the first time."
"Nonsense," Gregory said. "Everyone knows we've been dating. You've been at every formal ball I could drag you to. This is just a formality, finally introducing you as a companion to the king. I'd have done it sooner if you asked."
"No reason to. Like you said, everyone knew. Kind of nice to make it official, though," Eddie said, beaming. "And I have to say I still love all the fuss. I have never met anyone who likes drama as much as the whole population of Askazer-Shivadlakia."
"It's not drama, it's pageantry."
"I'm sure they love drama too. Bet you if we staged a fight, the entire country would be up in arms. You could start a civil war."
"Askazer-Shivadlakia was united centuries ago. If I'm the one who tears it apart again because I had a fight with my boyfriend, I'd never live it down," Gregory told him. "Now, you remember about the processional?"
Eddie nodded. "It's not like I haven't seen one before. You're called and you process into the ballroom for presentation, then your father and the cousins, then the heads of parliament. The royal dates come after. Fun to be in with them instead of waiting for you to arrive this time."
"But you'll be first, so you'll need to listen sharp for your name."
"Mr. Eddie Rambler!" Eddie boomed.
"Well, Edward, but yes," Gregory said. There was a pause. "Eddie?"
"When I gave the announcer guy the little card with my name, I wrote Eddie on it," Eddie said. "Is that okay?"
"It's a formal announcement. They'll use your legal name regardless of what's on the card."
Eddie frowned. "But like. They'll just assume it's Edward, right?"
"Generally they make a note when they do the background check but in your case probably they just looked up your pay stubs from..." Gregory trailed off, because Eddie's eyes kept getting bigger. "Your legal name is Edward Rambler, isn't it?"
"Uh, the Rambler part's right," Eddie said.
"Your name's not Edward?" Gregory asked. "We've been dating for a year. Simon told me your name was Edward. My dad's been calling you Edward."
"Look, it's not that I don't like my name," Eddie said. "Or that I have a criminal past or something. Well, I do, but not like that. I just never think about it until it's already awkward."
"Eddie, what on Earth is your name?" Gregory demanded, in his best royal tones.
"In my defense, it's easier to say than Askazer-Shivadlakia," Eddie said.
"MR. TEOPHILE RAMBLER AND LADY ALANNA DASKAZ!" a voice called, and Eddie did his best to process forward with dignity.
Technically, Alanna should have gone into the ballroom with the royal cousins, following Gregory. She was high enough born, and she was very evidently one of the King's favorite people. But tonight she was on the arm of a visiting diplomat who was going in with the heads of Parliament, so she was relegated to the Very Important Dates part of the processional.
"I cannot believe your name is Teophile," she said, as she and Eddie descended the stairs to the ballroom. "How did you get Eddie from Teophile?"
"My parents are hippies with real weird theology," Eddie said around a smile for the cameras. "Everyone called me Ted but one of my brothers couldn't say his Ts, so everyone started calling me Ed. Eddie is just more TV-friendly."
"I would have given you so much endless flak for being named Teophile, but that's actually very sweet so now I can't," Alanna said.
"You are reacting way more maturely than Gregory," Eddie told her, handing her off to her adoring diplomat and making his way to the king's side.
"I don't even know who you are," Gregory said, eyes still forward as Eddie joined him.
"That's not what you said last night," Eddie answered. Gregory's lips twitched.
"Where were you last night? Because I was in bed with some guy named Teophile."
"Alanna thinks it's a very nice name," Eddie said.
"When we were both six I watched Alanna eat a ladybug," Gregory replied.
"Insect protein is the food of the future."
"Sweet nothings," Gregory sighed, as the procession ended. There was a blast of fanfare, and a string quartet struck up what Eddie had come to categorize as Royal Family Muzak -- light enough that it didn't interrupt conversation, constant enough to be pleasant background noise. Later there would be waltzing, which in this particular royal family always sounded like a threat. Eddie was looking forward to it; this was his first official outing as Gregory's date, where before he'd always attended these things as a guest of the palace.
Usually, he took the first dance with Gregory, had a few interesting conversations, and then slipped away while Gregory still had two or three hours of politics ahead of him. It wasn't that he especially minded the politics, but he didn't want to be a distraction, and he liked to take a stroll on the grounds and listen to the party from a distance before heading to bed. Tonight, however, something a little different was on the menu.
"I should demand a traditional Shivadh name," he said to Gregory, as a line formed for people to greet the king.
"So good to see you," Gregory said to a visiting Italian dignitary of some kind, and then to Eddie, "I don't even have a traditional Shivadh name. They tend to be quite complicated."
"Welcome! Man, that jacket looks great on you," Eddie said to the Italian, who beamed at him. "I bet I could rock a Shivadh name. Can't be more obnoxious to say than Teophile."
"Beloved Teophile, I am begging you to focus," Gregory said, and Eddie shot him a grin before composing himself to be as proper as he knew how to be.
Alanna found Jerry hiding in a corner with a cocktail, which was impressive considering they were only serving wine at the ball. She raised an eyebrow at it; he looked unrepentant and offered her a sip.
"No, I'm still sort of on the clock," she told him, leaning against the wall next to him, watching the reception line as the last of the visitors petered out. "Squiring the diplomat and keeping an eye on Gregory for signs of panic."
"As if Gregory ever panics at these things. Don't know how he does it."
"I think he likes it. Normally you do too," she pointed out. "Why are you pretending you're not hiding behind a decorative ficus?"
"Do you remember the girl I dated my last year in boarding school?" he asked.
"I remember the grievous bodily harm she threatened you with."
"She's here with her successful husband and their adorable young child and I'm pretending to be petty about it," he said.
"Pretending," she replied skeptically.
"I thought it would make her feel good, and also it means if she still wants to kill me she can't get close enough," he said.
"Well, it's one way to live," she replied. She watched as Gregory, his greeting duties done, took a few steps back and signaled the string quartet to strike up a waltz.
"Teophile looks thrilled to be doing the most boring job on the planet," Jerry said.
"I can't believe that's his name." Alanna shook her head.
"I can, he looks like a Teophile. I've always thought so," Jerry said, mock-serious. Alanna thumped him on the arm.
"Be nice. It's about to be a real rollercoaster of an evening," Alanna said.
"What? Why? Did you invite my ex and her baby to come say hello?"
"Just wait for it," Alanna told him.
"Still mad at me?" Eddie asked, as he and Gregory took the floor for the first waltz. His hands were sweating a little in the formal black gloves. Still, after shaking a million hands in the reception line, he was prepared to admit he understood why the royal uniform included them.
"I'm not mad," Gregory told him, sliding an arm around his waist. "This is actually very funny, and you'll find out why in about two minutes."
"What happens in two minutes?" Eddie asked. "Do they call my name for some reason again?"
"No," Gregory said. "Don't worry about it."
"You're lucky I'm extremely laid back and actually won't," Eddie said.
"Being honest, I do think I've had some good luck," Gregory told him. "I didn't expect you'd tolerate this end of the royalty business so well, Eddie."
"What, the parties? Love a party, you know me."
"I'm only saying, it's difficult to truly know what you're signing on for, dating the king," Gregory said. "I didn't think you really knew what a relationship with me would mean."
"Oh, I absolutely didn't, the last year has been buck wild," Eddie said. "I love both you and this country, but I had no idea what I was getting into."
"You don't regret it, I hope."
"Not for a second," Eddie told him.
"I have to admit, I didn't think an American television star would be willing to stay in Askazer-Shivadlakia for months on end, let alone consider a life here."
Eddie gave him a warm grin. "Listen, I love America, but it can't offer me socialized healthcare, let alone a Mediterranean paradise with the king at my feet."
Gregory nodded, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, and Eddie sobered.
"This is essentially my home, now," he said, more earnestly. "I'm on a permanent resident visa, I'm running a business here...yeah, it's not where I thought this job would take me, but my life is here. Hopefully, with you."
Gregory nodded, and stopped moving. Eddie, surprised, stopped also, as did the music. Everything was suddenly very, very quiet.
Gregory put his hands in the pockets of his dress trousers, then removed them as fists, offering them to Eddie -- like a grandparent with a piece of candy, making a kid guess which hand it was in. Behind them, someone gasped.
"Greg, what's going on?" Eddie asked in a low voice. Gregory just gave him a smile and nodded at his hands. Eddie, perplexed, tapped his left hand.
Gregory turned his hand over, opening it to show his palm. There was a thin silver ring resting in it.
"This is how we propose in Askazer-Shivadlakia," Gregory said. Eddie stared down at the ring. "You got the ring first try, good job."
"Oh snap," Eddie said. Gregory's face took on a faintly put-upon expression.
"Say yes, dumbass!" someone hissed. It sounded like Jerry.
"See, I can't," Eddie said, and Gregory turned pale. Eddie patted his own pockets madly. He'd put it in one of them --
He came up with the little velvet bag out of his waistcoat pocket and hastily dumped the contents into his hand. He hadn't intended to be so public about this, so he'd just gone with a gag ring, with a giant oversized plastic "diamond" in the top. He offered it to Gregory, who stared at it in shock.
"Good timing, bud, I was going to propose in about an hour," Eddie said, and Gregory burst out laughing.
"You absolutely ludicrous clown of a human being," Gregory said, taking the joke ring out of Eddie's fingers and dropping the slim, elegant silver band into Eddie's palm. "I'm dating a cartoon. It's come to this."
"Technically," Eddie said, half bowled-over by a hug from Alanna as he put his ring on, "You're marrying a cartoon. I'm as surprised as anyone."
"Did you know?" Gregory asked Alanna, who giggled. "She knew I was proposing to you tonight. You knew," he said, turning back to Alanna, "and you let him think he was going to propose to me, and -- "
"She helped me pick out the ring," Eddie confirmed. "We had to have it mailed from the States, nobody makes a ring ugly enough in Europe."
"In front of my entire family and half of Parliament," Gregory said, wiping the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes.
"I was going to be super subtle about it," Eddie said. "You're the one putting on the dog and pony show! Ah -- wait!" he cried, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. "Photogram!"
Gregory started laughing again, but he held out his hand so Eddie could get both hands and rings in the picture, while the rest of the ball crowded around to congratulate them, or got in line for the celebratory champagne.
Eddie spoke aloud as he typed the caption for his Photogram. "Someone get me the name of a good wedding caterer. Hashtag shivadh-life, hashtag marriage. Oh my god," he added suddenly, looking up at Gregory. "Did you throw this whole-ass ball just to propose?"
"Well, it was convenient," Gregory said, twisting the ring around on his finger. "I know it's relatively soon, Eddie, but -- "
"Hey, I had the same speech written, how bout that," Eddie told him, gently cutting him off. "When you know, you know."
Gregory kissed him, carefully decorous for the cameras, and then turned to Alanna.
"Guess what you get," he said, and she stopped laughing abruptly.
"What?" she asked warily.
"You get to plan the wedding," he told her.
Chapter 13: Infinite Jes: Ch1
Summary:
Welcome to the sequel to Fete, being published on the same posting because that seemed easiest :D You can also read and review at google docs, where the entire story is available at once; on AO3, chapters will be posted one-a-day for ten days (to make it easier for me to transfer feedback over from AO3 comments). Thanks for reading and have fun!
Notes:
King Emeritus Michaelis thought he was looking forward to retirement.
His son Gregory is thriving as the new king, and Michaelis has no deadlines or meetings -- he can fish and hike to his heart's content. Still, after a lifetime governing a country, it's turning out to be difficult to fill his days. He's boring both himself and the royal librarian with his memoirs, and looking for a new challenge, when he happens on the Reverb Podcast Network and its executive producer, Jes Deimos.
Jes is home after living as an expat for most of their life, and wasn't expecting a friendship with the former king any more than he expected one with them. They're wary, even after he offers them recording space in the fishing lodge where he's living. Still, Jes and their son Noah are willing to teach a few lessons in podcasting, and their presence makes Michaelis's quiet life a little easier to cope with. He can even flirt with Jes in perfect safety, knowing nothing's ever going to happen -- until suddenly it does...
Chapter Text
"Until last year, not a lot of people knew about Askazer-Shivadlakia, the little country by the sea," Jes Deimos said, reading off a script but doing a good job of sounding like they weren't. "Maybe geography students with very niche grants, or historians interested in the effect of the Russian Revolution on European monarchy. And of course anyone who was born there."
They paused, to audibly end the paragraph and also give the editor a little space to work with later if he needed it.
"But until it became a meme and a hot new Photogram destination -- we'll get to that later -- you'd probably assume you hadn't ever met anyone from Askazer-Shivadlakia. Unless of course you've been to one of my live shows...because then you've met me!"
Noah leaned in towards his mic and said, "And me!"
"That's my son, Noah," Jes said.
"Hey everyone!" Noah added. Jes gave him a thumbs-up.
"This season on The Echo, Noah and I are moving back to the Old Country, to see what's changed and to learn more about one of the only democratic monarchies in the world," Jes continued. "We've been back for family vacations, but never for very long. There are a couple of reasons for that, all of which we'll be exploring along with the politics, history, culture, and daily life of our parentland. I'll be coming to you with weekly updates -- "
" -- and I'll be doing my own show for my listeners," Noah added.
"We're lining up guests as we speak, including one or two celebrities," Jes continued. "Join us in the Echo, won't you?"
They held the silence until the recording light went off.
"Solid take," came the voice over the speaker, and Jes gave the tech a nod. "We're on a ten."
"Thank you ten," Noah called. The tech grinned at him as he left. "How'd I sound?"
"You always sound perfect," Jes told him. Noah rolled his eyes. "You do! It's those youthful vocal cords. This is why if I ever catch you smoking you're both fired and grounded."
"Yeah, yeah," Noah replied, waving a hand. "Do you think they listen to the podcast in Askazer-Shivadlakia? I mean, aside from Nona and Granddad."
"Metrics say there's a small listenership. Probably mostly relatives, even after you take Nona and Granddad out of it. Not unusual for American podcasts," Jes said. "If I did true crime we'd maybe have a bigger audience and I wouldn't have to rob a bank to send you to college."
"Why go to college if you could rob banks?" Noah asked. "Bet people there will listen after you start posting episodes."
"I hope so. If I'm going to move back home, I can at least make a little trouble while I'm at it," Jes said. "Still okay with the move, kiddo? It's not easy to start a new school in the middle of high school."
"Not that hard," Noah mumbled. Jes felt a swell of sympathy for the kid. Tough to be both smart and shy when you're fifteen and only famous on the internet.
"Well, it'll be an adventure. But if you get homesick or anything you tell me, okay? Family before business," Jes reminded him. "The podcast is never as important as you are, you know that."
"My podcast is way more important than you are, though," Noah told them, grin returning.
"The thanks I get for bearing and raising you," Jes scolded.
"Can I go get a snack from the vending machine?"
"Sure, here," Jes said, and passed him a couple of dollar bills. Noah bounced out of the room, and Jes sorted through the script folder, making sure they hadn't left anything out for today's recording session. The ad for the new season in Askazer-Shivadlakia should have been the last of it.
It might be rougher on Noah than he expected, Jes thought, but the kid was young and resilient. They weren't sure how they themself would cope. It wasn't that they didn't like Askazer-Shivadlakia, but they'd been gone for ten solid years before ever going back, and even now they hadn't been back for more than a week since leaving --
Well, since running away, really.
But the world was changing, and there was a new king on the throne -- a gay king, out and proud, and word through the queer and expat grapevines was that Askazer-Shivadlakia was a particularly friendly place to be right now. Lachlan needed them, and given the United States lately, it wasn't a bad time to be moving back.
"Hope you know what you've gotten yourself into," Jes muttered.
It wasn't easy to travel incognito as a king, even the former king of a very small country.
Michaelis ben Jason, king emeritus of Askazer-Shivadlakia, had developed a couple of techniques over the years. His son favored driving around in a battered truck and trusting the population to ignore him, which seemed to be working well, but Michaelis had loved spy novels as a child and enjoyed the occasional disguise. For many trips he'd worn a sort of subtle costume meant to imply he was either a tourist or a businessman; currently he had a goatee, which was doing a lot of the work, combined with a nondescript brown suit and a pair of spectacles.
It helped that his portrait on the currency was a few decades out of date at this point, but he tried not to think about what a great natural disguise crow's feet were.
The train between Paris and Askazer-Shivadlakia was a full-day trip, but that didn't matter to him; it wasn't like he had a busy schedule. He'd done the trip mainly as a favor to Simon, the royal family's personal chef, who needed some supplies most easily acquired there. Simon hated Paris for reasons Michaelis had never inquired about, and didn't like having to spend two days on a train round-trip and an overnight in the city, so Michaelis had volunteered.
It got him out into the world for a while, and he'd enjoyed himself -- finished a book and started another on the trip up, shopped in Paris not just for Simon but also for himself, had a good dinner in a nice outdoor cafe. He had a new book for the trip back, and when he got tired of the book, the train carriage was just busy enough to do some enjoyable people-watching.
They weren't that far from his stop when he noticed one of the other passengers, a dark-haired boy in very American clothing, plastered to one of the windows a few rows up, craning his neck to see where they were going. His traveling companion, who Michaelis couldn't see much of over the edge of the seat, appeared to be asleep.
"If you're looking for the border marker, we passed it about ten minutes ago," he said, and the boy's head turned sharply, startled. Michaelis gave him a reassuring smile. "We're officially in Askazer-Shivadlakia now."
The boy glanced at what Michaelis assumed was his parent and then scrambled out into the aisle, coming to Michaelis's row. He had a little bag with him, slung over one shoulder.
"Do you live here?" the boy asked, and if his clothes hadn't identified him as American, his accent would have.
"I do," Michaelis said. "Next stop is mine."
"Mine too!" the boy said. "I'm Noah, I'm moving to Askazer-Shivadlakia."
He pronounced it with the casual cadence of someone who was used to saying the words, not like an American at all, and Michaelis tilted his head, interested. His eye caught the cord emerging from the bag Noah carried, and Noah saw him clock it. He opened it up to reveal a recording device of some kind.
"I'm a broadcast journalist and I make podcasts," the boy said hastily, running the words together like he'd rehearsed them but hadn't had a lot of chance to use them. "Can I interview you and record it?"
Michaelis raised both eyebrows. "You're very young to be a journalist."
"I know," Noah said with a grimace. Michaelis smiled.
"Certainly. Take a seat," he said, moving Simon's hamper to the floor. "I'm Mike."
"Thank you for letting me record," Noah said. "Why are you going to Askazer-Shivadlakia? I mean going home, I guess."
"I was in Paris, picking up some things for a friend. What were you looking for? Was it the border?"
"Oh, no," Noah said. "I saw the border sign. I was looking for the synagogue."
"Ah!" Michaelis nodded. "Should come along soon -- you'll know because the train blows a warning whistle when it crosses a main road just before it. You won't see it for long, but the view is superb."
"Have you been in it?"
"Oh yes -- often, when I was younger. Not as much once I was grown and working."
"What do you do?" Noah asked.
"I'm retired, now. I used to work in government. Very boring stuff," Michaelis assured him. The train's whistle went. "There we go, here, change with me..." he shuffled aside and let Noah take his window seat. The boy lifted his phone, camera app open, but Michaelis noted with approval that he leaned the phone on the sill of the train's window, so that he could record it but also watch the real thing pass by at the same time.
"There it is," Michaelis said, almost as excited as the kid was. The grand synagogue of Askaz was well worth watching for, even at speed from the train. It rose out of the flat landscape like a jeweled treasure box, sunlight glittering through dozens of stained-glass windows, ornate pomegranates crowning the corners, stone songbirds adorning the roof gutters. It was a long time since he'd seen it through a newcomer's eyes.
"Wow," Noah breathed.
"You should go and see it, if you can," Michaelis told him, once it was past and Noah had stopped the video recording. "They do tours, if you don't want to attend a service."
"We're going next Friday," Noah said. "Maybe. Soon, anyway. What else do you think I should do in Askazer-Shivadlakia?"
Michaelis could hear a certain tone in the boy's voice that said this was a Proper Interview Question, but he'd been interviewed by many older, stupider people asking much less interesting questions.
"Well, the palace is architecturally very interesting, and the grounds are at their peak right now, in the warm months," he said. "The conservation officers teach bow-fishing lessons on the lake, but you'd probably have to get permission from your parents for that. There's a little art museum in town, and I know the king's been thinking of building a science museum. I suppose there's not a lot for a boy your age though," he added, frowning. "No...amusement parks or malls or whatnot. We do have very good internet, though."
"What do you like to do?" Noah asked.
"Oh, be outdoors, I suppose," Michaelis replied. "Never got to do as much of that as I liked when I was working. Hiking, fishing, swimming."
"Noah?" a voice called, and Noah looked up only a little guiltily. Whoever he was traveling with was moving around now, gathering up bags from beneath the seats.
"You'd better run on," Michaelis said.
"Thanks for the interview. Here," Noah said, and gave Michaelis an actual business card, with the name Noah Deimos on it. He hadn't been handed a business card in probably a decade -- it was all digital now. "If you want to hear the podcast you can listen there. Maybe I'll see you in town!"
"Maybe," Michaelis agreed, tucking the business card in his pocket. "Very nice to meet you, Noah."
The boy shook his hand and dashed back down the aisle; Michaelis heard him call "I'm here, I was just doing some recording."
He would have gotten up and introduced himself, but just then the conductor announced they were arriving at the station. In the bustle of getting himself and his luggage off, and dodging around other people trying to do likewise, Michaelis lost sight of the boy and his guardian. Then staff were there to collect him up into a car, and he was being whisked back to the palace.
"Simon!" he called when they arrived, leaving the driver to take his bag to his rooms, carrying the hamper of food into the kitchen himself.
"Your grace!" Simon replied, hurrying up to take the hamper out of his hands. "Thank you. Oh, beautiful," he added, popping the lid up to look inside. "Exceptional."
"Happy to be of service," Michaelis replied. Behind Simon, he could see Eddie, Gregory's boyfriend, pulling something out of the oven. "Pizza again, Edward?"
"Hot slices ready in five," Eddie confirmed, sliding the pizza onto a nearby board. "Welcome back, your grace. Have fun in Paris?"
"I did, actually, thank you. I'm in time for dinner, then."
"Sure. Greg's not even down yet. Running late because of some kind of argument about tariffs. Not sure what tariffs are, but I'm strongly against them in general, for his sake."
"Import-export fee, essentially," Michaelis replied. "I'm sure he'll be along soon."
"Go on ahead into the dining room, this has to stand first and I need plates," Eddie said. Michaelis gave him a nod and headed for the small dining room nearby, where the king and his close family generally took their meals. The king was, as Eddie had warned, not in evidence, but his cousin and assistant Alanna was, so he probably wouldn't be too late. Jerry -- Gerald, 12th Duke of Shivadlakia and technically grand vizier, an honorific bestowed mainly as a joke -- was also there, working on a Sudoku puzzle.
"Welcome back," Alanna said, as Michaelis pulled out a chair. "Shopping go well?"
"Paris was delightful. Usually is," Michaelis agreed. "A nice change of scenery."
"Eiffel Tower still standing?" Jerry asked.
"I didn't inspect it personally, but it seems fine," Michaelis replied. "What new trouble have you got into while I was gone?"
"None at all, I've been very well behaved."
"Mm, you must be feeling ill."
Jerry pretended to be wounded, then got distracted when Eddie arrived with the pizza on a tray held in one hand, and a stack of plates in the other.
"If you're tired of pizza, Simon said to tell you he also has soup and sandwiches," Eddie announced, "but this is a new crust to keep things interesting."
He presented a slice to Michaelis first, then to Jerry because otherwise he'd have had to fend him off with the serving spatula. Alanna, either more patient or just not as eager for pizza, took hers with more dignity.
"Which iteration is this, Eddie?" she asked, tearing off a piece of crust to sample it.
"Ah, this is Eddie's Perfect Pizza Pie test version 4.2," Eddie said, seating himself and setting out two more slices, one for himself and one for Gregory. "Malt crust, more sugar in the sauce, surprise cheese."
Michaelis, who had been excavating the slice in front of him with a fork, looked up curiously. "Surprise cheese?" he asked.
Eddie gestured at Jerry, who was already halfway through his slice. "It's just Provel. Promise I didn't poison it."
"No point now, I'm reduced to harmlessness already," Michaelis said, breaking off a small chunk with his fork and tasting it. "Decent," he pronounced.
"I don't think you could ever be harmless, uncle Mike," Jerry said.
"Well, politically," Michaelis said. "I'm getting extremely good with a bow, even off the water. Thinking of going on a boar hunt in the fall. That's a very elder king thing to do and Edward's keen, aren't you?" he asked Eddie.
"Anytime you want, I'll carry your bags and make sausage after," Eddie agreed.
"If I never hear about sausage again, frankly, I'll have lived a full life," a voice announced, as Gregory arrived in the dining room. He bent to kiss Eddie hello, then settled in next to Michaelis with a nod. "Welcome back. Nothing against boar sausage in theory but it's another damn luxury export. We could've been the Geneva Freeport, but no, we chose ethics and cured meats instead of catering to the richest men in the world."
"I warned you," Jerry said. "A moral stance is an invitation to ruin."
"Jerry, what you said was you can't get in trouble if they can't catch you," Gregory replied. "Malt crust?" he asked Eddie, who nodded.
"The spirit was there," Jerry said. "Anyway, your dad and Eddie are planning their own deaths."
"Boar hunt," Eddie explained.
Gregory nodded. "Yearning to have a folk song written about you, I remember."
"Because his grace was just grumbling about harmlessness," Alanna said, and something in her tone made every man in the room look at her.
"Do you take issue with my grumbling?" Michaelis asked, genuinely surprised. Alanna was a sweet girl; not a truly malicious bone in her body, which meant this was about something else.
Alanna and Gregory exchanged a look. Michaelis gestured back and forth between them. "What's this conspiracy? You've already got the throne, there's no point murdering me now."
"Alanna -- and Eddie too, to be fair -- has mentioned to me that you...talk a lot about how useless you've been," Gregory said. "It's become a little worrying, I think."
"It's just small talk," Michaelis said.
"Is it?" Gregory asked. "I know handing off governance wasn't easy."
Michaelis glanced from Alanna to Eddie, and then at Jerry, who gave him a shrug.
"I wasn't in on the conspiracy," Jerry said.
"Nice to know I have one ally, even if it's only because he's clueless," Michaelis said.
"That's fair," Jerry agreed.
"Dad, this isn't a coup, you don't have allies and enemies," Gregory said, rolling his eyes. "Nobody's staging an intervention. Just making sure you're all right."
"I'm fine," Michaelis said. "A little bored, but I'll adjust. That's what retirement is, you have to complain about it before you settle in. Probably why your grandfather disappeared for months after he handed off to me."
"Well, so long as you know we're here for you," Gregory said.
"The royal family's only allowed two emotions per year," Jerry said to Eddie, who nodded. "I always feel so privileged to see it."
"All right, let's let it go," Gregory said. "Alanna, what am I doing tomorrow, aside from slowly losing my mind at the rest of the EU?"
Michaelis leaned back, letting the conversation wash past him, full of palace operations he was no longer a part of. Jerry scooted a little closer.
"Offer stands, Uncle Mike," he said. "I could get you a reality show in no time flat. Call it The Retirement Plan."
"Old Idiot Yelling," Michaelis replied.
"I mean, that probably has great SEO."
"Thank you, Gerald, but I'm not quite that desperate yet," Michaelis said.
"Your loss," Jerry said. That was the nice thing about Jerry; he might be a troublemaker at times but he was generally low-maintenance, one-on-one.
Michaelis poured himself a glass of the wine that Eddie had paired for the pizza, frowning when the flavors didn't quite mesh. Eddie raised an eyebrow at him and gestured at the wine; Michaelis nodded and Eddie made a note in his phone. Maybe he ought to spend more time with the man; they'd gotten off to a slightly rough start, but Eddie was settling in nicely and good for Gregory, very obviously good.
On the other hand, Eddie then began Photogramming his new pizza, and Michaelis was still very wary of social media. Maybe wait a while longer. Plenty of time to plan that boar hunt.
"Who were you talking to, anyway?" Jes asked, as they disembarked from the train that evening. They kept an eye out for their parents, but the platform was crowded with people coming and going. Not as quiet and sleepy as it used to be, they thought.
"Just a guy coming back from a trip, I guess," Noah replied. "He was showing me how to tell when the synagogue is coming."
"Oh, when the whistle blows! Yeah," Jes said. "You were careful?"
"I'm always careful," Noah said, affronted.
"Yes, but you are also a wild child who talks to strangers."
"I am a journalist," Noah informed them. "I was recording."
"And someday I'm sure your recording will be evidence in the kidnapping case," Jes said, ruffling his hair. He batted them away. "You're taller than me now, tell me when you see Nona and Granddad."
A shriek split the air, and Noah's head jerked around; he blurted "Uncle Lachlan!" and took off running. Jes stayed where they were, hobbled by all the luggage, as Noah threw himself into the arms of a tall, pudgy man with wild hair and a few new tattoos since the last time they'd seen him.
"JES!" Lachlan yelled. "HE'S TOO BIG!"
"I keep saying," Jes said, as Lachlan dragged Noah back to where they were waiting. They accepted a hug from him and then he turned to hug Noah again, ruffling his hair.
"Look at you, girl," he said to Noah. "So tall and so ready to break hearts! If you want to. If you don't want to, that's valid, and you could break laws instead."
Noah grinned at him. "Allo so far."
"And not in prison for the lawbreaking either. Shame. Well, let me know if I need to buy a new flag. Your parents were parking the car last time I saw them," Lachlan told Jes. "Come on, I'll take you there. I'll take you there," he sang the last part again, in a soulful voice. "Ain't nobody cryin..."
"Come on, Uncle Lachlan, that's the Staples Singers," Noah said. "Give me a challenge."
"Later, princess. My charm offensive against your Nona continues, and she doesn't like singing in public."
"Lord," Jes sighed.
"Deep breaths. It's only temporary until you find your own place. I've been fixing up the studio, too! All the equipment's in, but I was waiting for Noah to help set it up."
"Thank you," Noah sing-songed.
"Sure thing. How was your trip? Everything go smoothly?"
"Noah made friends," Jes said. "He's getting a jumpstart on the podcast already."
"I got a list of some stuff to see from a guy on the train," Noah said.
"Well, once you're moved in and recovered from the jet lag, we'll get the sound stuff set up and Jes can entertain themself while I take you touring. And great-auntie Carla wants you to Friday night dinner," he added, including them both with a look.
"See, we've already got a social calendar and dinner plans," Jes said. "Thanks for coming, Lachlan."
"Of course. Couldn't wait to see you," Lachlan said, planting a kiss on the shaved side of their head. "Chin up, shoulders straight. You only need to be home six hours a night to sleep."
"It's not that bad," Jes said.
"We'll find you somewhere permanent to stay fast," Lachlan assured them.
Jes squeezed his hand, grateful for the support, and waved back when they saw their father waving from the car.
Chapter 14: Infinite Jes: Ch2
Chapter Text
Michaelis had begun to loathe his weekly visits to the library, which in itself was upsetting. He loved the library normally, but now he was attending mainly to dictate his memoirs to the royal librarian, and it was just an exercise in frustration for them both.
Still, he'd scheduled his trip to Paris to interfere with the last one and he'd missed a further two already, so he really did have to attend this one, even if it was just as difficult as the previous ones had been.
The problem, he supposed, as he left the librarian's office after yet another terrible hour, was that it was difficult to talk about some of the more sensitive political stuff, and equally difficult every time he mentioned Miranda. But it wasn't like he could ignore her presence in his history -- she had been a vital presence on the throne, sometimes better at ruling than he was in those early years. And anyway, he wanted her memory preserved.
He stopped near the big library doors, gathering his dignity and calming himself. He did what he'd found useful more or less since her death, and slowly collected up in his imagination all the little pebbles of memory from that day, picturing them cradled in his palms. Mentally, he carried them to a cavern deep in his mind and set them there, near the entrance, smoothing them over until they were indistinguishable from all the others he'd left. Then he walked backwards away from them, until he could open his eyes.
He felt better already, calmer and more ready should he be needed when he left the library.
He emptied out his pockets onto the study desk next to him, just to make sure all his notes were in order. Tucked into one of them was a square of stiff card -- the business card that Noah from the train had given him. NOAH DEIMOS - AUDIO ENGINEER - PODCASTER - HE/HIM.
He took his phone out as he descended from the library to the ground floor, tapping in the website address from the card. There was one of those automatic feeds from Photogram, and he was startled to see footage from the train ride. He waited until he was outside to push play, and when he turned up the volume he could even hear himself say "There it is," excitedly, and Noah's soft "Wow," before the video ended. It reminded him of trips with Gregory and Miranda, sightseeing in between diplomatic stops and trade negotiations.
The website also had a link to a pair of podcasts -- The Echo and The Echo Junior. He added them to the little widget that played the podcasts (Jerry hated it when he spoke about them that way, which was half the reason to do it) and took his headphones out of his pocket.
The walk from the palace to the fishing lodge wasn't long but once you got used to the pleasant scenery it also wasn't that interesting. A good opportunity to listen to the podcast and see what the kid was about. He tapped open The Echo Junior, because Noah's name was attached to that one. The latest episode said TEASER TRAILER: SEASON FIVE and was only two minutes long, so he skipped it and went to an earlier one titled AM I THE PRODUCT?
It was an interesting discussion, to be sure, about who profited from social media and who provided the content. Even without knowing much about the subject matter he could tell it wasn't a deep dive -- it was made by and meant for youth. Still, that was helpful in its own way. Noah, and a couple of his guests, spent a lot of time explaining how social media worked on a very basic level, which was quite educational. Michaelis mainly knew Photogram as a tool the palace used sparingly and something Eddie had used to upend the entire country without even trying.
He let the episode play through as he arrived at the fishing lodge and let himself in. It was really too big for one person, but the palace was bigger and right now held less appeal for him. Besides, one didn't need to fill space just because it was there. He listened to another episode as he changed out of his suit and made a cup of tea.
The third episode had a different host, and when he checked his phone, it said this was The Echo proper, hosted by a Jes Deimos. He paused it -- plenty of time to encounter the grown-up version of Noah's podcast later -- and instead switched over to some music before sleep.
Still, the events of the day bothered him. He knew a historical record of the reign was important -- he'd consulted other records himself -- but the librarian had his official diaries, and the whole point of the job was that if you did it right, nothing especially interesting ever happened. Interesting was the enemy of good rule. Still, the process shouldn't be boring, for him or for the staff, and it was. It was astonishingly dull. Michaelis was growing to dislike himself for how uninteresting he was managing to be.
The coolest he'd probably been in years was on the train from Paris, he thought. Showing off the synagogue, advising a newcomer on what to see and do in his home.
He picked up the business card again, studying it, and noticed there was also an address printed on it. STUDIO REVERB, on the main street of town, which meant there was a podcast studio in Askazer-Shivadlakia. That seemed very modern and probably quite interesting.
He sat on the bed, considering this. Obviously the kid was too young to help, but surely someone at the studio had the responsibility for him, and that person probably knew how to conduct an interview that wouldn't make him seem like a droning old bore. Jerry had suggested a reality show --
Gregory had also suggested a podcast. Months ago, and mostly in jest, but...it had a certain appeal. His speeches had usually gone over well, in no small part because of his voice, and as soon as he'd worked that out he'd made sure to preserve it. Miranda used to say he sounded like a bass drum wrapped in velvet, which had always made him preen a little.
Well, no harm in asking. And it would probably please Gregory, who clearly was fretting (unnecessarily!) about his mental state.
Resolved, he laid out casual clothes for the following day, mapped the location of Studio Reverb on his phone, and went to bed.
The recording studio, if he had the address right, was in a small block of offices at the end of the main street of town. He wasn't in a particular hurry and the day he chose to visit was fine, so he walked into town at a leisurely pace, with the wide harbor on his left and the palace on his right, until he got down far enough that the palace receded into the distance.
The building was older and didn't look well-kept, and when he let himself into the main entrance he found a grubby, quiet hallway inside. Third door down was the studio and the handwritten hours card taped to the door said it had been open for an hour, so he turned the handle and peered inside, a little wary.
It opened into a small waiting room with a few seats and two tables, one of which was near a window looking out on the harbor. That one was occupied --
"Noah!" Michaelis said, startled. He hadn't expected the boy to actually be here. The dark head of hair at the table looked up, and Noah beamed.
"It's Mike, right?" he asked, bouncing to his feet. "What are you doing here? Did you look up my podcast?"
"Well -- yes, in a way," Michaelis said, coming into the waiting room and letting the door close softly behind him. A light over another doorway indicated someone was recording, somewhere. "That's how I found this place. Are you making a podcast today?"
"No, not today," Noah said. "Babysitting some guests for the other podcast."
"Right, the Echo," Michaelis nodded. "You do the Junior -- I listened to a few episodes."
"Oh cool! Is that why you're here? I'm definitely going to put you in an episode, but it won't be out for a little while," Noah said. "I could do another interview if you thought of more cool stuff to see."
"I wouldn't mind, but I'm here to speak to whoever owns the studio," Michaelis replied. "I've been thinking of doing a podcast myself."
Noah blinked at him. "About Askazer-Shivadlakia?"
"Maybe indirectly. If I promise I won't steal your thunder, can you introduce me?" he asked.
Noah was opening his mouth to reply when several things happened at once.
The door behind him opened, and a handful of people emerged, more or less filling the little space. One of them said, startled, "Your majesty!"
"Esta?" he asked, surprised to find an MP in a podcast office -- although Esta Jerome had been a junior MP and was still very young, so perhaps not as surprised as he would have been if it was one of the older members.
"Noah?" one of the other people said, and Michaelis squinted past Esta, trying to determine if he recognized them. After a second he realized he couldn't even place their gender, let alone their face.
They were fairly short, with curved hips but a flat chest, what he'd have called a feminine face with a strong jawline. Their bleach-white hair was combed into a pompadour on top of their head, the sides shaved. They looked older, closer to his age, but dressed like one of Gregory's fashionable school friends, in a tailored shirt and a kilt in purple and black.
"Uh, Boss, this is Mike, the guy I interviewed on the train," Noah said.
Esta said, "Mike?" in an intensely amused voice. The man next to her gasped dramatically.
Michaelis tried to stop gaping at everything suddenly happening around him and summoned forty years of dignity as a king.
"I was just speaking with young Noah about his podcast project," he said.
"Noah," the other person said, going to the boy. There was an unmistakable family resemblance -- the same narrow face and snub nose, dark heavy brows and pale eyes, but this one had the Shivadh accent, if a little faded. "Did this man introduce himself properly to you?"
"I'm afraid I was traveling incognito when we met," Michaelis answered. He gave Noah a brief nod of a bow. "Michaelis ben Jason, king emeritus, at your service, young man."
Noah stared at him. His -- mother? Boss? -- nudged him gently.
"Nice to meet you," Noah said. "Again."
"Esta, thanks so much for the interview," they continued. "Lachlan, can you walk her out?"
"Can I come back and eavesdrop after?" the man called Lachlan asked. He looked like he was savoring this.
"No," the person said.
"Fine. Bye, Noah, be good," Lachlan said, and then it was Michaelis, Noah, and this mystery.
"I go through this a lot," Michaelis said, "but I think you have the advantage of me."
"Jes Deimos," they said, which didn't help his desperate internal flailing. "I'm Noah's parent."
"I gathered. I'm sorry, the boy did nothing wrong -- he didn't know who I was when we spoke," Michaelis said.
"Boss, he said he wanted to talk to the owner of the studio," Noah said. "About um. Doing a podcast."
Jes Deimos' face managed to combine "amused" and "deeply unimpressed" in a way that was pure Shivadh.
"Are you the studio's owner?" he asked, still trying to cover his surprise. "I was under the impression Noah had just moved here."
"I'm a partner investor," they replied. "You want to do a podcast?"
"Yes. Well. I'd like to ask about them. I really know very little, but I listen to some, and they seem...popular," he said.
"Normal mid-life crises usually involve a shiny car, not a recording studio," they said.
"I'm afraid I'm a few years past mid-life and I already have a shiny car," he replied evenly. To his surprise, they laughed.
"Well, all right, we're a public studio, we do offer our services. I assume you have all the funding you need. Have you lined up any marketing or advertisers?" they asked, heading for the door in the other wall. "Step into my office, we can discuss it."
"I only came up with the idea yesterday," he said, following them. He held the door for Noah, looking back; the boy looked surprised, then followed them in.
Jes's office was a small cubby lined in noise-dampening foam, with a large glass window looking in on a recording studio. He suspected it might double as a second studio at times.
"So, tell me why the former king of Askazer-Shivadlakia wants to do a podcast," they said, sitting down at the desk, gesturing him into another seat.
"Traditionally, if a king retires rather than dying on the throne, one of his emeritus duties is to dictate his memoirs to the royal librarian," Michaelis said. "It's considered an important historical record. Kings often consult the indexed memoirs for precedent, even after the monarchy became democratic."
"Ish," Jes said.
"Beg pardon?"
"Democratic-ish. After all, your son is the third generation in your family to be elected."
Michaelis shrugged. "My son and I both won fair elections against qualified candidates. Why, are you bucking for the job?"
Jes laughed again, seemingly startled by the retort.
"That's fair," they agreed. "Your memoirs aren't a full explanation, though."
"No, I suppose not. I've been doing my best, but...it's very tedious," he said. "And one does feel useless, as a former king. Very little call for consultants in my line of work, and Gregory has things well in hand. I suppose I'm searching for a challenge of some kind. A podcast seemed like a chance to learn a new skill, perhaps improve my storytelling. I'm afraid most stories involving my reign are not very interesting, but I don't need to be a sensation."
Jes studied him, which was a little unsettling, but the entire encounter so far had been. He glanced at Noah, who looked excited.
"I'm going to act a little self-interestedly here," Jes said finally. "Because it's not every day a former monarch walks into my office and wants to hire my services. But I think it would also be genuinely useful to you to see how they work before you decide you want to make one. They're more work than they seem, and most podcasters don't get past the seventh or eighth episode."
"Good lord," he said.
"So I'd like to invite you onto my podcast," Jes continued.
"The Echo?" Michaelis guessed. Noah snickered.
"The same. You can follow me through an entire episode, from idea to finished product, and if you think you're still interested at the end, we can discuss next steps."
"Boss," Noah said. Jes looked at him. "Dibs."
Jes threw their hands up in the air and sat back, groaning, a reaction that surprised him; Noah grinned and pointed at them.
"Fine, fine," Jes said. "Noah did get you first," they told Michaelis. "Technically I'm inviting you onto his podcast. Echo Junior."
"Or we could do an independent collab," Noah said. "We make a podcast about making a podcast. You can be the point of view, like we teach you how to make it," he said to Michaelis. "Then if you want to make your own, you can."
Jes had seemed genuinely irritated by Noah's dibs, but when he glanced at them, they looked at Noah like...well, the way he'd looked when Gregory was taking his first wobbly steps into politics.
"I think that sounds like a fine plan," he said to Noah. "How do we begin?"
"We have a brainstorming meeting on Tuesday," Jes said. "You can come to that. How do I put something on the calendar of the former king of Askazer-Shivadlakia?"
Michaelis spotted a little pile of business cards on the desk, and picked one up; it said, on the front, JES DEIMOS - THE ECHO - BROADCAST JOURNALIST - AUDIO PRODUCER - THEY/THEM. Well, perhaps that explained a few things. He turned it over, took a pen from the cup on the desk, and wrote out his email address, passing it to them.
"This is your personal email," they said, studying it.
"Yes?" he replied, perplexed.
"You don't have a secretary?"
Michaelis shook his head. "There's not much call for my services, as I said. Anyone who wants me for official business goes through the Palace, and they decide if I should be contacted. For personal concerns, the email suffices."
"Well, I will have my secretary send you an invite," Jes said, passing the card to Noah, who got out his phone and immediately started tapping away on it.
"Can I ask," Michaelis said, standing to leave, "why Esta Jerome was here?"
"Nervous about an MP speaking to a journalist?" Jes asked, standing also.
"I think you vastly overestimate the level of power I wield or the amount of control I want," Michaelis said. "I like Esta; she's sensible and she's a great supporter of the king's initiatives. She's destined for high office if she keeps on the way she's going."
"I'm sure she'll be glad to know. She's a friend, and she's in local politics, so I wanted to interview her, that's all."
"I look forward to hearing the interview," he said, as Jes held the door for him. "I'll see myself out. Until Tuesday. Noah, good to see you again."
"Your majesty," Noah said, and Jes elbowed him. Michaelis smiled and let himself out into the hall. He had just stepped into the sunlight outside when his phone buzzed and an invitation to ECHO/JR WEEKLY BRAINSTORMING appeared on the lock screen. He accepted it and pocketed the phone again, strolling back towards the palace.
Well, a radio journalist of indefinite gender and a kid who wasn't afraid to abduct the former king of his country into a podcast scheme. If nothing else, life was certainly looking more interesting, at least as far as next Tuesday went.
As soon as the former king was gone, Jes slumped against the wall outside their office and slid down it until they plopped on their ass on the floor.
"Wow," Noah said, because Noah was their child and therefore a little bit an asshole sometimes. "You really had the sass turned up high. Did he kick you when you were a kid or something?"
"Shh, I'm decompressing," Jes replied, and Noah sat down next to them. "Only you."
"Me? How is this my fault?"
"Only you would make friends, randomly, with the king of your native homeland!" Jes said. "I didn't expect a former monarch to walk in today, I would have put more product in my hair."
"Your hair looks fine."
"That's missing the point, but I suppose that's my fault too, probably," Jes groaned. "And now he wants us to teach him how to do a podcast. I'm going to have to show the king how to run a sound board."
"You taught me."
"Your brain is young and elastic, my love," Jes said, pulling Noah into their side.
"He is kinda old."
"Watch it," they warned. "He's not that much older than me."
"He seems like he learns stuff. You know how some people just never learn stuff, he looks like that's not him," Noah said, considering it. "If he was king for all that time he must've been pretty good at keeping up."
"You'd be surprised what politicians can get away with, especially when they're pretty. But you may be right. I suppose we'll find out," Jes said. Their phone buzzed and they checked it. "Ah. Lachlan wants to know if the coast is clear and he can come back in to scream with us about what just happened. Would you go get him? I need a minute of silence to rethink all my life choices."
"Yeah, I got it," Noah said, getting to his feet and heading for the door. A minute later, Lachlan could be heard making a series of high-pitched enthusiastic screams, growing ever closer. Jes got up and dusted themself down.
"Oh my shit that was the ex-king," Lachlan cackled, throwing himself through the door, down the hall, and into their office. Jes followed more calmly. Noah, wisely, went back to his work in the waiting room. "He is hot in person. That steel grey hair? And legs for days. And that voice. Bet he can purr like a cat. What did he want?"
"Podcast advice," Jes said.
"He could read the phone book and I bet we could sell it. Did you give him your number?"
"I think he took a card," Jes answered, frowning.
"Did you give him my number?"
"Lachlan, I love you, and you are a beautiful person inside and out, but the former king of the country who was married to the same woman for his entire reign and lost her tragically less than a decade ago is never going to sleep with you."
"He might be bi. Anyway, the royals demonstrably have no taste in men, his son is dating Eddie Rambler."
"Even if he is bi, he doesn't seem like the type for casual sex."
"I'd marry him if it was required, I'm not doing anything more interesting," Lachlan said, putting his feet up on the desk.
"Your husband and infant child might take issue."
"They'll recover. By the way, did you see him check you out?"
"I saw him visibly trying to figure out what pronouns to use. Thankfully the business card was a hint. Hopefully he picked up on it."
"I think he liked your hair. Good thing you wore the kilt today."
"I'm sure he's seen nicer knees. Did you want something?"
"Other than another three days minimum spent drooling over King Michaelis? Not particularly. Let's go have early lunch with cocktails."
"Lachlan, seriously," Jes said. "Don't tell the world about this, okay? I don't need that kind of publicity and I'm sure he doesn't. He sounded like it took a lot for him to come here."
Lachlan sobered, folding his hands over his stomach. "Of course, Jes. Promise. Nobody hears it from me."
"And if you behave yourself, you can come sit in when we do the tech stuff, maybe show him how to check his levels."
Lachlan waggled his eyebrows. "I'll be the soul of discretion."
"I'm sure you will. Anyway," Jes continued, pushing his feet off the desk. "Let's go over scheduling next week. The number of people who want studio space is kind of shocking, to be honest."
Michaelis was at breakfast on Friday, which surprised Gregory when he walked in; usually he didn't show up until dinner time, and stayed over in the palace on the weekend.
"Might just be you and me for breakfast," he said, helping himself to a scone from the basket on the table. "Alanna took Jerry to do some errands, and it's Eddie's slow day so he was still asleep when I left. How's the lodge?"
"Still standing," his father replied with a smile. "I came up to see you, actually."
"Well, you know I always like to see you around the place. Anything in particular we needed to discuss?"
"Nothing official. I was thinking of going to kabbalat shabbat tonight at the great synagogue, and wondered if you wanted to come."
"Oh, that sounds nice," Gregory said thoughtfully. "And I should go more often. Kingly thing to do, now that life has settled down. Any particular reason?"
"Not really," his father said, in exactly the tone of voice that would once have made his mother suspicious of ulterior motives. She would have asked him about it, and Michaelis often did need to be prodded a little about his thoughts, but Gregory had always felt when his father was being devious, adventure was in the wind. He didn't need to know the precise nature of it.
"Well, I'm in, doesn't look like I have anything on my calendar," he said, consulting his phone. "All right if I invite Eddie? He probably won't come, but he likes to be invited to things."
"No objections here. Meet at the staircase? I can drive us out there."
"Sure. Are you in the palace today?"
"No, just came up to see you. Need anything from me?"
"Actually, if you can put your head in at Parliament briefly, Sorensen is still treating me like I'm a stand-in until you get back. Can you be extremely boring about fishing at him for half an hour?"
"Love nothing better," Michaelis said. "There's a man who desperately needs to retire but his town simply won't stop electing him. Irritating him was always a pleasure."
"I'm seeing to the issue. There's a junior MP who could replace him handily, they just need a bit of help strategically. Alanna's hatching something."
"Very good." Michaelis grinned at him. "Now, tell me what you think of this news out of Italy last week..."
It was the best spirits Gregory had seen him in for some time, and after breakfast he enjoyed watching his father take one of his most irritating MPs down a peg. Perhaps the fishing lodge was doing him good, instead of the harm Gregory and his cousins had worried about.
It used to be that a Shivadh king, arriving to any service at the grand synagogue, would basically take over the show -- received in splendor, seated in honor, and generally distracting from what should have been religious observance. Michaelis had read several historical accounts in the library by Rabbis who'd been very angry about it. But that was one of the sweeping reforms Gregory II, his son's namesake, had introduced. He'd stopped attending any religious observance entirely, and then when he began again it was subtly, quietly. It was tradition by now, nearly four full generations strong, that the kings of Askazer-Shivadlakia basically slunk in the back like tardy schoolchildren.
Michaelis liked it. They arrived about five minutes late, both in the sober black uniform of the royalty, and slipped in through a side door, held open silently for them by an usher. There was a bench in the back specifically for the royal family, and he settled himself next to Gregory on it. The air in the temple was pleasantly cool, but the light was a deep warm orange, sunset streaming in through the big windows from the west while indigo night was falling in the east. And this had always been his favorite service to attend, between the singing and the murmured prayers. Welcoming Shabbat and a late dinner after, that was a good evening in his mind.
He hadn't known if Jes Deimos and their son would be attending, but Noah had said they planned to at some point. He wouldn't admit to something as blasphemous as going to temple just to see someone he was curious about, but it was high time he got back here, as Noah's questions about how often he went had proved.
It was good, anyway. He could feel his shoulders dropping, and Gregory seemed to be relaxing too.
He did spot that knot of white hair, very visible in any crowd -- Jes Deimos, about halfway up in the congregation, Noah a lanky shadow next to them. Noah looked like he was having more fun than they were. A pair of older people next to them, probably their parents, seemed happy enough to be there. The man he'd seen at the studio, Lachlan, was behind Deimos, and occasionally squeezed their shoulder.
And of course, someone took Michaelis's picture.
He didn't notice at the time, but it didn't take long for the photo to get out. He wasn't even asleep that night, in his somewhat musty rooms in the palace, when Gregory knocked on his door.
"I don't think this is an emergency," he said, "but it's very funny and also something you should know."
He switched on the television in Michaelis's living room and held his phone up, pairing them. His phone's screen appeared on the TV, showing a picture of him and Gregory, in their matching uniforms and their kippot with the royal crest, sitting attentively on the royal bench. It had been posted to Photogram, with the caption Kings greeting the Queen. You love to see it.
"Is that a Shivadh Photogram?" he asked. "Not an influencer or someone, I mean." Gregory nodded. "Well, that's nice."
Gregory tapped a button and a very, very long string of comments unfolded.
"Oh dear," Michaelis said.
"It's mostly positive," Gregory said. The first comment, upvoted the most, was I didn't think old Mikey'd been back since Queen Miranda passed. Good for him.
"If I was offended every time someone called me that I'd have quit the job thirty-nine years earlier than I did," Michaelis said, as Gregory scrolled. "Anyway, they aren't wrong, it's been years. My own fault."
Another comment near the top was Pair of deadass foxes.
"That's a compliment, isn't it?" Michaelis asked.
"Yes. There are roughly fifteen separate comments calling you a silver fox," Gregory said, amused.
"Again, I've been called worse. What are they calling you?"
"Well, one person said I was a Shivadh snack, which is about the most absurd. The most upvoted compliment was that I'm short, dark, and handsome, which made Eddie laugh. There's not a lot of real ugliness, and half of Askazer-Shivadlakia downvotes it whenever it pops up, so it's essentially invisible the second it appears."
"Mm, and it's not like we didn't get all that before," Michaelis agreed.
That's cool and all but kind of super disrespectful to Jews, someone had written. Even I know you really shouldn't go to services unless you're invited.
Michaelis opened his mouth but Gregory said, "Wait for it," and opened the comments thread below.
Found the American gentile, the first comment said.
Imagine having to be invited to the synagogue you were married in, the second one added.
Harold, they're Jewish, the third one said. Michaelis cracked up laughing.
"I recognize that joke, Edward taught me that meme!" he said. "You're right, this is funny."
"Now that the country's the center of social media attention, it might go on like this a while," Gregory said, disconnecting from the television. "I'll get briefings from comms regularly, but I was wondering if you wanted to know when you show up on social media."
"Do you think it's necessary?"
"I don't know yet. It's all new to me, too. Generally it's been kinder to us than the tabloids, but it can get vicious and there's no editor to stop it when it does. Nobody to sue, either."
"Hm." Michaelis crossed his arms, considering. "I don't really need the flattery. I made it a point never to read my own reviews unless they had genuine impact on the governance of the country. That said, I do want to know if something's brewing that you or I will need to manage. Can't have myself turned into a meme every time I go for a walk. What does Edward think?"
"Eddie's an influencer," Gregory said. "He manages his spin himself, and he's much better at it than we'd be."
"Then I think I should ask him to keep an eye on my hashtag, or whatever they're using to catalogue these things, and if he sees something I should know about, he can tell me."
Gregory was biting his lip. Michaelis raised an eyebrow.
"Eddie said the exact same thing. He's the one who found this one," he said, wiggling his phone. "Says he's happy to do it but wasn't sure you wanted him to."
"As long as it doesn't waste his time," Michaelis replied. "He's technically palace staff now, he shouldn't be made to overwork."
"Oh, believe me, nobody has to make Eddie overwork," Gregory replied. "I didn't realize we were both fourteen-hour-day kind of people."
Michaelis pulled Gregory in by the back of his neck and kissed his forehead. "You're a good and dutiful son, and if that's the case then you should go back and spend what little time you both aren't working with him."
"Good idea," Gregory said with a smile. "Sleep well, father."
"You too," Michaelis said, and when Gregory was gone he settled into the couch to read for a while, pleased with the world despite the presence of Photogram in it. It was, actually, a little nice to be in the public eye again, and one did like to hear every once in a while how handsome one was.
Chapter 15: Infinite Jes: Ch3
Chapter Text
Michaelis spent the weekend at the palace, mostly puttering around. He went running in the mornings, worked on the massive project of putting forty years of his papers in order, and played pick-up football with the weekend staff. On Sunday, he spent the afternoon with Gregory in the kitchen, tasting various dishes Eddie and Simon were concocting. He'd always liked the royal kitchen and Gregory had loved it from childhood, so it wasn't exactly a trial.
Whenever he could, he had his headphones in, and Jes Deimos's voice in his ear.
He knew Gregory was listening as well, and both of them had plenty of reason; if a prominent journalist was going to do an entire series about the country, they ought to know as much as possible. And The Echo was also fun to listen to -- he could see why it was popular. Deimos was never aggressive, exactly, but they had a way of pulling a person apart with exacting slowness to get at the meat of what they had to say. He'd have to watch himself a little around them, but that could be fun, too.
They did human-interest pieces and political reporting; an entire season dedicated to the lives of students at a New York performing arts school, and one where they did nothing but interview people the listenership had nominated as thought leaders of the day. They did retrospectives on old news stories that had apparently revolutionized how people saw certain historical events, and they had a running, years-long series on sexuality and gender identity that Michaelis could probably have used when Gregory was coming out, and Gregory definitely could have. They chronicled almost the entirety of their friend Lachlan's marriage, from his third date with his now-husband to the day they adopted their child. They did an episode about what it meant to identify as butch, followed by one about what it meant to transition to nonbinary, to identify as genderqueer.
He didn't always listen to all of an episode, or every episode in a season, but that was sort of the brilliance of podcasts, he thought; you could just jump around as you pleased, most of the time. He kept a list in his phone of other shows they recommended, and his player filled up so fast he had to slim it back down again. Most of the voices were American, but not all, and the more he listened, especially in the evenings when his time was hard to fill, the more intrigued he became. He was very much looking forward to their Echo Brainstorming meeting by Monday night, when he was settled back in the lodge with a glass of wine and their first episode about Askazer-Shivadlakia -- which he was in, on Noah's recording.
At Mike's request, Jes Deimos said, voice rich with amusement, though we have some more information about what he recommends for the country, we're holding off on sharing it for now. You'll be hearing from him again!
Tuesday dawned stormy, and an unexpected, unusually heavy summer rain was drumming on the tin roof of the lodge by the time Michaelis woke up, so he exercised rare royal privilege and called up to the palace to ask someone to drive down with his car. Normally the trail from the lodge to the palace was a nice morning stroll, but he wanted to look like a genteel retired royal rather than a drowned rat.
And he asked for the Jaguar.
Well, Deimos's remarks about mid-life crises had stung a little, and on the off-chance they caught him pulling up, the sight of the bottle-green Jag he'd been given for his fiftieth birthday would be amusing. It handled the slightly rough road well in the rain, too.
When he pulled up to the studio, Jes and Noah were actually both outside, but not for any good reason he could see. Noah had his arms full of equipment wrapped in plastic, and Jes was escorting him hurriedly to a van already full of the stuff, a huge umbrella in one hand. He parked the Jaguar behind the van and climbed out, pulling his coat's hood up to keep the rain off his head.
"What's going on?" he called through the downpour.
"Leaks!" Jes yelled back. "Meeting's canceled!"
"How bad a leak?" he asked, baffled by this, and then looked at the office building, which had water pouring out of the front door. "What in the..."
"Kinda bad!" Jes said, as Noah thrust the equipment into the van's open door.
"Let me help," he said, running through the streams filling the front walkway, up to the building's entrance. Inside there was an inch of water in the waiting room of the office. He darted back out into the hall, dodging drips and streams, and lunged for the fusebox he'd seen earlier, pulling it open and flicking all the electricity off.
"What're you doing?" Jes demanded, coming inside. They kept the umbrella up, but Noah ran past them both into the darkened office.
"Turning off the electrics. If the water reaches the outlets and they're live, we'll all die very unhappily," he said, switching on the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the hall. "How can I help?"
"We've got most of the delicate stuff out. It's just furniture and one of the heavier pieces of equipment," they replied. Noah was clattering around in the studio, from the sound of it. "I didn't know this place was made of cardboard when we rented it."
"It does seem to be worryingly disintegrating," Michaelis said, looking around. "Who else is in the building?"
"As far as I know, nobody. At the time I thought that was great, less noise, but now I'm thinking this is probably why we got it cheap. Dammit," they growled, running fingers through their wet, disordered hair as they sloshed forward, Michaelis following. "Noah?"
"I can't get the board on my own!" Noah yelled.
"Here, let me," Michaelis said, slogging to where Noah was trying to wrestle something flat, wide, and enormous off the table. "If you cover us, we can get this out together," he added to Jes.
"I don't think there's room in the van for it and me," Noah said. "If we can get the board in the front seat you can drive it back, and I'll wait here."
"Not indoors, this is a death trap," Jes said. Michaelis, hefting one end of the board, eyed it speculatively.
"I've got a car," he said.
"You've got a Hot Wheels. It won't fit in the back seat you don't have," Jes said.
"So put it in the van. I'll take a passenger and follow you to wherever you're taking it all," he replied.
"Shit, I don't even know. My parents' garage, maybe. They're going to love that," Jes sighed. "But it's dry, at least. Mostly."
"Let's get it out of here," Noah urged.
They managed to haul it out to the van and load it into the front seat, upright, belted in like a passenger, then huddled under the umbrella to confer.
"That's the last of it," Noah said. "Unless you want to get -- "
He was cut off by an almighty crash; behind them, part of the roof of the building caved in. The family Deimos stared at it.
"You know," Michaelis said, "I think I'm going to have a word with our municipal government about building inspectors picking up the slack a little. We have building laws in this country."
"That'd be helpful, yes," Jes said. "What a disaster."
"At least you're out safe, and this looks like very difficult equipment to replace," Michaelis observed. Thunder crashed. "We should get inside. Look," he added, because both of them seemed miserable and he was starting to really feel how wet his socks and shoes were. "There's a cafe down the block that's probably structurally sound. Let's take a break and dry off. I'll buy you a coffee."
They looked more bewildered than anything, and he understood the feeling, so he hustled both of them down the sidewalk and into the cafe, where other equally-wet people were drying out. A few of them looked his way and whispered to each other when they walked in, but Michaelis settled Jes and Noah at a table and then went to the counter, where the barista at least knew him slightly and wasn't entirely bowled over by him walking into her cafe.
"Your grace," she said. "You look like you've been through it."
"There has been," Michaelis told her, "something of an incident. Could I lean on your patriotic spirit for a couple of dishtowels?"
"I know their regular orders," she said, nodding at Jes and Noah. "Yours plus theirs?"
"Please," he answered, swiping his card as she rang him up.
"No charge for the towels," she said, handing him a stack from under the counter. "I'll call when the drinks are up."
He carried the towels back to the table, using one to dry his face and passing the others to Jes and Noah. Jes seemed glad to be able to put their hair in order, and Noah was mostly dry once he'd patted all the rainwater he could off his legs.
"Well, you aren't seeing us at our most professional," Jes said, through the towel, "but you are, I have to say, seeing us at our most resourceful."
"I've found professionalism to be vastly overrated, generally," he replied. "Glad I could help."
"Thank you," Noah said, poking his parent with a finger.
"Yes, we do appreciate it," Jes added, giving Noah a look. "Can we pay you for the coffees?"
"Consider it a down payment on my podcasting lessons. Though I don't think you'll be back in that particular studio anytime soon," he said.
"We've got two weeks worth of shows in the can," Noah said to Jes, who looked annoyed and disconsolate. "I can do some extra-fast editing once we record and if we can get a new studio set up we won't really miss much time. Lachlan'll help. If you let me take some pictures I can put up a fundraiser to -- "
"You can't go back in there," Michaelis said, appalled. "It's not safe. The whole damn thing looks like it's going to slide into the harbor."
"I'm light," Noah said to him with a grin.
"Allow me to introduce you to the wild child," Jes sighed. "He's right, Noah. No internal photos. We'll shoot some of you looking sad and wet next to the van. Hah! We can call it Noah and the Flood."
Noah made a waifish, pathetic face. Michaelis smiled.
"What do you need the funds for?" he asked. "I would hope it was insured."
"We were renting. Even if the building is insured the money mostly won't come to us, and our business insurance is going to take an eternity to pay out. We've got to rent a new space, which means new deposits and costs. We'll have to get it all set up again, and replace at least two of the mics well before insurance pays, if it ever does. We put up the soundproofing ourselves, so we'll have to either buy more or wait to salvage what's in there. It's...doable, but not great," Jes said. "We're living with my parents right now. We were planning to find a place and move out, but we can use the rent budget if we have to."
The barista called "Deimos!" and Noah got up to go get the drinks. Michaelis rested his chin in his hand, considering. There were arts grants available and he was sure he could divert grant money for this, but it would look like personal use, given he wanted to use the equipment as well. But...the fishing lodge was technically state property, and it had plenty of empty space. Damn thing was built like a bunker -- in fact, the basement had been expanded into one --
"That's very imposing," Jes said, and he looked up at them.
"What?"
"The face. You look like you're bored at the UN," they said, gesturing to his face as Noah set a coffee in front of him.
"I'm sorry, I was just thinking," he said. "I'm staying at the fishing lodge right now, out on the palace grounds. The basement was built as a bunker back during the Second World War. It's already pretty soundproof. It's not exactly convenient to get to, but I can guarantee the roof won't fall in. It's public property, legally speaking. There's no reason you couldn't make use of it."
"Ah," Noah said, and they both looked at him. "Can I record this?"
Michaelis grinned at him. "Want a second take?"
"He's already recording on that damn pocket mic, he's just asking for permission now," Jes accused. Noah flushed. "Noah!"
"It's fine, I expected no less from a broadcast journalist," Michaelis said, gently teasing. "It really is, I don't mind," he repeated to Jes, who didn't look entirely appeased. "I suppose if you're making a podcast about Askazer-Shivadlakia this is probably very good material."
"You're still supposed to ask before you start recording," Jes said. "That's basic ethics."
"Can we get back to the bunker?" Noah asked. "I want to record in a bunker!"
"It seems as though your day has been pretty much wiped clean of meetings," Michaelis pointed out. "At least come and see if it would be useful to you. If not, we can always take the equipment to your parents'."
Jes nodded. "All right, we might as well take a look. One of us is going to have to ride with you in the Hot Wheels, though."
Half an hour saw them running through rain that had only slightly lessened; Noah, leggy and with the energy of youth, outdistanced them both and got into the van. Jes yelled, "Noah!" in a frustrated tone that Michaelis recognized from when Gregory was a teenager: annoyance and resignation rolled together, that their fifteen-year-old had made a unilateral decision they didn't agree with.
"Get in out of the rain before you yell at him," he said, holding the door on the Jaguar for Jes, who looked askance at him but climbed in. He circled around and got behind the wheel, shaking out his wet hair.
"He knows he's supposed to ask first, and only drive the van on side roads," Jes said.
"He's fifteen. You let him drive it at all?"
"Well, sixteen is the legal driving age in the US, you know," they replied. "Sometimes when it's just you and your thirteen-year-old kid and you have to get recording equipment somewhere, you have to improvise."
"Thirteen?"
"This is why I can't punish him too badly for it, I created him," Jes said, as their phone beeped. Michaelis could see the one-word text from Noah: Dibs...?
"It's not far to the lodge, and mostly on a back-road," he offered. Well, Gregory had been captain of the shooting team at school when he was fifteen, and giving a child a rifle was arguably a worse idea than a car.
"Fine," Jes said, typing out a message back. "Next time ask. And, send," they said. "You'll have to drive ahead, to show him where to -- oh, no," they said, as he started the car.
"What?" he asked.
"This is the shiny car, isn't it. You drove your midlife crisis car here just to tweak me?"
He shot them a smile and pulled out of the parking space, gesturing for Noah to follow him.
The recording studio was relatively close to the turnoff for the back entrance to the palace grounds; it didn't take them too long to pull onto the bumpy road to the fishing lodge. In deference to the equipment he drove slowly so Noah, apparently a cautious would-be driver, could follow at a sedate pace. Normally he would have pulled around to the front of the lodge, but there was a loading dock down into the bunker, so instead he guided the Jaguar down the ramp and into the covered underground garage.
""Well, this is...definitely...concrete," Jes remarked, getting out. Noah bounced out of the van and looked around eagerly.
"Is this the bunker?" he asked.
"Through here," Michaelis said, leading them deeper into the dimly-lit garage and through the thick entry door. Inside, he took off his drenched shoes and wet socks, and saw the others following suit.
The bunker had originally been designed as a long-term shelter, and the previous royal family had lived there for a period during the war. It had a series of empty bedrooms at the back, a little kitchen off to one side, and a war room of sorts, with a smaller room to one side that had been a playroom and nursery for the royal children. It would have been unpleasant to live in, and some of the rooms were now simply storage, but it was well-lit and well-ventilated, and quiet.
"We could put up like four studios in here!" Noah called from one of the former bedrooms. "The soundproofing's already great! Little bit of foam, run some extension cords...this'll work!"
"As you can see, it's also watertight," Michaelis drawled. Jes cracked a smile as they examined the ancient cookware still on the shelves in the kitchen.
"I can't object to the rent," they said. "And Noah approves, so we can work with it. I never knew this was here. I mean, the fishing lodge, we did field trips as kids, but they didn't show us the bunker."
"Shame. It's very historic -- they ought to start showing it on tours. But it's also not very useful, empty like this," Michaelis said.
"You're living here?"
"Upstairs in the lodge proper. It's a little nicer," he said.
"Why not at the palace?"
Michaelis shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "Well, the whole point of retirement was that I could spend more time fishing," he joked, but Jes didn't laugh. "Beats trying to rule a country."
"Well, if that's your yardstick, life's a breeze," they said. "Noah?"
"Yeah!" Noah emerged from the back, looking around interestedly. "This is super punk rock," he declared. "It's awesome, we could definitely fix it up."
"There's parking and space," Jes agreed, looking around. "Are you sure we won't disturb you?"
"Separate entrance, and concrete ceilings. I probably won't even notice you're here," Michaelis said. "During daylight hours you'll have lake access, too. The conservation officers don't love strangers out on the grounds at night, but the view at night's a little lacking anyway."
Noah had his phone out and was already taking selfies.
"Come on, kid, let's get the equipment loaded in," Jes said, casually putting their child in a headlock and dragging him away. Michaelis followed and was promptly tasked with fetching and carrying, since he had no clue how anything should be set up.
Michaelis brought most of the equipment in, while Noah set it up and Jes settled into a dusty chair to inspect each piece and do any triage for later repair. By the time Noah said they were set, it was past noon.
"Come upstairs," Michaelis said. "Have lunch before you go."
"Coffee and lunch? The generosity of the king knows no bounds," Jes said, following him up the stairs.
"Former king," he corrected with a smile, elbowing the door to the main lodge open.
Jes had to admit, when they'd arrived at the studio that morning to find it falling apart, they hadn't expected to be eating lunch in a warm, dry bungalow with the former king.
Noah, the bottomless pit, was plowing his way through an entire bag of potato chips, which didn't seem to bother Michaelis, who had set out fixings for sandwiches and left them to their own devices while he took down plates and cups. The lodge was large, meant for entertaining, and it wasn't difficult to tell how little space his grace took up -- the kitchen was tidy but lived-in, and there were newspapers folded up next to the nook in the kitchen where he clearly ate his meals. The formal dining room and ballroom that they remembered from childhood field trips was closed off, but the living room that the kitchen opened into had blankets on the sofa, books strewn around, and a jigsaw puzzle on the table in the corner.
"I suppose I assumed you'd have a chef and a couple of maids," they said, settling in next to Noah at the dining table.
"I could, but I didn't see the point. I'm not what you'd call an inspired cook, but I can shift for myself, and Gregory would miss our chef if I took him away. Not to mention he'd be incredibly bored just cooking for me," Michaelis replied. "It keeps me busy."
"Do you have to keep it pretty neat?" Noah asked. "If it's historic, I mean."
"Usually nobody's living here long-term, and it's summer, so there aren't any tours," Michaelis answered. "But I'm a fairly tidy man. Gregory's the messy one. Don't put that in any podcasts," he added, pointing at the recorder sitting out on the table. "Can't have the king mad at me."
Noah made a careful note on his phone, checking the timestamp on the recorder.
"Well, you are all business, aren't you?" Michaelis asked. "Suppose you've been apprenticing for a while."
"Is that what I'm doing?" Noah asked Jes.
"You can call it that if you want, kind of like the ring of it," Jes replied. "Noah Deimos, apprentice podcaster."
"Shame you already had the business cards printed," Michaelis said.
"Oh, no, the business cards..." Noah looked at Jes in alarm. "They were in the office..."
"Well, then it's a chance to print some new ones," Jes told him. "They have the wrong address on them, anyhow, now. I'm sure we're going to spend the next week thinking of things that were in that office. Probably for the best we hadn't even fully decorated."
"At least this way we won't lose much time," Noah said. "We could be up and recording again this afternoon if we wanted. Can we offer studio space to the people who wanted to rent some?" he asked Michaelis bluntly.
"We'll have to invoice for equipment and time -- can't charge for the space itself," Jes said. "Might actually bring our prices down, which could bring in more artists. Don't mind that."
"Well, sounds like you know what you're doing. Just keep them from wandering. I'll get you a set of keys for the garage entrance," Michaelis replied, more agreeably than Jes might have, if it meant strangers were going to be in their basement all day. "Convenient for me, I must say."
"Ah, his true motives are revealed," Jes said to Noah. "See, you're getting good at this interview thing."
"I'm known to be nefarious," Michaelis said. "I promise I won't be a nuisance, though."
"How would you see your podcast working, anyway?" Jes asked. "Like one story a week? Formal interviews? Do you want to get the royal librarian involved?"
"Couldn't say. I hardly know what I'm doing, which admittedly is a feeling I haven't had in a while," Michaelis said. "I've been listening to yours, though. And a few others. I don't think I care for those shows where it's just one person talking. That's really nothing more than a book on tape, eh? No disrespect to them, but a conversation -- like the shows you do -- that's much more interesting and I'll need all the help I can get."
"But you did spend forty years deep in European politics," Jes said. "I know Askazer-Shivadlakia used to host diplomatic talks as a neutral ground. You were king when the Berlin Wall fell."
"I wasn't king of Germany," Michaelis pointed out.
"No, but it must have had ramifications for you. Hang on, this is Noah's job," Jes said. "Let's step back a little. You don't like your storytelling, that's what we should tackle first."
They looked at Noah, who considered it. Michaelis waited patiently, working his way through half a sandwich.
"Can you tell us one of your memoir stories?" Noah said at last. "As if you were dictating to us. Like, show me what's boring you, I guess. Don't tell a boring story, just tell a story," he added, seeing Michaelis's expression. "And then we can help you."
Michaelis sat back for a minute, finishing his bite of food, took a sip of water, and thought about it.
"Well, I left off with some trade negotiations about six months before Gregory was born," he said, and launched into a story that was so unbearably boring that Jes was actually shocked.
Watching such a charismatic man suddenly lose his entire persona was baffling. Two minutes into it they looked to Noah, who seemed equally surprised. Three minutes in, Michaelis stopped of his own accord and spread his hands.
"You see the problem," he said, with a self-deprecating smile.
"At least you're aware of it," Jes said. "That was extremely boring, but I've been bored by professionals who didn't even know they were doing it."
"It's mostly 'cause it's about something boring, I think," Noah said.
"It's important, though," Michaelis replied. "This kind of detail. It's the kind of thing I used to look up in the indices when I was a new king, so that I'd know what to do. Maybe it's better written down," he added. "Not good fodder for a show."
"You do have to pick and choose, with audio media," Jes agreed. "An interview format would probably be more helpful. Or, maybe not an interview exactly, but something structured. We can workshop it. There's plenty of time, anyway, it's not like you have a deadline."
"Why didn't you ask your dad?" Noah asked. Michaelis frowned.
"Ask him what?"
"Why didn't you ask him stuff instead of looking it up? He was still alive, right?"
"It's complicated," Michaelis said. "The simplest way to put it is that I wanted to prove I could rule without him looking over my shoulder. And also the second I was crowned he left the country on an eight-month goodwill cruise."
"Nice work if you can get it," Jes said.
"He wrestled control of the country from an incompetent tyrant and affirmed democratic rule of law. I feel like he earned it," Michaelis replied.
"This is already way more interesting than the trade negotiations," Noah said to Jes.
"Good, then you're on the right track," they replied.
"My opinion on my father's round the world cruise isn't really relevant, though," Michaelis pointed out.
"I suppose you'll need to decide if you want to be educational or interesting," Jes said. "It's an ongoing tension in this business."
"Wouldn't one ideally want to be both?" Michaelis asked.
"Sure, but you can't be both one hundred percent. And fifty-fifty doesn't always satisfy either."
"Nobody likes a compromise," Michaelis murmured, almost to himself.
"You're a politician," Noah said, like he was reasoning something out. Michaelis nodded. "So it's like writing a speech, isn't it? You have to share information but keep people interested. Did you have to learn to do that? Or was it, like, natural?"
"I had rhetoric and oration at school," Michaelis said. "But you do learn as you go, in my line of work."
"Then you can learn this too!" Noah said brightly. "It'll just take practice."
"I appreciate the encouragement," Michaelis said. Jes caught the faint hint of amusement, but they could tell Noah hadn't, nor was he meant to.
"We've monopolized you for long enough today," they said, gathering up the remains of their lunch to dispose of it. "Noah and I should really see about talking to the landlord."
"I'll get you a key to the bunker -- come and go as you like," he replied, ducking out of the room. "Back in just a minute."
"Do not sass him more and ruin this for me," Noah hissed when he was gone.
"I haven't sassed!" Jes replied. "What am I ruining?"
"A super cool concrete bunker in the middle of a literal forest I didn't know was here!"
"It's the palace grounds. It's a public park."
"Still. This place is great and free and probably has secret passages and hidden rooms," Noah said.
"There is a missing wine cellar," Michaelis replied, coming back into the kitchen, a set of keys in one hand. He passed them to Jes. "Somewhere under the lodge. Supposedly, anyway. Let me know if you find it."
"Thank you, again," Jes said, as Noah got ready to go. "This is really generous."
"Public property," he reminded them. "Your tax dollars at work."
"Well, I'll make good use of it, then," they said. "We'll reschedule the brainstorming meeting and send you an invite. Good day, Your Grace," they added, with a hint of sass just to tease Noah, and left the former king to the rest of his lunch.
Chapter 16: Infinite Jes: Ch4
Summary:
Warning in this chapter for discussions of family-related trauma; Noah speaks with Michaelis about Jes's unhappy relationship with their parents. I do feel I should point out that their parents are just ordinary buttheads, and their strife with Jes has nothing to do with Jes's gender identity, because I know "my parents are jerks" and "my parents are transphobic jerks" are two very different issues.
Chapter Text
Time began to pass surprisingly quickly after that. Michaelis often dropped into the bunker in the mornings just to make sure Jes and Noah didn't need anything, and now he had meetings with them as well to discuss the podcasts. He went back to Friday night services, this time without Gregory; he knew Jes saw him there, but they didn't mention it, so he didn't either. Noah had homework for him on how podcasts worked, and he did some research of his own, as well.
Eddie had taken Michaelis's request to hear about anything relevant to him rather liberally, and began sending him memes. Every few days he'd send a link to a Photogram post or video, or simply a photo someone had taken of Michaelis and captioned amusingly; apparently there was somewhere called r/shivadhkings that followed him and Gregory religiously. It was all rather flattering; if any of the comments were cruel, Eddie thoughtfully wasn't sharing those, or was dealing with them through the palace comms team.
Two weeks after the Great Flood, as Jes called it on their latest episode of the Echo, he came downstairs in the morning to a serious discussion, Noah's voice a little panicked, Jes sounding not entirely confident either.
" -- won't be the worst thing in the world if we have to stay with Nona and Granddad until the fall," Jes was saying, as he walked in.
"Won't be great either, though," Noah replied. "You hate being there, and I guess I get why now. Even in New York we could always find somewhere."
"It's different here -- it's a beach town. As soon as it gets warm, everywhere fills up, and it got warm super early this year. Even if there are places to rent, they're rented by tourists, and it's worse this year. Granddad's had offers on my bedroom that have made me seriously consider sharing with a random tourist."
"Why is it so bad?"
"Tourism's up. Eddie Rambler made it the place to be. Which we will definitely cover in our Why Are We A Meme episode," Jes said, and then saw Michaelis in the doorway. "Hey! Come in, we were about to get started reviewing the script for your first episode with Noah."
"Still looking for a place?" Michaelis asked, as he went to the kitchen, where a carafe of coffee was still steaming. "Every apartment in town can't be rented."
"No, but those that aren't are either expensive or about as durable as the studio was," Jes replied.
"I had a meeting with Alanna about that," Michaelis said, stirring sugar into the coffee. "She's going to push it to Parliament -- new housing, maybe subsidized housing, and definitely more stringent building codes. A lot of the older buildings are from before my time and were exempt from previous changes in the law. Gregory will make sure things are put in motion. I wish I could say whoever built that mess could be beheaded but I'm afraid we did away with summary execution."
Jes laughed. "It's good of you to even have the king take an interest."
"Well, that's what he's there for." Michaelis sipped his coffee, considering. "In general the palace has been in support of Edward's, ah, enthusiasm about Askazer-Shivadlakia, but we certainly weren't prepared for how it would impact infrastructure. I don't think anyone in the world is truly prepared for Eddie Rambler."
"What's he like?" Noah asked. "He seems cool."
"He's very engaging. Surprisingly, also a good cook. Most of these TV chefs aren't, I have a feeling." Michaelis came to the table, settling in and accepting a tablet with his script on it from Jes.
"I saw a rumor on the internet that Edward isn't his real name," Noah said.
"And do you have an opinion about rumors on the internet?" Michaelis asked mildly. Noah grinned.
"Mostly lies, and only sometimes fun ones," he said. "Why do you suppose he'd do it? Change his name, I mean."
"Well, show business," Jes said. "People sometimes have to change their names for whatever reason. Anyway, I did," they added.
"I suppose I could have changed mine when I became king -- some kings of Askazer-Shivadlakia did, way back in the past," Michaelis said thoughtfully. "That would have been too strange for me, though. Gregory thought about it, but only when he was a teenager."
"What did the rumor say Rambler's real name was?" Jes asked.
"Didn't, but they said they bet it had to be rough to change it to Eddie Rambler," Noah said.
"He does have a way of disturbing things," Michaelis said. "Such as, unfortunately, the housing market."
"Should see if we can move in with him," Jes joked to Noah. "It's fine, we'll find a place. If not now, then when the season's over in September, after the olive harvest."
"You'd be welcome here," Michaelis heard himself say, without even thinking about it first. They both looked at him. "The lodge, I mean."
"Down here?" Jes asked.
"No, that would be unbearably grim. There's space upstairs. Only the one working kitchen, but there's an otherwise self-contained suite you could use. Two bedrooms, sitting room, bathroom -- I'm in the single bedroom suite at the back, but the two-bed is what we used to use when I was king, and it's serviceable. Or you could each have your own, but those are in the upstairs wing which gets quite warm in the summer."
Noah looked to Jes, who was studying Michaelis with an expression he couldn't quite discern. He hoped, more or less, that they weren't seeing right through his poker face, to how much the silence of the lodge sometimes troubled him.
"We can't live here and work here for free," they finally said. Michaelis smiled faintly.
"Technically there's probably some kind of grant you could get to be an artist in residence, so you could be getting paid to live and work here, but I see your point," he said. "Shivadh pride, you know," he added to Noah. "If you like, fix yourself a fair rent and make out a check to the steward of the palace; he'll know what to do with it. I'll get you his name."
Jes looked away, and he could tell his remark about pride had touched a nerve. "I'll think about it."
"Offer stands, no deadline," he replied, and sipped his coffee again. "Now, let's go over this script."
The next morning, Michaelis came out to find Noah in the lodge's kitchen, not the bunker, peering into a cupboard.
"I keep the crown jewels in the fridge," he said, and Noah laughed. "What are you looking for?"
"Coffee?"
"Ah, here," Michaelis said, taking it down from a different cupboard. "Guess this means you and Jes are moving in?"
"Yep." Noah sounded a little strained about it, so Michaelis let him make the coffee while he took down mugs and got cream from the fridge. "Nona and Granddad weren't pleased. They wanted me and Boss to stay there forever. Big fight, even though Boss only said they were considering it. I think the grand'rents are going to sulk for a while."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Gregory wasn't pleased when I moved out here, but at least he understood."
"Nona and Granddad aren't pleased by much," Noah continued, watching the coffee drip. "Boss says I'm lucky they love me."
"Ah."
"We used to come here for a week in the summer, or for Passover, but I guess they were on really good behavior then because Boss made it clear if they weren't, we wouldn't come back. I didn't notice until, like, last year."
"Parents and children..." Michaelis shrugged, a bit at a loss. It was very American, all this sharing, but then Noah was young and had grown up there.
"Sure, but I don't think Nona and Granddad even like each other. Wild, right?" Noah asked, turning around. "I wouldn't marry someone I didn't like."
"People get stuck, I suppose. My son wanted his assistant to set him up with an arranged marriage. My fault, I pressured him. I forget not everyone marries young like I did."
"How old were you?" Noah asked.
"You should read more Shivadh history," Michaelis said with a smile. "I was nineteen."
"But you liked them, right?"
"Indeed, I loved her very much." Michaelis got up and picked up one of the mugs, pouring from the quarter-full pot, to avoid further discussion. "Well, I'm glad you're both here. And if you want to leave in autumn, a lot of places will open up. If you don't want to live in town, there are cabins up in the highlands, too."
"Really just the one highland," Noah said, a fossilized old Shivadh joke, and Michaelis burst out laughing.
"Who taught you that old chestnut?" he asked.
"Eddie Rambler's Photogram."
"Bless. If you want to live in our one highland, I can make some recommendations."
"Who was laughing?" Jes asked, struggling through the front door with an enormous suitcase. Noah ran to help them. "I heard you from outside."
"Noah was entertaining me," Michaelis called. "Welcome to the lodge."
"Thank you, we'll try to keep being funny," Jes said, as Noah wrestled the bag away and carried it off. Michaelis poured another mug of coffee and passed it over. "Gorgeous. Noah and I will go out today and buy our own food. We wanted to leave early."
"Noah mentioned some strife," Michaelis said.
"Of course he did." Jes sighed. "Spilling our family drama..."
"Every family has some. Gregory used to enjoy dredging up old scandals from royal families past and sharing them over dinner, or doing reports on them for school. Nothing I haven't heard a dozen times before."
"I put your bag in your bedroom," Noah announced, returning. "And I checked the studio calendar, you have the whole afternoon off to unpack while Lachlan and I record with Michaelis."
"All business," Jes said fondly, ruffling his hair. "Let's at least have breakfast first. Actually, we were going to go out -- can we buy you breakfast?" they asked Michaelis.
"I wouldn't mind. There's a little place down by the beach that does a traditional fried breakfast," Michaelis suggested. It was cheap and hot, and he felt like a bit of salt air this morning.
"An entire fried breakfast?" Noah asked.
"I still have the Jaguar here," Michaelis said.
"We'd have to strap Noah to the roof. No, come on, we'll take the van, and you can have a fried breakfast just this once," Jes said to Noah. Michaelis went to get his shoes, already pleased. He couldn't imagine why he hadn't thought of going down to the beach for a nice breakfast before now.
"Hello listeners! I'm Noah," Noah said, settled with ease in front of his mic.
"I'm Michaelis," Michaelis added.
"I'm Lachlan, hi!" Lachlan chimed in.
"And this is How To Make Some Noise," Noah finished. "Your weekly podcast about podcasts."
"So, Young Noah, tell everyone why I'm here," Michaelis said.
"Michaelis is the retired king of Askazer-Shivadlakia, and he's going to be making a show about his life and work," Noah said. "But how much do you know about podcasting?"
"Absolutely nothing," Michaelis confirmed.
"So my job is to get you up to speed on how a podcast gets made, and show everyone else how it's done as well. Next time we'll start with the very beginning, so everyone can follow along, but this time we're going to discuss our setup a little."
"Very first question: if you're the host and I'm your guest, what's Lachlan doing here, buried behind all that technology?" Michaelis asked.
"Aside from looking gorgeous?" Lachlan put in.
"Goes without saying," Michaelis intoned, and Lachlan laughed.
"In most recording studios, the producer who watches the audio levels and keeps us on track is in a separate room with a glass partition, so they can see us but won't make noise on the microphones," Noah said. "But we're recording in this awesome old bunker, which is mostly concrete, so we can't put any windows in and it's tough to run cords through the walls. Lachlan's going to stay cozy in here with us, and you'll all hear him occasionally."
"Not that I mind," Lachlan said. "More time to admire Michaelis."
"I'll try to remember to comb my hair," Michaelis replied, amused.
They'd scripted this out, at least to an extent; Lachlan, rather sweetly in Michaelis's opinion, had asked if he felt all right about a little silliness over his looks, and he'd said he didn't mind, as long as it was clear it was all in fun. Nobody wanted to be condoning harassment on air, but a joke every now and then didn't hurt anyone.
"In a few episodes we'll come back to the technology in more detail," Noah said, launching into the meat of the show. "Lachlan is producing for us because he's been in radio for about ten years, five of those here in Askazer-Shivadlakia..."
It really was odd, Jes thought, how easy they found it to settle into a new routine. A few weeks into living at the lodge, it felt like they always had; they knew where the laundry was and how to nudge the elderly fridge just right when the door wouldn't immediately open. Noah was slowly exploring every nook and cranny except for Michaelis's rooms, and he'd been out in the little boat moored at the lake dock a handful of times, alone but under beachside supervision from one adult or another.
Often, in the mornings, Jes came into the kitchen to find Michaelis had made coffee and already gone out; aside from his very old-fashioned morning athletics, they weren't sure what he did when he wasn't in the podcast studio, but he didn't seem annoyed by their presence. Most evenings if they wanted to find him he was in the living room, reading. Sometimes, when Noah got on a kick about experimenting with Shivadh cooking, he'd sit at the kitchen bar and watch, offering frequently useless suggestions until Noah made him text the palace chef for help. Jes had never met Simon, but probably owed him a couple of beers, the way Noah and Michaelis pestered him.
It was such a deep relief, too, not to wake up to their parents sniping at each other every morning -- to pour some coffee, already made, linger over the morning news before starting work on the various stories they were chasing, greet Michaelis when he came in from running or a morning swim, and fix breakfast for Noah without criticism or commentary from anyone else. They felt...in control again, in a way they sometimes hadn't even in New York. There was something to be said for predictability, which twenty-year-old Jes would have laughed at, but twenty-year-old Jes didn't know who they were or what they wanted or how to get it. These days, at least, they generally had a handle on two of the three.
As far as Jes knew, Noah's podcast with Michaelis was going well. They had their hands full with the rest of the network -- both their own podcasts, the ones still being made in New York that technically they were executive producing, and the various clients who came in to do regular or one-off recordings. A surprising number of locals were interested in recording audiobooks, either their own modest efforts or books for family who needed audio. There were even a few musicians, none promising but all very earnest. If Jes wanted to discover the next big star from Askazer-Shivadlakia, they supposed they'd have to wait until Eurovision like everyone else.
It was a busy life, but it was a living, and it had its little pleasures.
One of them was just coming in through the front door now -- Michaelis, fresh from a swim in the lake, bare-chested with a towel over his shoulders, swim trunks still damp. Jes leaned on the counter and pretended to be engrossed in their coffee.
"Morning," Michaelis called, padding through the living room.
"Ah, morning," they replied, looking up. "Good swim?"
Hello, pectorals, Jes thought. Greetings, biceps.
"Middling. Looks like it's going to storm, so I got out early. I'm sure my obituary will be many things, but I hope it won't read Former King Dies In Freak Lightning Strike," he said.
"Good to know; I was thinking of going out today. If it's going to pour, I'll stay in."
"Storm's unusual for this time of year, should clear up soon. Good beach weather coming this week, I think. Have a good day in the studio," he added, passing down the hallway towards his suite.
Goodbye, ass. Adieu, calves.
Michaelis was exactly the kind of mistake twenty year old Jes would have made, an older man with a deep voice and a significant amount of power. New York was full of men like him and some of them were even as good-natured as he was, though not many. Jes suspected, however, that while he wasn't physically married, he still was mentally, and that was a mistake they had learned not to make.
In any case, he was literally making it possible for them to run their business, and that deserved caution too.
Still, Jes was old enough and wily enough to enjoy the view without needing to buy the property. If Michaelis didn't mind walking through the lodge in his swim trunks, Jes wasn't going to object.
Eddie emerged from the shower to the usual morning noise -- Gregory moving around, dressing and drinking coffee, exchanging a few words with his valet before he got on with the day. Often he had the news on, but more frequently these days it was audio -- back episodes of The Echo, or short daily podcasts about world events. This morning it was clearly a podcast, but it wasn't about the news, exactly.
"Is that Michaelis?" Eddie asked, over what sounded like Gregory's father talking about microphones.
"It's the first episode of his show with Deimos's kid," Gregory replied. "It's great and also very weird to listen to."
"Is he flirting with that dude?" Eddie asked, eyes going wide as another male voice said something and Michaelis chuckled.
"Their tech guy, Lachlan," Gregory said. "That's what's a little weird."
"I didn't think your dad swung that way."
"As far as I'm aware, he doesn't, but he doesn't tell me everything. And remember, my love, we don't have the same hangups some Americans do. He wouldn't care if someone thought he was dating this fellow, it's no harm to his reputation or ego."
"But it's still weird for you?" Eddie asked.
"Hearing your father flirt with someone on a globally available medium wouldn't be weird for you?"
"Mm. Point. Are you okay with it? Because of your mom, I mean."
"I'm a little surprised he is, to be honest. I went to therapy, I've done the work," Gregory said. Eddie wrapped his arms around Gregory's waist, knocking his forehead gently against the back of Gregory's head. "When she died he just...kept working. I mean, it's possible he got some help and didn't say, but I don't think so. It's good to hear him having fun, anyway."
"Maybe he's getting some help now," Eddie said, gesturing at the speaker as Michaelis laughed, a deep boom of sound.
"Maybe so," Gregory said, sounding pleased. "Either way, nice to hear. Haven't heard that in a while. Good for Dad."
Chapter 17: Infinite Jes: Ch5
Summary:
Warning in this chapter for extensive discussion of alcohol and drinking. Nothing traumatic, just two characters playing a drinking game where one gets very intoxicated. That said, if you have issues with alcohol misuse or trauma linked to it, please use your best judgement.
Also...spoilers for Les Miserables, I guess.
What a weird pair of warnings.
Chapter Text
Michaelis and Noah seemed to be doing well with How To Make Some Noise, so Jes had tried to stay out of it. Noah was supposed to be helping Michaelis figure out his own podcast as well, but Jes didn't want to pressure either one of them. Michaelis didn't seem hurried, and Noah was a kid, not a pro they were paying to get the work done. If he did go into the family business, he'd need to know how to take initiative without a manager prodding him on. Prodding was Jes's job as a parent, not as a producer.
Still, whenever they knew Noah and Michaelis were talking about the show, they kept an ear cocked, and probably for the best. Sometimes you had to learn by failing, after all.
"I understand you're frustrated," they heard Michaelis say as they passed through the lodge one evening after dinner, and they stopped to listen to the two arguing in the kitchen. "I am trying, Noah."
"I know! That's what's so annoying. You are trying but we're not getting anywhere," Noah said.
"Then that's not my fault."
"I didn't say it was!"
"All right, well, what haven't we tried?" Michaelis said. "We've been brainstorming, clearly that hasn't worked. Maybe we should try coming at this from some other angle. How do I make things interesting without being indiscreet? How do I pick out what's interesting in the first place?"
"How can you not know what's interesting?" Noah demanded.
"It's my life, Noah, I lived through all of it, none of it seems all that compelling to me," Michaelis said, which was...actually rather worrying. It was the kind of thing Jes had heard depressed friends say, and they thought he'd moved past that a little.
"Hey," Jes said, leaning in the doorway. Both of them looked up, Noah visibly upset, Michaelis desperate. "This doesn't look like the book club I signed up for."
"Very funny, Boss," Noah muttered.
"Cranky," Jes said, going to him and rubbing the back of his head affectionately. He didn't bat them away, so he couldn't be too mad. "You're getting frustrated and Michaelis is getting tired."
"Well, he's being frustrating," Noah said.
"I'm sure he is, he probably had classes in how to frustrate people," Jes said, dropping Michaelis a wink. He nodded, tilting his head in understanding of what they were doing. "Which is all the more reason to tag out. You guys have been working on this for weeks. Why don't you let a pro handle this one."
"I could be a pro," Noah said rebelliously.
"Someday you will, but this calls for drastic measures only I can do safely," Jes said, rummaging in the fridge for a post-dinner snack. "Go be a kid for a while, Noah. You're off the clock."
Noah seemed to relax a little. Perhaps he needed the reminder more often. "Can I stay up late and do video chat with Mart?"
"Might as well," Jes agreed, pulling a handful of grapes off a bunch and eating them, one by one. Inspiration struck them and they smiled. "Go on, give Mart my love. Michaelis and I are going to play the questions game."
"Fine. But we're not done," Noah added to Michaelis.
"I never dreamed we were," he said, and Noah gave him a sharp nod and went off to the suite. "Who's Mart?" Michaelis asked when he was gone.
"One of my New York friends. She's a drag queen, and she's usually getting off work right around the time he goes to bed now, so to get to stay up and talk with her while she takes her makeup off is kind of a treat."
"Good. He deserves it after putting up with me. I forget how young he is."
"So does he," Jes sighed. "And then he loses his temper."
"He's trying to help," Michaelis said, circling to sit at the kitchen bar, on the other side from them. Perfect. "It's not his fault he's got very dry clay to work with."
"Nor his fault that he's fifteen," Jes said, finishing the grapes and washing their hands. "He's better at the technology than you but he hasn't got a lot of experience being a teacher."
"I'm out of practice as a student," Michaelis said.
"I don't really think you need to study," Jes replied. "What you need is something to knock yourself loose."
Michaelis spread his hands. "Your cunning plan?"
"The questions game." Jes went to a cupboard and took down a box they'd found a few days before, popping the lid off. "Found these. I assume they were for entertaining at some point. We are going to play a game I learned coming up in my journalism career."
Michaelis watched warily as they unpacked a set of shot glasses, lining them up in the middle of the counter. They each bore the royal crest. He picked one up and touched the crest thoughtfully.
"Now, you can just say no and walk away, and I will still respect you. But I think this will help, so I want you to keep an open mind," Jes said.
"A game, you say," Michaelis said, setting the glass down again.
"It's a little like truth or dare. I'm going to try and help you figure out some really interesting stories to tell," Jes said. "Which can be uncomfortable."
Michaelis blinked again. "Hence the shots."
Jes produced, from under the counter, a gray-green bottle. Michaelis leaned back from it as if it had an evil aura.
"Shots of Davzda," Jes announced.
"Absolutely not," Michaelis replied.
"It's fine, it's the legal stuff."
"That doesn't make it better," Michaelis observed.
"It's a little better! The legal stuff hasn't got any psychedelics in it and it's only fifty percent alcohol by volume. Practically speaking, it's just gin," Jes told him.
"It tastes like beach sand," Michaelis said. "Goes down like it too."
"That's the salt content. It's medicinal," Jes continued, pouring out a series of shots. "You can't get this stuff in America, I had to import it while I lived there. Cheers," they added, and did a shot. It burned, tasting like bad decisions and yes, beach sand.
"You are going to die," Michaelis told them.
"Not me. So listen, here's how it works," Jes said, making soft little hacking noises around the words as the alcohol lingered. "I ask you uncomfortable questions. If you can, you answer them. If you don't want to answer, you have to do a shot."
Michaelis frowned. "What's this meant to accomplish?"
"You royals, so direct," they replied, getting water glasses down from the cupboard and filling them. "It's meant to ease you in, so that after a while you're drunk enough to answer the question anyway. And if you won't answer any questions, you pass out fast, don't waste my time, and get a hangover as punishment."
He seemed to study the shots in front of him. The fumes wafting off them were practically visible. Jes had never done flaming Davzda shots, but it was something to suggest to Lachlan sometime.
"I'd like to set some boundaries," he said finally.
"I wouldn't have guessed," Jes replied drily.
"Nothing about Gregory," he ticked the first rule off on his index finger, looking at them. They nodded.
"Fair, this isn't about him," they said.
"Nothing about my wife," Michaelis added, touching his middle finger with his thumb. "I'll talk about her if I please but she's not an open topic for an interview."
Jes felt their heart crack a little. "All right," they agreed.
"Thank you." He touched his ring finger with his thumb. "And I'm allowed to pass without drinking if you ask anything that might threaten the security of the country."
"How would I know you're telling the truth?" they asked.
"I'm an honorable man," he answered. Jes gave him a skeptical look. "What? I did a great job here..." he gestured outward at the country. "I'm trusting you not to take advantage of me if I get alcohol poisoning from this..."
"I reserve the right to renegotiate," Jes said. "And if you can tell me off the record I want the tea."
"The tea," Michaelis snorted. "Fine. But on that note, nothing goes further than us without my permission, tomorrow, in the cold light of day."
"Smart man," Jes said. "Okay, agreed. You want a shot to start with?"
"I don't even want a shot to end with. I might get through this entirely sober," Michaelis declared.
"Who is the sexiest world leader you've ever met?" Jes asked.
Michaelis looked at them, looked at the shots, considered it, and downed one, no chaser. He didn't even wheeze, but his ears turned pink.
"All right, I'll softball you a little," Jes said, laughing. Michaelis folded his arms on the counter and gestured with one hand.
"Go on, then," he said.
The thing about the questions game was that it was really two games, when you got down to it. There was the drinking game, of course -- innocent but a little dangerous, maybe even a little sexy. Ultimately it felt fun, whether or not it was helpful in this case.
But the second game, Jes had learned, was a sort of chess game, one the other person hopefully didn't know you were playing.
With Michaelis, the trick was to start out easy, with questions he could answer without feeling self-conscious -- then throw in just a few that might make a shot seem attractive. Get him closer to doing at least one more shot, but never make it seem like too much at once. With Davzda involved and with him already on edge about the idea...
Michaelis looked askance at some of the earlier questions -- How did it feel to be crowned? What's the most boring story you have? Who do you think is the most famous person you've ever met? -- but every now and then Jes would throw in something which sounded innocent and which also made his eyes dart to the shot glasses.
He did his second shot half an hour in, his third ten minutes later, both regarding his opinion on certain world political figures. Jes pulled back then and gave him time to forget he already had the equivalent of about half a bottle of wine in him. They gave him a glass of water, made him drink most of it around more softball questions, and then said, "Okay, this is a little personal, but bear with me."
He gestured for them to continue.
"Why did you move out here to the lodge? And don't say it was for the fishing. You've got two fish in the freezer and haven't gone out on the lake since Noah and I arrived."
"Could have gone in the early morning and cooked them for breakfast," he pointed out. "You wouldn't even know."
"We'd smell the fish."
"Only if I caught any. Maybe they weren't biting," he replied. Then he shrugged and, without being prompted, continued. "Of course it's not for the fishing. If I can't tell a polite lie by now I shouldn't have ever been king."
Jes leaned forward, propping themself on the counter separating them from the former king. "So? Why?"
Michaelis studied the nearest full shot glass, then shook his head. "It was pragmatism. Gregory's very new on the throne, but he's more ready than I was -- he's the first king in generations who actually got the right kind of training for the role. My father was naturally good at it and I was a quick study, but Gregory was both born and trained to do this kind of work."
"So?"
"So he ought to be given the chance to do it. People don't like change and they don't want to learn new ways of doing things. Can't have them come round looking for me when they should be talking to him. I go up and knock around in my old office sometimes in case anyone really needs me, and I stay up at the palace on weekends, but...." he shrugged. "Best if I fade into the wings for a while."
"Hm," Jes said, and he tilted his head.
"What, hm?" he asked.
"I don't know, it makes me think of Jean Valjean," they said.
"How so?"
"Have you read Les Miserables?"
"No, the thing's a doorstop," Michaelis replied. "And I just don't care that much about France. But we had several touring versions of it come through, and I believe a few years ago a local school put on a production. That was...certainly an experience."
"So you know the basic plot, right?"
"More or less."
"At the end of the book, he's got his daughter settled in with her husband, and he's making sure she's taken care of," Jes said. "He figures his sordid past might someday come out, so he sets about making sure he can't taint her life with it. He won't even sign their marriage contract, he fakes a wound to get out of it. He moves away, starts making her call him by his name instead of father, that kind of thing. And he makes it...easier for her to lose him. Because he knows he's dying."
Michaelis seemed to consider this, distracted from earlier questions by the idea they'd suggested.
"I have no intentions of dying anytime soon," he said at last. "And I'd rather not distance myself from my only child that way. But there's this thing about being king, and I don't know if I can explain it."
Jes gestured at him to take his time. He nodded, chewing on his lip.
"Gregory and I both joke about the Shivadh love of drama," he said. "A good kind of drama. The people want a show. You know," he said, and Jes nodded. They did know; the country probably only still had a king because it sounded more fun than having a president. "So, we are Shivadh. I'm not immune and he certainly isn't. There's a feeling you have as king, a connection to the country. Even an elected king, there's something different about it. You aren't only a politician. You think, this country is mine to care for, and if I'm lucky and good at it, it'll be that way for most of my life. I felt it, and I know Gregory has. I want him to get to experience that without me standing in the way, or even casting a shadow. And I'm a little jealous, because it's not mine anymore," he added ruefully.
"That's a staggering loss," Jes said. It was; it made their heart ache to think of it. It reminded them of leaving Askazer-Shivadlakia when they were young. To give it up when you were an angry child was one thing. To give it up after dedicating your life to it...
"Well, I don't love drama that much," Michaelis said dismissively, but he wouldn't look them in the eye.
"It is, though," Jes insisted. "You had a life's purpose, and you passed that on when you knew it was the right thing to do, but you still had to lose it. That's hard, and people shouldn't tell you it isn't."
"Nobody's told me that. Least of all Gregory," he said with a laugh. "I just -- thought I'd come out here and lose myself for a little while, until that all subsided. All that...feeling."
"Has it?"
Michaelis looked at them, looked away, and then picked up one of the shots, grimacing as he downed it.
"Do you think it will?"
He shook his head and did another one, which was a lot even for a veteran of the game.
"Fair enough," Jes agreed. They picked up the bottle and two of the empty shot glasses. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"I'm tired of standing and those stools aren't very comfortable," they said, walking out of the kitchen. They could hear the stool's legs grate against the floor as he followed.
Jes settled on the floor, back against the sofa, and put the shot glasses on the coffee table, filling them both. Michaelis seemed to ponder this, then set down his water glass next to the shots and sank to the floor on the other side of the coffee table, gracefully, legs crossed. After brief consideration, he rested his arms on the table and leaned forward to put his chin on them. It was probably the most he'd slouched in years, Jes thought.
"I can see how you came to prominence as a journalist," he said. Jes gave him a gentle smile.
"I did that because I worked extremely hard and kissed a lot of ass," they said. "Go on then. Take a break, that was rough. Have some more water. Ask me a question."
"Hmf." He watched them with his dark eyes, considering while he took a sip of water. "Why did you leave Askazer-Shivadlakia, all those years ago?"
Jes thought about it, but they weren't quite ready to discuss that outside of a therapy office -- and the point wasn't for them to share, not really, but to build trust.
They picked up a shot, gave him a look, and downed it.
"All right," he said. "When you came back, did you really move halfway across the world just to do a podcast?"
"If I wanted to cheat, I could just say no, and not elaborate," Jes pointed out. Michaelis was silent. "Also, that is such a politician question."
"I'm a politician."
"I'm well aware." They shifted a little, settling in. "No. For one thing, a podcast about Askazer-Shivadlakia is never going to be especially lucrative and I unfortunately do not have a large inheritance or a suspiciously rich dead spouse. I have some money, enough to do this, but not enough that I can stop working, or do just as I please."
"Then why?"
"A few reasons," Jes said. "The most significant was that Noah was struggling. He's such a smart kid, but he's awkward and too old for his years, which is probably my fault, and he just...couldn't find his place, in school, with his cohort. I thought, well, the schools here are better, they're smaller, and it's a chance for him to reinvent himself if he wants."
"He doesn't seem at all awkward to me," Michaelis said.
"Well, my friend, you are a grown man and kind of a nerd, of course you're a kindred soul," Jes pointed out. "I'm sure he'd get along well with your very nerdy son Gregory, too."
"Gregory Three," he murmured, and they didn't understand until he continued. "Gregory Two was his namesake. Nice man, so I'm told, but not a very good father. Raised an extremely useless son."
"Yes, I did have year three history," Jes chided gently.
"Sorry. Do go on."
"Go on with what?"
"You said Noah was the most important reason. As a father, I agree. As a king, I still want to know why else you came back. I don't get the impression it was patriotism."
Jes considered doing another shot, but hell, the odds of Michaelis even remembering this in the morning were slim.
"Your son is gay, and still took a very public job that complicated his life more than almost any other would," they said.
"Tell me about it," he replied.
"I respect that a lot. I know that this place is...more permissive -- more accepting? I'm not even sure of the word," they admitted. "But it's kinder for someone like me, that was always true. Now there's this precious, fragile growing thing, this community here that people are trying to build, in a place that's good for us. To have a gay king is...a little patch of sunlight for people who need it to flourish. America is so hard, Michaelis, you have no idea. Everywhere can be hard but it felt like it was getting harder, in a way I didn't like and didn't want for my son. I didn't feel safe, either. Lachlan isn't even from here, but when he told me I needed to come back, he said I should come home. I thought, if Lachlan can feel like this is home, I might feel safe here too."
"Do you?"
"So far, yes," Jes said. "Doesn't hurt that I have a very powerful patron."
"I don't like that word," he said. "Patron. I'm not patronizing you. I have no power."
"Of course you do. You've given us a place to work, a place to live. And people in this country still look to your example."
"I'm not a powerful patron," he insisted.
Jes fought the urge to make a joke, because it did seem important to him. "Fine. You are...an influential friend. How's that?"
"Better," he agreed. He sat up straight, took one of the shots, and threw it back, without a question, without prompting. Jes refilled it calmly, hiding their surprise.
"Can I ask another?" they asked.
"Of course. That's the point, yes?" His smile was open and warm, unguarded, and it felt a little like a gift.
"Yes," they agreed. "What's the most important political lesson you learned, back when you were studying the other kings? What I mean is, what was most relevant to you, from them?"
"Difficult to say," he said thoughtfully. "I think...maybe the Echardt Scandal. Well, it's called that. I feel like it'd barely be considered sensational compared to what you see on Photogram. In the memoirs you can read the story in the words of the royals who had to deal with it, and it taught me a lot about...a lot," he finished. "Echardt was a powerful man about three hundred years ago. He held some loans the king at the time had used to...I think he had financed a minor war."
"Oh, only a minor one," Jes said.
"We're a very small country, major ones happen without our input," Michaelis pointed out.
"I'm sorry, continue."
"Well, this Echardt kept a mistress, and also a...mister," Michaelis said. His speech was slower, less exact than usual, his vowels round and soft. "His man wrote to Echardt's wife, fed up with being second fiddle I suppose, and told her anonymously that her husband was being unfaithful. Doesn't seem very bright, if you ask me."
"Why not?"
"More likely to get the boyfriend dumped, eh? And if not that, get Echardt thrown out of his own home, and at that point he's less likely to keep a consort of any kind."
"I suppose that's a point," Jes agreed.
"Anyway, wife goes to Echardt and says, is this true, he says no, of course not, and secretly dumps the boyfriend. Who, crucially, goes to the girlfriend."
"This definitely was not in the history books," Jes said.
"Bet it is if you know where to look," Michaelis replied, with a level gaze only slightly marred by the fact that he wasn't entirely focusing. "So the girlfriend goes to the wife in person and says her husband's playing an even wider field than she thought. Echardt doubles down. Absolutely not. Faithful to the end. Well. There's two women in this house and one cheerleading ex-boyfriend outside, with Echardt on the inside, and the commotion got bad enough someone called whatever passed for law enforcement back then. Whole thing came in front of the king. Out of deference to Echardt, it was in private, more or less."
"Out of deference to the debts Echardt held, I think you mean."
"Which is also why the king said that the man should sort out his business himself. He knew he didn't want to cross the man holding his loans. He knew that the consorts didn't have the means to cause a real fuss and the wife could be, ah, stifled."
"Gross."
"Undoubtedly. But the wife turns out to know secrets both royal and financial, and it gets fiddly here," Michaelis continued, fingertips dancing around the table. "I'd have to look up what exactly went on. The girlfriend and boyfriend both just up and left town, which was probably a smart decision. The wife eventually put the screws to Echardt and said, either you sign it all over to me and leave too, or I'll bring you down by force with what I know."
"Do we...do we know her name?" Jes asked. "I have a statue I'd like to put up."
He put a finger to his lips. "Sh. Let me tell it. Echardt tells his wife he's not leaving and if she tries to end him he'll kill her. She pitches a fit -- I would too -- and it comes back to the king. King's obviously not pleased at all by this."
"Why? Seems like either way, he gets rid of this asshole."
"You'd think," Michaelis said. "But remember, this is all happening more or less in private, which starts to look more and more like a cover-up. People know the king is close with Echardt but not why. King says to Echardt, I told you to fix this yourself. Echardt thinks this time if he hints about the loans the king will support him and, like a fool, the king panics and does. He tells the wife, if she publishes she can be sure she will be damned."
"What did she do?"
"She published," Michaelis said with relish. "Made all his papers public and wisely went into hiding. Echardt fled with the clothes on his back. But that's not why it was so important. One of the papers indicated that not only did Echardt hold debts wildly beyond what was publicly known, but some of the loans the king took out didn't make it to the military."
"Where did they go?"
"The boyfriend."
Jes let out a little gasp. "The boyfriend was double-timing him with the king?"
"The boyfriend was blackmailing the king."
"Fuck!"
"I know!" he said. "So here's the kingdom now broke, the king's been caught paying off some banker's boyfriend for lord knows what reason, the banker's fled, the boyfriend's fled. The people are furious. And of course, the wife is essentially ruined. She got her revenge, but the money's obviously not coming back now. She can't stay in hiding from the king forever and she has limited time in which to harness the anger of the citizenry. So she does what any resourceful woman would do."
"Oh do tell," Jes said.
"Off with his head."
"What?" Jes asked, shocked.
"She raises an army, deposes the king, has him beheaded, and takes the throne."
Jes blinked at him, trying to formulate a response. After a while, they said, "So there might already be a statue of her."
Michaelis dissolved into laughter.
"No statue," he said, snorting with glee. "Maybe there should be. There are a couple of very good portraits in the palace. Her name was Queen Alekha. Dozen-times-great grandmother of my wife, Miranda, actually."
"Well, don't mess with your wife's family," Jes said.
"One of the many lessons this has to teach us," Michaelis said. "But there were others. Everything I did as king, in those early years, I thought about the king who wanted to make Echardt sort this out himself. If I thought something was best handled in secret, I did it in public. If I thought it would be a bother, personally, to fix a problem that touched on the safety of the country, I made certain I never let it out of my sight. A king isn't there to make pronouncements, he's there to run the damn country."
"His personal dignity and safety be damned?" Jes asked.
"He is no longer a person. He's a king. At least, from eight to six every day. Outside of that, his duty is to those he loves. Echardt and the king together did everything wrong. I'm not in support of beheadings, obviously, but..."
"Fuck around and find out," Jes said.
"A very succinct lesson I took very much to heart," he finished. "If you like that story, remind me to tell you sometime about my theory that Meyer Lansky saved the country from the Nazis during the war. Or the reason the town is called Fonz-Askaz. Noah would call that one wild."
Jes stared at him, because there was something here, something percolating, and when it bubbled to the surface they grinned.
"What?" Michaelis asked.
"This is it," they said. "This is the podcast."
He looked around. "Isn't," he replied. "You don't even have Noah's little pocket recorder."
"No, I mean conceptually. That's how you make this podcast. Okay, so maybe some of the stories you want to tell you can't, and some of the stories you ought to tell are interminably boring. But you still do have stories to tell. You tell a short version of a story from your life, maybe redacted if you have to, and then you talk about how history got you there. Or you start with a historical story and link it to one of yours. People eat that up," they finished. "You've named at least three of those stories you could tell just in the last fifteen minutes."
Michaelis took a while to mull this over, or possibly he'd lost his train of thought. Finally he looked up at them, glassy-eyed.
"So this is good," he said.
Jes grinned at him. "Oh, you are tanked."
Michaelis nodded gravely, very slowly, swaying a little where he sat. Jes laughed.
"Well, a breakthrough means success, we can finish for the night," they said, downing the last shot on the table. Michaelis tried to stand and made it most of the way up before he staggered. Jes caught his arm and steadied him; he leaned in against them, warm and close. His head bent forward, face tilting over theirs.
"Hi, Jes," he said softly.
"Hey, stranger," they replied, trying to stay light, trying not to think about how easy it would be to kiss him. It would also be taking advantage -- and unwise even sober. "Come on. I'll walk you home."
"That's funny, because it's twenty feet in that direction," he informed them.
"Yes, I was aware," Jes agreed, gently moving him forward.
He wasn't all that much bigger than them, but he was a lot less coordinated. Eventually they got a shoulder under his arm, wrapping their arm around his waist, which got them into his suite at least a little faster, with a minimum of bruising. Jes leaned him against the wall outside the bathroom while they rummaged for aspirin, handing two pills to him with another glass of water and watching as he downed them.
"All of it," they said, and he obediently finished the glass. He stumbled into the bedroom and settled on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.
"Can you get undressed all right?" they asked. Michaelis nodded, then nearly fell off the bed. "Well, if you fall over, try to land on a rug."
He gave them a warm grin, then a wave of a hand to show he'd heard and understood the joke. Jes turned to go, but just as they reached the door, he called, "Jes?"
"Mm-hm?" they asked, turning around again.
"This was...a good idea," he said, apparently measuring his words. "A terrible, good idea."
"I'm full of those," they agreed.
"I'm glad you're here, you and Noah," he said. "It's usually very empty. Very quiet."
"I'm glad we're here too," Jes said. "Goodnight, Your Grace."
"Night," he agreed.
Chapter 18: Infinite Jes: Ch6
Chapter Text
The next morning Jes woke late, but not too hung over. They staggered out into the kitchen to make coffee, not expecting Michaelis to have done it, but Noah was up first and had put it on to percolate. They sat down across from him at the little dining table, nodding thanks over the lip of the cup.
"How'd it go?" Noah asked, shoveling cereal into his mouth. "Sorry about yesterday."
"Don't worry about it. Tempers get a little high sometimes. Michaelis is a dad, he understands. He won't hold it against you."
"Well, I'll tell him sorry too later."
"That would be a good thing to do," Jes said encouragingly. "Anyway, he ought to be in good spirits if he's not absolutely miserable with a hangover. We made progress."
"That fast? Way to make me feel great, Boss."
"It's my job to instill crippling self-esteem issues in you, isn't it?" Jes asked innocently.
"It's an unfair advantage that when you interview someone you get to use alcohol."
"Boy is it ever, just wait until you're older," Jes said. "Do you want the elevator pitch for his podcast or not?"
"Sure. Maybe even the five-minute taxi-ride pitch."
Jes smiled and pitched the concept to him the way they would a producer, something Noah hopefully would be one day if he went into broadcasting. He listened attentively, nodding, and took time to consider it when Jes was done.
"I like it, but I think you should do the show with him instead of me," he said finally, finishing his breakfast. "We can keep on doing Noise together, but you should do the history one with him. I can't keep up with that much research when I'm in school."
"You think he's up for something this research-intensive himself?"
"I mean, what else is he doing?" Noah gestured around the lodge with his spoon.
"Good point. Would you like to produce for it?"
"I can do it until school starts. Maybe Uncle Lachlan can after that. We should have Noise wrapped by then and I can focus on Echo Junior. I wonder if Michaelis would introduce me to Eddie Rambler if I asked," Noah said. "You know if he shouted out the podcast it could really spike our numbers."
"Nothing hurt by asking, though I wouldn't get my hopes up. I'm sure Rambler's a busy man," Jes replied. "What are you up to today?"
"Editing for Echo Junior. Can you come with me into town later?"
"Sure, I need to get groceries. Run along, entertain yourself."
"I usually do." Noah put his bowl in the sink, gave them a quick hug around the shoulders, and ran off to fulfill his destiny, or whatever it was he did when they weren't paying attention. Jes focused on coffee, eventually on breakfast and the morning news, and by the time they looked up again it was ten in the morning.
Even hung over, Michaelis should probably be up and moving around by now, but Jes hadn't heard anything. They supposed they should bring him some coffee, as compensation for the shots the night before; after considering for a moment they poured out a mug and went down the hall, rapping gently on his suite door.
"Come in!" his deep voice came through the door, and Jes pushed it open.
They expected to see him still in bed, or suffering in the chair by the window. Instead he was sitting on the neatly made bed, legs crossed. He was in a pair of dove-gray pajamas, the same shade as his hair, and he had a book open in his lap, reading spectacles perched on his nose. He looked like a professor having a leisurely Sunday morning.
"Brought you some coffee," they said, holding the mug up. "It's past ten, I thought you might be too hungover to move."
He looked up, eyes wide. "Past ten already?"
Jes nodded at the clock on the wall. Michaelis blinked but accepted the coffee.
"I woke up still drunk," he said, closing the book and setting it aside. "Don't think I've done that since my twenties."
"College?" they guessed.
"Mm, no, first Purim as king."
"Oh lord."
"Thank goodness there's no video. Anyway, I wanted to look up the details of that story I told you, about Queen Alekha? Got distracted by her biography."
"Great story," they said, leaning against the bedside table.
"Yes, but I don't like not remembering the details. So damn much to remember once you get to my age," he said. "Anyway, I raided the books we have here but I'll need to go up to the library to get the proper citations. Mostly sober by now, I could go soon."
"I'm surprised you even remembered telling me the story."
"Well, I don't remember getting to bed, so I probably owe you a thank-you," he said.
"You already did."
"Excellent. Thank you for making me drink water, too. The headache is mild, though it may be stubborn," he added, rubbing his forehead. "Only what I deserve, I imagine."
"Are there many stories like that one about Queen Alekha? That you know of, I mean."
"Oh, more than a few. Probably many I don't know of, as well. I mentioned Meyer Lansky, didn't I? I'll see what I can bring back from the library today on a few of them. You and Noah working?"
"I'm taking Noah into Fons-Askaz this afternoon, but nothing much otherwise. Want some company in the library?"
"Very much, if you'd like. It's a nice walk up to the palace, and Simon will be pleased to be able to fix us some lunch."
"I would like that, I think," Jes replied, smiling. Michaelis smiled back. "Feels good, eh?"
"What's that?"
"Having a hook. When you figure out exactly how to get the story told."
"Yes, I suppose it does. How does one do it from here? Like a book report?"
"Try it like Noah said. Write a speech," Jes suggested. "From there we'll work out how to turn it into a dialogue."
He nodded, sliding off the bed. "I'll be going up in about half an hour. Meet you on the porch?"
Jes left him to dress, packing a bag for the walk to the palace. Pocket recorder, just in case; notebook, phone, and charger. They did a quick check of their hair to make sure it was fine, then after a brief consideration in the mirror they added a little highlighter to their cheeks, darkened their eyebrows, and considered lip gloss before deciding against it.
The day was warm and Michaelis seemed inclined to quiet on the walk along the lake, so they left him to his thoughts. The palace came into view slowly, through the trees and up a slight incline. When they passed into it through a side entrance, the halls were cool and quiet.
"Parliament's in session, but it's across the building, we shouldn't be disturbed," Michaelis said, leading them through the corridors. "I think -- "
"Father!" someone called, and the king of Askazer-Shivadlakia emerged from the other direction, looking startled. Michaelis stopped, as startled as the king, and then...
Jes watched Michaelis light up, subtly but unmistakably, at the sight of his son. His shoulders squared a little, his smile went wide, and his eyes grew more animated.
"Gregory! I thought you'd be in session," he said, clapping Gregory III on the shoulders.
"We're on a short recess. I didn't know you were here today! We should get lunch, later, if you'll be around. Eddie and Simon are experimenting with molasses, which should be exciting," the king said. His eyes darted curiously to Jes.
"Ah, I'm doing some research," Michaelis said. "This is Jes Deimos, I mentioned -- "
"The podcaster!" Gregory beamed at them. "Yes, I've been listening. You're doing the show on Askazer-Shivadlakia and helping Dad with the memoirs project."
He bowed in the Shivadh fashion, deep to demonstrate respect, and Jes debated curtsying, then bowed back. To their shock, as they came out of the bow, the king winked.
"Always glad to see an expat coming home," he said. "We need people like you here. Your interview with Esta was food for thought. And I am working...slowly," he added with a grimace, "on the housing issue. Are you here for long? At the palace, I mean. You should come to lunch too."
Michaelis raised his eyebrows, a question on his face; the message was clear enough, that they didn't have to actually dine with the king if Jes didn't want to.
On the other hand, Jes hadn't got where they were in life by saying no to things like that.
"I'm sure we'd love to," Jes said.
"Great. I'm going to go harass people who need harassing. One o'clock? Yes? Be prepared for barbecue sauce," the king said, and ran up the stairs two at a time. Jes watched him go, a little bemused, then turned back to Michaelis.
"I may not have mentioned he's a fan," Michaelis said. "Or, at least, an avid listener."
"Is it going to be strange if I'm there for lunch?" Jes asked.
"I don't see why it would be. Last time I had lunch with him, Edward and my nephew Jerry made him mediate an argument about Hot Pockets."
"Has he ever eaten a Hot Pocket?"
"I'm not entirely clear on what they are, to be honest," Michaelis admitted.
"You didn't arrange this, did you?" Jes asked, as they began to climb the stairs.
"What, an introduction? No. I meddle in his life now and again when it matters, but I try to keep out of it unless he's truly flailing. And I assumed if you needed my help getting someone in the palace to listen to you, you'd ask."
"Thank you. Safe assumption to make."
"Through here," Michaelis said, pushing open the door of the palace library. "Let's see if we can find some primary sources on Queen Alekha."
When Eddie Rambler walked into the royal dining room for lunch that day, he was met with a full table: Gregory, one of his MPs, the King Emeritus, Alanna, and a stranger Eddie didn't recognize, but someone he definitely wanted to meet. He pushed the wheeled cart in front of him into the room and began unloading bowls of barbecue sauce onto the table, followed by a platter of roasted chicken and a sheaf of paper.
"I have six different kinds of barbecue sauce and I'm going to need you all to fill out a survey," he announced. "Simon and I are having a difference of opinion regarding traditional Shivadh sauce, and half the internet is going to start setting cars on fire if we don't resolve it soon. It's Esta, isn't it?" he asked the MP.
"Good to see you again, Eddie," Esta said.
"You, I have not met, but your hair is spectacular," Eddie added to the stranger, who had ice-white hair piled on top of their head in a fabulous pompadour.
"Dad brought a guest for lunch," Gregory said, accepting a kiss on the cheek and a hefty plate of chicken. "This is Jes Deimos, they're staying at the fishing lodge -- "
"Oh! And doing the shows we've been listening to. Nice to meet you. I also like your voice," Eddie said cheerfully, setting out the sauces. "Do you eat chicken? I can grab some crudites if not."
"Chicken is fine," Jes said, smiling at him. "Nice to meet you. My son and I both follow your Photogram."
"Cool! Here, help yourselves," Eddie said, setting out spoons in the sauces. "Left to right, sweet to savory. I'm not saying where Simon or I fall on the issue, so that you can be impartial."
He settled in as they began passing the food around, sampling carefully and thoughtfully. Alanna was on her tablet, not unusual, but Gregory seemed in good spirits and Esta was pretty fun when she wasn't talking politics. Michaelis was quiet, but he often was. Eddie had recently observed to Gregory that his father was the definition of still waters running deep, and Gregory had laughed and agreed.
"You're recording out at the fishing lodge now, aren't you?" Eddie asked Jes, leaning in to be heard over the conversation going on around them.
"His Grace really scored points with my son on that one," they said, nodding. "He's over the moon to be recording in a historical bunker, and he loves the lake. Of course, it's been helpful from a practical standpoint, too."
"I heard about the storm, but only what you put on the podcast and second-hand information from Greg. I'd have paid a lot to see His Grace running through the rain with a soundboard," Eddie said with a grin. Jes laughed.
"It was more than I expected to see," they agreed. "Worked out well for us in the end. The lodge is beautiful."
"Yeah, I've done some filming out at the lake. Gorgeous country."
"You really do like it here, don't you?" Jes asked. "That's not an act for those tourism bits you do."
Eddie nodded. "Simon -- the royal chef, kind of a partner in crime -- he told me that after he arrived, he couldn't ever leave. I know the feeling. We're still figuring everything out but I'm liable to be here a while. From the sound of it, you have more complicated feelings about the country, though."
"Well, it's different when you're born here, I suppose," Jes said. "Born here and not a royal, anyway," they added.
"I can imagine. We're keeping exalted company now, though, huh?"
"Or they're slumming it, I haven't decided."
Eddie grinned, delighted. "Oh, I'm going to drop that idea on Gregory at some point. He'll be enraged. Love to enrage him," he added fondly. "Making one of the royal family lose their temper, even if it's just in fun, feels like a real accomplishment."
"Tell you a secret?" Jes asked, and Eddie nodded eagerly. "I got Michaelis to play a drinking game last night."
"Wait, really?"
"He did shots! It was great. Do recommend. He's funny when you loosen him up a little."
Michaelis had terrorized Eddie the first time they'd met, but with time and experience he'd come to realize it probably hadn't been intentional. And anyway, Gregory and Alanna were both worried about him lately.
"Probably did him a world of good," Eddie said. "He's been struggling a little, Gregory thinks."
"I got that sense, yes. But we're making great headway on his podcast now."
"Well, if you need a hand from the palace...Michaelis has a lot more pull than I do, but I'm here," Eddie said. "Always happy to help."
"Actually, it's not exactly what you're offering, but I was wondering if you'd consider coming on one of the podcasts," Jes said. "Noah'd give an arm to have you on Echo Junior."
Eddie nodded. "Sure, that'd be a kick. Who should I talk to about scheduling?"
"I'll have Noah get in touch. What's a good way to reach you?"
They were in the middle of exchanging information when Eddie caught Michaelis watching them; he had an expression on his face that was difficult to read, but it was a powerful reminder that this was a man who'd known Eddie was dating Gregory for weeks before saying anything, and only really spoken up when necessary. He had an awareness of the people around him that bordered on uncanny, and a career politician's sense of when to deploy it.
"So, Your Grace," he said, when Michaelis saw him looking. "Are you Jes's boss, or are they yours, now?"
"I think I'm either client, student, or building superintendent, depending on time of day," Michaelis replied.
"Don't forget barista," Jes added. "He rises at dawn, which is extremely unsettling, but it does mean there's usually coffee in the kitchen when I drag myself awake. I was alarmed when he wasn't around this morning but it turns out he just got lost in research."
"Which reminds me, I'd like another hour or so in the library this afternoon," Michaelis said, pushing back from the table. "Jes, if you'd like to head back to the lodge, I'd understand."
"No, I'll come with you," they said. "But then I do have to get home. Noah wanted me to go into town with him this afternoon."
"Right. If you'll excuse us -- Your Majesty," Michaelis added to Gregory with a bow. Jes said their goodbyes and followed him out, and Eddie sat back in his chair, relaxing slightly.
"Well, you made a friend," Esta Jerome said, grinning at him. "Gregory asked me along because I know Jes, and he was worried they'd feel a little at odds, but you kept them occupied. Not that I mind either way. Not every day you get to have barbecue chicken with two kings."
"I like Jes. I've been very charmingly roped into appearing on their kid's podcast," Eddie said. "And then your dad just glared the shit out of me, Greg."
"You'd think you'd be used to it by now," Alanna said.
"He hasn't glared at me in weeks, at least!"
"No, he hasn't," Gregory said, eyes slightly narrowed, still on the doorway.
"Greg," Eddie said, half a question.
"Mm?" Gregory looked at him, then shook his head. "Sorry. Just strange to see Dad cheerful again."
"Gregory," Alanna said, sounding a little appalled.
"You're the one who thought he was depressed! Eddie, I want you to spy for me," Gregory said. "When you're down at the lodge to do the podcast, just...see how he's doing."
"On it," Eddie agreed. "I love it when he gives me jobs," he told Esta.
"It's lost its novelty when he does it to me," she replied.
"All right, subjects," Gregory said. "Off with you all. Leave your questionnaires with Eddie. Eddie, go entertain yourself," he added, leaning over to kiss him. "Tell Simon whatever he thinks is right, I support him."
"Traitor," Eddie replied affectionately.
"Can't be a traitor when you're the king!" Gregory called as he walked out the door.
Michaelis had really only intended to make a few last notes and clean up, but as soon as he and Jes were back at the little study desk, Jes settled in with one of their finds and took their notebook out. He shrugged mostly to himself and sorted the books into stacks -- one pile to be left behind with a note not to be moved, one pile to take back with him, and one pile that could safely be given to the librarian to be reshelved. The early afternoon light streamed in through the windows, warming his back. It dappled Jes, sitting in the chair across from his, turning their white hair subtly gold.
He'd enjoyed lunch, but seeing Eddie charm Jes so effortlessly, the way he seemed to do everyone -- even Michaelis, who was fond of him and certainly felt Gregory could do worse -- well, it had raised some kind of tension in him that he wasn't comfortable with. It wasn't anger or annoyance, and not jealousy precisely. Perhaps envy. Not of either one of them, though, which was what was perplexing him. It was the sense that he'd found...something interesting, something unique, and now the rest of the world also knew about it, when he'd thought he was the only one.
Ludicrous, of course. Jes wasn't some bauble that had washed up on the beach. In any case, plenty of people knew how interesting they were. They made their living being interesting for people. He supposed it wasn't that different from his own career.
He'd done a little research on them after they'd started working in the bunker, even before they and Noah had moved into the lodge. It only made sense to vet people who were in such close proximity, and if he hadn't done it, sooner or later someone at the palace would have. Probably had, in fact -- he'd be willing to bet Gregory had a dossier on them.
Not that it would contain much to be concerned about. Jes Deimos was Shivadh-born with a US resident visa; they'd left Askazer-Shivadlakia at sixteen (that was a little surprising, but made sense in retrospect) and worked mostly odd, under-the-table jobs until their mid-twenties, when they'd gone to college. After that it was a somewhat distinguished career, first as a journalist and writer, then in audio media. They'd written a book of essays that had middling reviews and optioned a film script of some kind at some point. They had a following in America that was significant enough they could live on revenue from advertising on the podcast network. He gathered few were so fortunate.
Noah had been born in the US, but children born outside Askazer-Shivadlakia to at least one citizen parent were still citizens themselves, so he had all his paperwork in order -- national healthcare card, youth ID, even a youth worker's permit so he could draw pay with the podcast network. He'd be enrolling in school in Askazer-Shivadlakia when the term began in October. Jes was his only guardian, at least in the national records database, and their name was the only name on his Shivadh birth certificate. Whoever his other parent was, they didn't appear to be in the picture.
So, that was the family Deimos -- comfortable but not wealthy, working hard for what they got, famous in a very niche and specific way, not unlike himself. Jes was referred to in interviews and by interviewees as a kind person with an intellect like an ice pick, and now Michaelis saw why. He didn't remember all of the previous night but he remembered enough to understand that he'd been drinking with someone who was fifteen years younger than him and absolutely on his level when it came to dissecting what it was people felt, thought, and wanted. The politician said it wouldn't do to get on their bad side. The man was intrigued.
Jes was bent over the book, slim shoulders tilted a little where their head was turned to study the page. They looked like someone Degas might have painted, if he'd been around for the 21st century. Perhaps Caillebotte.
He cleared his throat softly, and they looked up.
"If you want to take Noah into town before the shops start threatening to close for the day, we should go," he said. "You can take a few books with you if you like -- I plan to."
"Oh, thanks," they said, closing the book and stretching. Michaelis flicked his eyes away. "I think for now mine can stay here. You know at lunch I got Eddie Rambler to consider doing a spot on Echo Junior?" they added, as he led the way towards the door. "Don't tell Noah, I want to spring it on him at dinner."
"Good for your podcast, I think," Michaelis said, descending the stairs.
"Great for it, if he's willing to promo it. And he seems like a nice guy."
"I think so. He adores Gregory, so in my opinion he has excellent taste."
Jes laughed. "Picking out china patterns?"
"Nonsense, the palace has plenty of china," Michaelis replied, which made Jes laugh harder. They stepped out into the humid summer air, and to his surprise Jes put out their hand, palm up.
"What?" he asked, staring at it.
"Give me your books," they said.
"Why on earth?"
"Because I want you to discuss what you learned about the Echardt scandal, and you talk with your hands," they replied.
"I do?" Michaelis said, frowning, but he put the books in their hands.
"When you get excited, mostly. Has nobody ever mentioned it?" Jes asked. "And if you've got something in your hands while you're talking, you get annoyed by it."
"Hm. My father did that, too, come to think of it -- moved his hands a lot, I mean. Now I'm trying to think if Gregory does it."
"No. Well, not exactly. I don't know him very well, obviously, but he likes to have things in his hands when he talks. Waves his fork around and stuff," Jes said. "You're very kinetic, both of you."
"Are you sure?" Michaelis asked, and then noticed with mounting perplexity that even as he asked it, he turned his right hand over, palm up, a questioning gesture. Jes's eyes went from his hand to his face, then back to his hand. "Well. That's unsettling to learn at an advanced age."
"Pfft. You're what, fifty?"
"Sixty-one."
"Get out of town."
"I'm afraid so. But thank you," he said, pleased by their disbelief.
"Well, you look fifty and might be sixty-one but you keep talking like you're ninety. In America, you'd technically be taking an early retirement, slacker," Jes teased.
"Fair enough," he said, falling back on self-deprecation. "I've been useless since leaving office."
"I don't know what's so bad about being useless, anyway, doesn't seem like such a sin to me," Jes said. Michaelis felt himself stop, shocked by the idea. Jes stopped too, turning to look at him. "What?"
"I...nobody's said that before," he said, confusion washing over him. "Usually it's some kind of platitude. Or a reassurance I'm still necessary. Nobody's just...said I could be useless and that was fine."
"For what it's worth, you're actually being extremely useful to me, but you don't have to be. I love being useless. A week's vacation doing nothing on the sofa? Favorite thing in the world," they said.
"And here I am making more work for you," he pointed out.
"Don't worry, I'll still find time to be a drain on society at some point," they replied, turning and continuing down the path. "Come on, keep up. Noah's going to start texting me soon if I don't get back."
He hurried to catch up, but he couldn't think of a single word to say.
"Echardt," Jes prompted gently.
"Right! Right," Michaelis said, and started talking, putting his thoughts in order as he went. It still wasn't a coherent telling, but he could feel the story taking shape, little turns of phrase here and there that he'd have to remember later. The research had been good, and repeating the story was helping, too. Jes mostly listened, his books tucked under their arm, a faint, interested smile on their face. It actually was very nice not to have books in his hands while he talked.
Noah was out on the dock in front of the lodge when they returned, feet in the water, playing some game on his phone, apparently without a care in the world. Michaelis looked at the boy and wondered if he'd ever been so young. If he had, it was hard to remember.
"Come on, kid, put some shoes on and get the keys," Jes called, and Noah hopped to his feet. "His Grace has homework and I promised you a trip into town. Unless you want to come," they added, turning to Michaelis.
"No -- as you say..." he gestured at the books they were still carrying, and they put them back in his hands. "Have fun."
"Bye, Michaelis!" Noah called, running for the van, pulling his shoes on as he went. "See you for dinner maybe!"
Michaelis waved them off and headed inside, reflecting how much the Deimos family filled the place, and how quiet they left it when they were absent.
They'd been in the van for all of thirty seconds when Noah said, "You know, I thought carrying someone's books when you like them was, like, something people in the forties did."
"He talks with his hands," Jes replied. Well, it'd worked on Michaelis.
Realistically, they'd missed out on that kind of thing when they were in school -- carrying someone's books when you liked them, even if you'd rather die than act on it. Partly because of who they'd been, partly because they'd left school a little too early, grown up a little too fast. It felt good to finally get to do it. A little thrilling that Michaelis had allowed it.
"Sure, don't they all," Noah replied. "Uncle Lachlan's going to lose his mind."
"Uncle Lachlan's not going to hear about it from you, is he?" Jes asked.
"What, like he's going to judge you? He thinks Michaelis is good looking and fun. They're always bantering on the podcast."
"Michaelis is good looking and fun, yes, and it was very nice to carry his books. But you know you don't always have to act on that kind of thing."
"Again, this talk?" Noah asked.
"I want you to internalize that just because someone is good looking doesn't mean they're good for you."
"I'm pretty sure you've said on the podcast, on record, that they can still be a good time, though," Noah pointed out.
"That was a mature podcast and I am shocked, shocked and dismayed, that you have listened to a podcast rated 17+," Jes said.
"I edited that episode."
"Which is why I didn't get more explicit. Listen, Noah, I know that brain of yours is still growing, but do a little mental weight-lifting and tell me how you think flirting with the former king of the country you just moved to would go."
"How about I do a little mental weight-lifting and point out you already are?" Noah asked. "I'm not mad about it. I like Michaelis. He got us the studio and a place to stay."
"And do you want me to endanger that?" Jes asked.
"Oh," Noah said.
"Oh," Jes agreed. "Look. We both like him. It's a little weird for me because I also think of him as the king of my country, but I can see the human under the crown. I think his podcast is going to be pretty cool and I like being his friend. Maybe flirting a little. But a friend is all I'm going to be, for both our sakes."
"What if he likes you back?"
"I think Michaelis still misses his wife," they said. "I don't think he's looking for more from anyone else. And if he is, well, I'll figure that out if he acts on it. No use making plans for something that probably won't happen."
"You're not going to discourage him by carrying his books," Noah said loftily, and Jes shook their head and smiled.
Chapter 19: Infinite Jes: Ch7
Chapter Text
"Are we hot?" Jes asked, pointing at the mic, and Lachlan replied, "Just the hottest."
"Fantastic," Jes replied, while Michaelis grinned at Lachlan.
"Ready to go, then?" Michaelis asked.
"Almost. But first, I have a present for you," Jes said, taking a paper bag from under the table.
"What on earth for?" Michaelis asked. "Is this a podcast tradition? I didn't think to get anyone gifts."
"Not exactly. And normally I would never recommend what we're about to do, so don't tell Noah that I'm setting a bad example," Jes told him. "But you know, the only real reason this podcast exists is that you and I were drinking together. And it was over drinks that we figured out how to make it work."
"Yes..." Michaelis said warily.
"So. This is our new tradition to open the show," Jes said, and thunked down two shot glasses from the bag.
"Oh, oh no, Jes -- "
"Oh yes!" Jes said, producing a tiny gray-green bottle of liquor. "I promise I'll pour lightly."
"We are not doing shots before we even start," Michaelis said, as Jes poured two very shallow shots. "This is Davzda, this is a terrible idea."
"Well, then here's to terrible ideas," Jes said, lifting their shot. Michaelis groaned and picked his up, tapping it against theirs.
"Dozine," he said, a traditional Davzda toast, and drank when they did. "It tastes more dreadful every time."
"Clears the throat for talking, though," Jes said, and coughed as if to prove it. "Three, two, one. I'm Jes Deimos, creator and host of The Echo and executive producer of Reverb Podcast Network."
"I'm Michaelis ben Jason, king emeritus of Askazer-Shivadlakia and recent poisoning victim," Michaelis said.
"This is your guide to Shivadh royal history, and we call it...All On Mike," Jes said, their voice deep with amusement.
"Still can't abide that name," Michaelis muttered, but loud enough for the mic to catch it. Jes just laughed, Lachlan said "Give me a brief hold for theme music...." and then when Lachlan pointed at them, Jes launched into the start of the script.
The first episode of All On Mike ("Don't Mess With Alekha") went up a few weeks later on a Thursday, because Thursday was the day for that kind of thing, apparently. Michaelis very carefully did not ask about numbers. Still, Noah spent all day wandering in and out of the lodge, announcing mysterious things like "Engagement is sky high" and "Someone said you sound like Benedict Cumberbatch's cool dad."
They'd left the "cold open" in, where Jes convinced him to do the shot of Davzda, and late in the afternoon Noah came in and said, "Davzda is trending. I bet the king's going to be furious."
"Why would Gregory be furious?" Michaelis asked.
"Everyone's trying to get some after hearing you talk about it. They're sold out in town. There were like, five bottles in all of America and one of them just sold online for six hundred dollars. Bet you tomorrow all the trendy food websites will have Davzda cocktail recipes."
"Well, a lot of people will die, but these are the sacrifices we make," Michaelis said.
"So there's going to be a shortage because all the sellers will export," Noah said. "Demand way up, but supply stays the same. Or if they hike supply, they can't do it super fast. How do they even make it?"
"There's...one distillery," Michaelis said, realizing what Noah meant. The palace would probably have to shell out emergency funds to get the distillery up to capacity.
"Lucky them," Noah said, and went back to monitoring metrics. Michaelis texted Alanna rather than Gregory; she said it was fine, that there was a strategic Davzda reserve that Gregory was going to empty out, and that there was a present on the way. He'd just received the text when a delivery driver knocked on the door.
"Your Grace," the woman said, with a bow that was made much more difficult by the enormous food package in her hands. "Compliments of the palace and Mr. Rambler, who said he'd come cook for you but he figured you'd like to celebrate in your own way."
Michaelis took the hamper from her, handing her a tip in return. "Thank you. Does he want a reply?"
"No sir. It's a very nice podcast, Your Grace," she added, seemingly on impulse. "The whole country's talking about it. We're trending again."
He smiled. "Lovely to hear. It's nice to be of service."
"Have a good evening," she said, and dashed back to her delivery van. Michaelis carried the hamper into the kitchen and opened it, texting a photograph to Eddie. The response came from Gregory -- You sounded great. Eddie and I are both very proud.
It's only a podcast, he texted back.
Love you, was all he got in reply. He set the phone aside and began unpacking just as Jes and Noah emerged from downstairs.
"What's this?" Jes asked, leaning on the kitchen counter.
"Gifts from an admirer," he replied with a smile, setting out packets of meat wrapped in butcher's paper, a basket of new potatoes, and a box with what he suspected was a small cheesecake in it. "Gregory and Edward sent their regards and congratulations on the podcast."
"My admirers always sent flowers when I lived in New York," Jes said.
"Well, Americans, you know. No sense of substance," Michaelis replied, tossing a bag of cookies from the hamper to Noah. "Don't spoil your dinner too badly, I'll cook for you tonight. Oh, dear," he added, removing the last object in the hamper. It was a gray-green bottle of Davzda, but without the label. And he could see the mushrooms floating around in the bottom.
Jes whistled. "Well, now you have your very own illegal Davzda."
"Where the hell did Eddie Rambler dig this up?" Michaelis asked. "This is the real, old-school stuff with the mushrooms in it."
"Like an LSD cocktail," Jes agreed. "Do a shot or two of that and you'll think you've seen the divine."
"Don't even think about it," Michaelis told Noah, who was studying the mushrooms with interest. "I'm going to put this somewhere for very distinct emergencies, possibly involving the end of the world."
"But you're cooking dinner?" Noah asked.
"Absolutely, as long as you're free," Michaelis said, glancing at Jes, who nodded. "Good. We'll have a celebration. Go and get your swim gear. We'll go boating and I'll catch us a few fish, so we'll have steak and fish on the grill."
He put away the various foodstuffs while Jes and Noah yelled to each other in their suite about what they were wearing and what they should bring; Noah wanted to bring his phone just to take photos with and Jes wanted him to get off the screen for a while, but eventually let him wear them down. Michaelis found a packet of dry rub in the hamper, so he prepared a pair of steaks and left them in the fridge to rest while he packed most of the other food into a cooler, fetching his bow and fishing kit from his room. By the time he'd changed into shabby old clothes for fishing and made sure he had what he needed, Noah was already preparing the boat at the dock.
Michaelis loaded bow and kit into the boat and made sure its ballasts were set properly; if you had to stand in a boat on open water and fire an arrow straight down into the lake, you generally wanted to make sure it was the most stable boat possible. He was just finishing up when Jes dropped lightly into the little craft, relaxing into the padded bench at the stern, aviator sunglasses slightly askew on their face. Michaelis felt a stab of affection that he hid by testing the draw on the bow.
"I can show you how, if you like," he said to Noah, who was undoing the mooring rope. "I taught Gregory when he was a little younger than you, but he'd studied archery in school."
"Can I just sit and watch and take videos?" Noah asked. "Promise I won't post them without showing them to you."
"I don't mind. Wouldn't be the first time. If you search my name and bowfishing, there's probably footage around from before you were even born," Michaelis said, kicking them off from the dock. "Right, if you're not going to fish, you row, how's that sound?"
"Where to, pal?" Noah asked, putting on what Michaelis imagined was a New York cabdriver's accent.
"Out that way, just shy of the middle of the lake," Michaelis said, pointing. "Then let the oars drop into the water."
Bowfishing was a Shivadh tradition, but it wasn't all that commonly practiced anymore; Michaelis was just a hobbyist, but he'd always enjoyed it. It used to be Miranda in the bow of the little boat, with Gregory in the stern curled up with a book or telling Michaelis all about the school year, while Michaelis at the oars basked in the presence of his family and waited until dusk for the fish to start to rise.
Now it was Jes in the stern, in a pair of baggy cargo shorts, wearing a t-shirt reading Askazer-Shivadlakia in a stylized sports logo font. They were sunning themself carelessly, one earbud in with the sound so low he couldn't even hear it in the silent stillness of the lake. Noah was between the oars, leaning over one side of the boat to study the clear water below. Not replacements; very different from his family, these two, and he couldn't think of them as his in the way he'd thought of his wife and son. But Noah had Gregory's studious curiosity and, like Gregory at fifteen, was all elbows and knees. And Jes -- often made him feel the same way Miranda had, like there was a peace at his very core.
He examined the bow, making sure the wood wasn't cracked or brittle anywhere, as he considered this. It didn't occur to him for about ten minutes that the memory of Miranda hadn't hurt, not the way it often did.
"How long do you have to wait for the fish?" Noah whispered.
"Any minute now," Michaelis replied, drawing an arrow from the quiver next to Jes's legs. He got to his feet slowly, adjusting to the gentle rocking of the boat, and took a handful of crumbs from his pocket, sprinkling them on the barely-rippling water. He heard the soft click of Noah's phone recording him.
"The trick of this," he said quietly, nocking the arrow and drawing it back, "is patience, but also endurance. You can't draw the bow when you see the fish -- it's got to be before they rise, because otherwise when you do, the boat will rock and scare them off. Can't skip arm day," he added with a smile, repeating something Eddie had observed when he was learning.
"How long can you hold a bow like that?" Noah asked.
Michaelis saw a trout rise, hugely fat from summer feeding, and loosed the arrow before he thought about it. It hit the water with a resounding thwack, and the fish floated up to the surface, speared neatly on the shaft.
"Long enough," he said with a satisfied look, reaching down to shake it into the bucket. The arrow was wet, but didn't seem to have any damage, so he nocked it again.
"I always thought it was pretty medieval," Jes said.
"In a bad way?" Noah asked, still filming Michaelis, who followed a shadow with the arrow for a while until he realized it was a piece of plant floating past.
"No, it just seemed kind of pointless," Jes said. Michaelis caught their eyes flicking over his arms, bare up to the cuffs of the t-shirt. "Very compelling in person, though."
"Shush," he murmured. "You two talkers are scaring off the fish."
Noah fell obediently silent, and Jes just looked at him over the top of their sunglasses. Michaelis ignored it, focusing on the water, flinching but not firing when a skater-bug skimmed past. After a few minutes he eased the bow down and took another handful of crumbs, scattering them slowly.
The fish burst to the surface, five or six of them flailing up at once as they sometimes did. He quickly nocked the arrow and fired, and then from habit held out his hand. He'd taught Gregory to pass him fresh arrows, but Gregory of course wasn't here -- and yet an arrow slapped into his palm anyway. He drew and fired a second time, and a third when Noah passed him another one. Three fish, two neatly speared and one clearly shot but missing its arrow, floated up.
Michaelis crouched and set the bow down, pulling the fish into the bucket.
"That was very helpful," he said to Noah. "How did you know to hand them to me?"
"Just made sense," Noah said, shrugging.
"Well, you've earned your stripes today," Michaelis told him. Noah preened. "Mind rowing us back? I want to clean off the arrows and stretch my shoulders."
"You got it," Noah said, bringing them around with an expertise that said he'd probably been out in the boat, alone, when Jes and Michaelis weren't looking. Well, let the kid have a few secrets. That was part of growing up. He'd done it himself, fifty years ago.
At the dock, he let Noah tie up while he set the gear on the boards; Jes climbed out gracefully, and then instead of moving aside so he could join them, leaned back down and offered him their hand. He cocked an eyebrow at them, then took it and let them hand him out of the boat, not really stabilizing or lifting him, but very charming nonetheless.
"That's usually my job," he said.
"Gender roles are for wimps," they replied. Michaelis laughed. "Come on. Isn't it nice to have someone help you out for once?"
"Seems that's all anyone does these days, but yes," he agreed. "I'll clean the fish."
"My chivalry definitely does not extend to gutting fish," they agreed. Noah was already taking the gear back up to the lodge.
"Noah, bring the steaks on the plate in the fridge, please," Michaelis called, and Noah nodded. He caught Jes smiling at him sideways, and smiled sideways back, well pleased with the world.
It was a pretty good day, Jes had to admit. Michaelis might not want to pay attention to it, but the podcast was a success by first-episode standards and the buzz was pulling in a few listeners to the other shows as well. They'd had a light day of work, they'd gotten to watch Michaelis flex his arms and shoulders for whole minutes together, and there was surf and turf in their future. They stood at the grill and gathered up chunks of charcoal from the nearby bag, building the fire carefully to burn hot and fast at first.
Nearby, Michaelis was at a very elderly outdoor sink, showing Noah how to clean the fish. Out of deference to Noah's cries of "super gross" he was cutting one of them down to filets for the city child, but he left the heads and skin on the others, the better to grill them Shivadh-style. Jes hoped one of those was for them.
They stuck the potatoes right in among the coals as soon as possible -- those would take a while to cook. They raked coals to one side to make a slightly cooler area for the meat just as Michaelis brought it over.
"It's all yours," they said, gesturing with the tongs. He accepted the tool with a nod and set to work. Jes retreated to the line of low-slung beach lounge chairs nearby.
"If you want to go swim, Noah, this won't be ready for a while," Michaelis called. Jes didn't even hear a response, just a shriek and the splash of a teenager cannonballing into the lake. "He's taking well to country life."
"He still thinks it's a treat," Jes said. "Normally he only gets this kind of outdoorsiness when we visit."
"Do you suppose he misses the city?"
"He hasn't said he does. It's a lot quieter here after New York, but you know how kids get jaded when they grow up somewhere," Jes replied.
"And what about you?"
"Who's the interviewer now?" Jes asked, laughing. "Well, yes, there are some things I miss -- delivery pizza, for one -- but surprisingly not as much as I thought. I mean, New York will still be there if I want to go see it. This place is better for us now."
"I'm glad to hear it," Michaelis said.
"Were you concerned I'd be leaving once the podcast about the country is done?" Jes asked.
"No, that wasn't why I asked," Michaelis replied, leaving the food to cook while he washed his hands at the sink. "I remember enough from the question game to know there's also a good reason you are here in this country. Just wondering what you had to give up to come back."
"Not as much as you'd think. I do like it here. When I left, I just wanted out. What kid doesn't want to kick their hometown off their heels and see the world? I might have kicked a little harder than necessary, but in my defense my parents really needed a kicking. I left because of them. I came back for myself."
"I can't claim I know how you feel, given I literally took my father's job from him and then gave it to my son, but I know it can be difficult."
"Do you remember when you came to the studio in town and I got salty with you about being hereditary king in everything but name?"
"Faintly, yes," he said sardonically.
"I know you had a legitimate election, and I think you probably had a great reign, which I missed most of," Jes said. "But I am also still very mad at people who get to have the kind of good relationship with their dad that you had."
"Ah." Michaelis nodded. "If it's any consolation, you've done a great job with Noah. Easy to tell."
"Well, he's a good kid," Jes said.
"Hope he's a hungry one too," Michaelis replied, turning back to check on the food. Jes lay in the sun-dappled shade under the tree cover and let themself drift, enjoying the quiet and the smell of charcoal, and Noah's occasional shouts from the lake.
"All right, this fish is almost overdone and the steak's pink," Michaelis said eventually, nudging their chair with his foot. "Noah! Dinner!"
"Coming!" Noah called, and ran up the dock soaking wet, ducking under the outdoor shower head near the sink to rinse off. Jes got up to wash their hands and then took the platter of meat from Michaelis, who followed with the potatoes. As they settled in at the table, Jes realized what they were seeing in him -- the same brightness he showed whenever Gregory was in the room. It was like the real Michaelis was emerging from a thin, dark shell. If this was what he'd been like as king, no wonder he'd been good at his job. He was always kind and usually fun, but this Michaelis was charming as well.
He wasn't a bad cook, either, they thought, as he put one of the head-on fish on their plate and served the filets, with deep grill marks and crisp brown edges, to Noah. Jes ate eagerly, savoring something that tasted like the best parts of their childhood.
"Michaelis," Noah said, phone set into a little portable tripod and filming him, "how do they make Davzda, anyway? The real stuff that's not legal."
Michaelis set his fork down, clearing his throat with a sip of water. "I suppose it's a little like absinthe. You start with distilled spirit -- if you post this, you should put a disclaimer that this is not a recipe," he said abruptly.
"Promise," Noah said.
"There's a specific, very mildly hallucinogenic mushroom that used to grow, and does not anymore, so visitors please don't go pulling up mushrooms on your hikes, in the highlands," Michaelis continued. "The mushrooms would be dried in hot salt to preserve them. They become very salty, obviously. Then you'd add a couple of those to a bottle and fill it the rest of the way with the distilled spirit -- which was usually home-made to begin with, so it's always been difficult to gauge the alcohol content. Some people add other spices if they want their drink to taste like, I don't know, regret and cloves instead of just regret. The hallucinogen leeches into the alcohol as the mushrooms rehydrate, so if you shake up the bottle first, you get a little high on top of the alcohol when you drink."
"What if you don't shake the bottle?"
"Then the last person to drink has quite the time."
"Did you ever drink the real stuff?" Noah asked.
"Not intentionally. Once when I was very young and making poor choices in friends."
"But was it fun?" Noah asked, grinning at him. Michaelis smiled.
"Eat your fish, Noah. You can make your own mistakes when you're older."
Michaelis had learned early on that when something was going right, when things were swimming in his direction, he shouldn't question his instincts or feelings. He'd been pleased with the gift from the king -- still novel and amusing to think of Gregory as the king -- and he'd enjoyed boating and fishing, and tending the food. Building the fire was always the part he'd disliked, and Jes had simply gone to do it without even mentioning it, which was gratifying. Dinner was both good and celebratory.
Now, full from dinner and laid out in one of the lounge chairs, with Jes in the one next to his and Noah dutifully clearing the table, he refused to question why he felt so happy or what he could do to hold onto it. Instinct would tell him, and questioning things would only shorten the pleasure of them. Instead he simply folded his hands over his stomach, shoulders twinging pleasantly, and contemplated the lake until his eyelids drooped.
He was more than half-asleep when he felt a soft touch, fingertips ruffling his short hair; the pressure against his scalp felt good, and for a second he leaned into it, until he realized he wasn't sure who was doing it, and then he startled awake.
The touch vanished. He sat halfway up, turning; Jes was still in the next chair over, lying on their side facing him, their hand hovering in the air, looking stricken.
"I'm sorry," they said. "I should have asked first, you just had a leaf on your hair, and it's softer than I expected -- "
"No, it's fine," he said. "I was almost asleep. I wasn't sure where I was for a moment."
"Ah. Still. I know better," they said, giving him an only slightly brittle smile. He cast around for how to say that he'd liked it, and then felt stupid for a split second.
"It was nice," he said. "Just unexpected. I liked it. I'm not accustomed to, uh. Touch."
He glanced at their hand, still in midair, and then back at their face; they saw the quick look and hovered their hand closer. He nodded and laid back, eyes open now; they skimmed their fingers through his hair, brushing against the grain, sending tingles down his scalp.
"I was a kid, but I remember there was an absolute scandal when you cut your hair right after the coronation," they said, after a few moments of absent stroking. He closed his eyes. "My mother said you looked like a shorn lamb."
"Well, the seventies were over," he replied. "Time to be a king."
"Was that why?"
"Honestly? I had to wear the crown a lot, at the start," he said. Their fingers dug into his temple before moving back to the tense muscles just behind his ear. "Hair kept getting caught in it."
"Ever practical," they replied. "It does get a little lonely out here. I can see how an unexpected touch might startle you. Every morning when Lachlan gets here I make him give me a hug just so I don't get out of practice."
"Well, you can do this whenever you like," Michaelis murmured. "Feels fantastic."
"Might take you up on that. Or I might make you cook me fish that good again, as a tax."
"I saw you coveting the heads."
"Noah thinks it's weird. He always has. I don't know, you try to raise them in all the old ways..."
Michaelis chuckled. Jes's fingers dug into the crown of his head, blunt nails creating sharp just-this-side-of-pain pressure before they spread their fingers wider.
"Sleep if you want," they said. "It's only me and Noah here."
He nodded against the touch and closed his eyes, but he stayed awake for a while, the better to enjoy it. He felt a little guilty, somehow, but he couldn't bring himself to care; their fingers were warm and soothing, pressing out little knots of tension and scrubbing at the base of his skull, loosening his jaw. When they finally flattened their palm on the crown of his head again, then left it there, he slipped into sleep.
Jes could tell the moment Michaelis slept; the muscles in his jaw went lax, and the last lines of tension around his eyes smoothed out. They left their hand on his head, resting on the short silver hair, watching him sleep.
It wasn't exactly that the idea of the king as a man was foreign to them; Askazer-Shivadlakia was a small place and the Shivadh people weren't overawed by their rulers even before they started voting for them. Living with him certainly humanized him too. But when they were a kid the king was a more distant figure, and every time they were reminded he was human it amused them.
Michaelis had a healthy respect for Davzda until he'd had a few shots of it. He was a tidy man. He liked the outdoors; he was a runner and swimmer, a bow-fisher. It was clear he'd spent as much time worrying about his parenting as Jes currently was. He smiled quick and sharp, the way he did many things. He had a startle reflex, and he liked having his scalp rubbed.
They really shouldn't have done it without asking, but he didn't seem like someone who had a particularly high guard against such things. At least he hadn't been angry, just confused.
He wasn't one of Jes's friends back in New York, always hugging and casually touching, sitting hip-to-hip on sofas, dancing close in clubs. He was a widower with an adult son and not much to occupy his time, and nobody much to touch him.
They sat back and picked up their book, reading while Michaelis breathed softly and slowly in the next chair. Noah finished cleaning up and went back down to the dock, this time to sit on it and pitch pebbles into the water.
Well, Michaelis didn't have anyone to touch him and Jes wanted more touch; there was an obvious solution there, and they watched Noah skip stones and strategized about it. Michaelis was obliging when he saw someone with a need, much less stubborn than he would be if he was faced with an offer of help. He could see sense, and he didn't seem particularly averse to touch, just surprised by it.
The sun was just barely down when they got out of the chair and nudged Michaelis awake.
"Noah snitched that there's a cheesecake inside," they said. "Noah, come on, dessert."
Inside the lodge, Jes sliced up the cheesecake and distributed plates; while they ate, Noah showed Michaelis how he was editing the fishing video to make it look more professional.
"Okay, I'm gonna go look at the metrics and do some stuff," Noah announced at last.
"Please, I am begging you to be a normal child and play a video game," Jes said.
"If you insist," Noah said, in such an obvious imitation of Michaelis at his most dignified that even Michaelis laughed.
"I'll be out here for a while. Put yourself to bed when you get tired and remember to brush your teeth," Jes said. "Goodnight, love you," they sing-songed, and Noah chimed in on the last few syllables. Michaelis took their plates to the sink and stretched.
"I should probably turn in," he said.
"Come, sit for a little while," Jes told him, heading into the living room. He followed, then grinned as they grasped his shoulders and maneuvered him to the sofa, settling him on the cushions not quite next to one arm. He looked a little surprised when they dropped down next to him, back to the arm of the sofa, swinging their legs up to prop over his lap, but he didn't object.
"Keep me company," Jes commanded, placing a book from the side-table in his hands.
"What are you doing?" he asked, but he propped the book open on their knees.
"Sitting with you. Reading," they replied. "Objections?"
"Not materially, just curious."
They leaned their head against the back of the sofa. "I told you I miss all the hugs I used to get, and I thought maybe you'd like sitting here too. Seemed like you were a little starved for touch this afternoon."
"I do fine," he replied, looking down at the book.
"I'm sure you do, but fine is only adequate. Anyway it's not about you, egotist. When I was twenty I'd have gone clubbing to celebrate something like this. Might have thrown a huge dinner party when I was thirty-five." They nudged his chest with their knee. "At forty-five, what I want is someone else to cook me dinner and then keep me company while I read."
"Let me tell you, at sixty all you ever want is a nap," he said, settling in. Keeping his right hand on the book, he rubbed his jaw with his left, and then very deliberately rested it on Jes's ankle, propped next to his thigh. His palm was warm on the top of their bare foot, thumb cupped around the curve of their leg.
Jes took out their cellphone and scrolled through the news app, looking for anything interesting or timely for the podcast. For a while there was just the soft noise of his book's pages turning, and the faint, distant rumble of whatever shoot-em-up game Noah was playing.
Eventually, Michaelis's hand twitched; Jes watched as his thumb swept up their ankle and then back down, an absent soothing movement. Still engrossed in his book, he did it again, and then settled into a slow rhythm with it, apparently unaware he was doing it. It felt wonderful -- intimate in a weird, Victorian way, the touch of a hand on an ankle, but also innocent. Nothing meant by it, nothing demanded. He was simply comfortable enough to touch them.
He kept it up until at last he yawned, raising his hand to cover his mouth, and set the book aside.
"Bed?" Jes asked.
"Mm." He leaned back to let them lift their legs up, then slid out from under them, stretching as he stood. "Thank you. Sleep well."
"You too," they said, and watched him go, admiring the lines of his shoulders through his shirt. Well, one could dream, and in the meantime perhaps they could help each other.
Perhaps he might even want them both to stay here in the fall, and if he did, Jes didn't see how they would be willing to say no.
The next morning, instead of lingering in the doorway as he usually did, Michaelis came into the kitchen while Jes was staring sleepily at the toaster, willing it to toast faster. He nudged them out of the way with a hand on their hip, helped himself to the still-percolating coffee, and then brushed their elbow with one hand to get their attention, passing them the jam.
Jes smiled to themself and, when he got in their way trying to scramble an egg, hip-checked him to make him move over.
Eddie had actually been a little hesitant to do a podcast with a kid, even a kid like Noah. He'd listened to Echo Junior enough to know that it was a fine show for teenagers and actually pretty smart, but one never knew how much of that was editing, or even Jes stage-parenting their son. He'd agreed easily when talking to Jes because he had a policy of never saying no to something unless he had to, but he'd had his doubts.
Emailing back and forth with Noah had put his mind at ease. Noah was a young professional, with release forms to sign and a very thorough explanation of what he could expect. Further, the kid was fun -- he wanted Eddie to tell funny stories and give advice, not just talk about the tourist initiative or his thoughts on food trends. He'd asked, too, what Eddie thought would be a neat thing to do for the podcast.
Remembering Gregory's request to do a little casual spying, Eddie said, "Why don't you interview me while I'm cooking? I could come cook dinner for the fam at the lodge, and you could record while I cook, then we'll do a roundtable while we eat."
He felt it was working out exceptionally well. He'd arrived with groceries and a couple of recipes in mind to find Noah and Lachlan already set up with recording equipment -- a wireless mic for him, stationary mics at the stove and cutting board to record ambient cooking noises, and thick quilts temporarily stapled to the walls to muffle echoes.
Michaelis and Jes were meant to be two of the dinner guests, he knew, but perhaps out of respect for Noah's creative process they didn't show up until the meal was ready. Jes opened and poured the wine while Michaelis, former king, diplomat, and imposing son of a bitch, set the table. Eddie's mind was a little blown by the image.
"How did the interview go?" Michaelis asked, as they settled in to eat.
"Really well, I think," Eddie said, and Noah, mouth already full of goat "Askazer Style," nodded agreement. "I love talking while I cook. My very first cooking show was this dumb little cable access thing I did in college," he added, helping himself to some bread. "It was just me and a camera in a corner of a dorm kitchen, and I used to lock everyone out so I could film. Which turned out to be a huge mistake. I don't know if you know this about me -- I'm sure His Grace knows and would agree -- but I am a people person."
"I'd venture to say you are the most people person I've met in a long career in politics," Michaelis added drily.
"So the show sucked," Eddie said. "Because I didn't have anyone to talk to. No outlet for my natural charm. One day I forgot to lock the door and a couple of guys walked in and just kinda -- stared at me and I stared at them, and then I said well, you're here, you want some tacos?"
"Nobody ever says no to tacos," Noah said.
"You are correct. And that particular video got super popular on campus because it was funny. Because I had an audience, someone for the viewer at home to identify with. It went into my audition reel when I got my big break at Eat Network."
"You learned to play to your strengths," Jes said.
"Yes, but also to recognize what they were. Sometimes we're the only ones who know that what we're good at is worthwhile. Like, you gotta value what you do, or else why do it?" Eddie asked.
"Why wouldn't people value being friendly?" Noah asked.
"Oh, the usual damaged reasons. You're not cool enough, you're too nice, you talk about stuff nobody cares about," Eddie said. "Nuts. That's just people who are afraid to make friends."
"It's a very good lesson," Michaelis said. "Difficult to execute sometimes, but wise to have as an option. Being...unexpectedly transparent. Sincere."
"Yeah. Though sometimes in show business you do just have to pretend to be real cool until they're not looking," Eddie agreed.
He let his mouth run without paying too much attention to it, a skill he'd cultivated over years of interviews; he wanted to stay engaged with the podcast but he was also watching a fascinating silent dynamic play out around the dinner table, and a part of his mind was distracted trying to figure it out.
For a start, this wasn't the dry, slightly cutting Michaelis he was accustomed to, a man who strode through life efficiently and without much pause for other peoples' opinions. He seemed calmer -- he might have objected to the word, but Eddie thought perhaps even softer. Gregory had been right, there was a change, and it was particularly visible at the dining table of the lodge, in the company of friends.
Or perhaps, in the company of Jes Deimos. They were seated next to Michaelis, frequently stealing vegetables off his plate, which he had apparently rotated specifically so they could. Michaelis watched Jes when they spoke, and when he spoke to Noah he occasionally glanced at Jes as if he wanted to be sure what he was saying to their kid was okay. It must be an awkward form of quasi-co-parenting, living with a precocious kid like Noah but not being officially any kind of dad.
When Eddie finished the story he'd been telling, Lachlan cleared his throat and turned his laptop to face them. Poor man was eating off his lap while he continued to keep the sound going -- Eddie made a note to leave him a special helping of dessert.
"Found the video online," Lachlan said. Eddie's twenty-one-year-old baby face, under a pile of disorderly blue hair, stared out at them blurrily.
"Oh, wow," Eddie laughed. "There I am, making tacos for nobody. About fifteen seconds from now -- yeah, hit play -- there I go, there's the deer in the headlights," he said, as the onscreen Eddie froze in the middle of assembling a taco. Two figures were standing in front of the right side of the camera, out of focus.
"Oh hey," Eddie on the video said. "You guys look super high. You want some tacos?"
Lachlan was grinning over the edge of the laptop; Noah and Jes were both laughing, and Michaelis's chuckle was a deep rumble underneath. Eddie glanced over in time to see Jes wipe a tear of laughter from the corner of their eye and glance at Michaelis, affection and delight in their look. Perhaps they'd been concerned about him too, as the palace had been. They seemed happy to see him laughing.
"I forgot I told them they looked high," Eddie said, as Lachlan closed the window and went back to work. "Wasn't wrong, though. I know because the tacos weren't nearly as good as they said they were."
The rest of dinner went fine, but he was still chewing over what he'd seen when he arrived back at the palace, making his way up to Gregory's rooms. The king was on the sofa, for once without the requisite pile of spreadsheets or diplomatic reports, reading a graphic novel that one of Eddie's brothers had sent him in their last package. Eddie dropped down next to him and flopped dramatically against his shoulder. Gregory absently rested his chin on Eddie's head.
"Interview go well?" he asked, setting the book aside.
"Yeah, and the goat came out nicely too," Eddie said.
"Well, what's really important here?"
"Making goat edible is important," Eddie informed him. "Anyway, Noah had a good time and I think he got some strong audio, and he and I talked about getting the podcast network some publicity."
"Don't work yourself too hard," Gregory said.
"This is my favorite kind of work, after cooking," Eddie said. "It'll be fine, I'll roll it into some other stuff I'm doing. And your dad and Jes had a good time, I think."
"Oh yes?" Gregory said.
"Yeah. I know you were curious, and it's not like I could go through his underwear drawer or something -- "
"I didn't want you to take it that far," Gregory said.
"But he seemed content. You know how you said it was weird to see him so happy? I think what's weird is just...seeing a change in someone. Maybe you got used to him being unhappy."
"That's possible," Gregory admitted. "I told you when you came here that he wasn't at his best."
"I remember. I think he's good now, though," Eddie said. "I think he's enjoying having people to look after. Maybe people who look after him. Hard for him to do that with you right now, you know? Maybe he missed it."
"I suppose," Gregory said. "But he's all right, you think?"
"Yes. I don't think you need to worry about him," Eddie said. He kept his thoughts about the way Jes and Michaelis looked at each other to himself, for now.
Chapter 20: Infinite Jes: Ch8
Chapter Text
Once the first episode of the podcast came out, it felt like something locked into a rhythm -- like a clean shot with a bow, or a gear shifting correctly in a car.
Michaelis spent most of his mornings now in the library, happy to be back with a good purpose. He spoke with the librarian about writing the boring parts down and doing the podcast on the interesting ones, and the man gave him a relieved look and permission to go ahead. In the afternoons, he recorded with Noah or Jes, or he worked on scripts -- mostly writing his own, but sometimes looking at Noah's as well, helping with grammar or pointing out what wasn't clear. He broke his own rule about not reading his reviews and read the comments on his episodes, looking for ways to improve, relieved that he was apparently too old to take any of the uglier criticism personally. They all just came off so childish, like toddlers clamoring for attention.
Often, in the evenings, he or Jes would find each other and settle in on the sofa to read, or to exchange dry looks while Noah watched reality television.
"Gregory has an invitation for us," he said one evening, studying his phone while Jes and Noah bickered about what was on television.
"Us?" Jes asked, curious.
"Eddie's been trying out the surfing all over the coast, and he thinks he's found the best spot. He and Gregory are doing a little video thing for the Photogram this week of the two of them surfing. He wants to know if I'd like to come along, and you both as well. He says he struck a deal with Noah about publicity."
"Noah?" Jes prompted.
"Professional dealings, all very confidential," Noah said with a grin. "Eddie just said after the interview he thought we should have a higher profile. He said he'd find some opportunities. We're paying him in studio time at some future date."
"Savvy, that one," Michaelis murmured. "Well, I wouldn't mind a trip to the beach, but if Eddie's been there it'll be full of tourists and Photogram models."
Noah looked like he was actually excited about the idea of a beach full of Photogram models, which was when Michaelis remembered that Noah was fifteen, and the vast majority of the Photogram models in Askazer-Shivadlakia now were teenage girls from Italy and France who found boys with American accents extra-interesting.
"Can we, Boss?" Noah asked. "It'd be rude to turn down an invitation from the king, right?"
"Entirely up to you. If you like, I'll take Noah," Michaelis said. Jes gave him a sweeping look, and Michaelis wondered if they were considering all the times he'd come in from swimming without a shirt on.
"No, we'll both go, and please thank Gregory for the invite," they decided. "But you, Wild Child, have to promise you will put sunscreen on every single time I tell you, and you, Your Grace," they kicked him gently, "have to keep him in eyeshot. No letting him wander off to canoodle with the Photogrammers."
Spotted in the sun: King Gregory III of Askazer-Shivadlakia takes a break from politics to go surfing with his boyfriend, influencer and celebrity chef Eddie Rambler. Video via Photogram.
Askazer-Shivadlakia is this summer's hottest and hardest to pronounce ticket thanks to Eddie Rambler, who spread the country's fame among his hip social media following during the king's recent coronation. While movie stars and tech moguls sun themselves in Monaco, the young, the broke, and the photogenic have made tracks for this tiny beachfront country, to fill your feed with sun-kissed smiles, quaint cafes, beautiful vistas, and friendly local color.
Also at the beach to watch the king wipe out was his father, His Grace King Emeritus Michaelis, along with GenX nerd idol Jes Deimos, who chatted with a steady stream of Photogram influencers and podcast fans. Deimos's son Noah, an influencer in his own right, stuck close to the royal family and eventually gave up his phone to catch some sun with a beach read. The Deimos family is working with the royals to produce a series of podcasts about life in "The Ask".
"I can hear my father bellowing from this side of the veil," Michaelis said at palace breakfast, when he saw the puff piece on their beach trip. "They call my country The Ask? They call the country of the Askazer warrior and the Shivadh noble The ASK?"
"Grandfather did love a good bellow," Gregory agreed.
"So strange he didn't pass it on," Jerry said, with a grin at Michaelis.
"There's a time and a place for yelling and if you knew it, you'd be king instead of that one," Michaelis replied, pointing at Gregory.
"Want me to put the kibosh on?" Eddie asked around a mouthful of breakfast. "It's a hashtag on Photogram but I can slap that shit down and make them thank me for it. If I can learn to say Askazer-Shivadlakia, these idiots can."
"The tourism office might have some input on that," Alanna said.
"I say this as advice, not command, but if you let them brand us as The Ask your ancestors will curse us," Michaelis said, and Jerry cackled with laughter.
"Gotta say, Greg, it's a great picture of you," he announced. "Uncle Mike looks fantastic too."
"I didn't see a picture of me," Michaelis said, frowning.
"Down at the bottom, here." Jerry passed him his phone.
It was a fairly flattering photo -- Jes was actually the focus, barefoot in the sand in their vintage-style one piece, watching Gregory surf. Michaelis was just behind them and to one side, wearing Gregory's spare rash guard and a pair of plain blue swim trunks, damp hair ruffled up in a cowlick like he'd always had when he was younger.
"Look at you, fashion model," Alanna said, nudging Michaelis gently.
Michaelis nodded absently, studying the picture. He did look nice, and unless someone was looking very closely or projecting very hard, they wouldn't see that his eyes were on Jes, and the smile on his face was more affectionate than was proper. He was the widower king emeritus, after all, and Jes could have their pick of people, outside of a difficult curmudgeon they'd accidentally charmed.
"Could you send me the image, Jerry? I don't know how to do the little picture doodad," he said. He did know how, but complaining and making Jerry do it was a form of entertainment.
"Actually, that's a pretty good quote, Your Grace," Alanna said. "The country of the Askazer warrior and the Shivadh noble. Is that from a book, or did you make that up?"
"It's just something like my father would say," Michaelis replied. "If you quote me don't say warrior, I don't like that to represent Askaz. Say scholar. Or say Askazer poet and Shivadh scholar, that rolls off the tongue better and it's no less true."
"The people of Askazer-Shivadlakia are poet scholar warrior philosopher kings," Gregory said to Eddie. "We think somewhat highly of ourselves."
"Ain't bragging if it's true," Eddie said. "Learned that from bumper stickers in truck stops all the way across Texas. Anyway, I'm glad Jes and Noah could come to the beach too. Those kids are going places."
"Isn't Jes about fifteen years older than you are?" Michaelis asked.
"I was born an old soul," Eddie replied.
"Save us from Californians," Michaelis said.
"Tell you what, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of Jes Deimos," Jerry said. "Have you heard their podcast?"
Everyone looked at him.
"What?" Jerry asked.
"Father is on their podcast. Eddie's promoting them. The rest of us have been listening for months. What have you been doing?" Gregory asked.
"Making trouble," Jerry replied unconcernedly.
"For whom?" Michaelis inquired.
"Never you mind, Uncle Mike. The point is, there goes someone who could ravage you emotionally and destroy you professionally but also I want their skincare regimen," Jerry said. "If I were the settling-down type I'd propose."
"I'd dearly love to see that," Michaelis replied.
"Some day you're going to trip and fall for someone headlong, Jerry, and I hope I'm there when it happens," Alanna said sweetly. "Your Grace, I'll pass along your supernatural prognostication about The Ask to comms. Eddie?"
"Yep, let's go confab," Eddie said, rising to follow her out. "What if we didn't call it The Ask, but made that like a slogan. We're here -- Just Ask!"
"You're not genuinely concerned, are you?" Gregory asked, as Jerry trailed after them to offer his own suggestions on branding.
"I just think it's tacky, and not tacky in a good way, like Eddie," Michaelis said. "The tourism is good for us but we can't let it be our guiding principle. At least, that's my opinion," he added conscientiously.
"I do value that, you know."
"As well you should," Michaelis said with a smile. "Any other dilemmas I can advise on?"
"Not at present. Seems like you've got your hands full, anyway."
"Yes, it's been pleasantly busy lately." Michaelis stood, tugging on his jacket. "I'll be in the library this morning, but probably not around for lunch. Recording early this afternoon and then Noah asked for some help with school preparations. He needs to get enrolled somewhere and apparently he has several options, so he wants my advice."
"Hm. The Highlands School is the most well-funded," Gregory said.
"Yes, but it's a long trek up there on a daily basis, and Jes tells me Noah's schooling is somewhat of a formality. He's an independent learner, as if that wasn't blindingly obvious. I suspect he needs patient teachers more than prestigious ones."
"Well, I'm sure he'll figure it out. Good luck," Gregory said. "There's always an opening at Institut Alpin, or can be if I write him a letter of recommendation."
"Hurrah for the old school!" Michaelis cried as he left.
"I don't see why school even matters," Noah said, when they sat down at the conference table in the bunker that afternoon to go over his options. Jes had a couple of shiny pamphlets from the local schools, and Noah had his laptop open to the websites. "You dropped out and you did fine."
"I did not do fine, I had to get a GED and then go back to school while working full time and it sucked," Jes said. "Let's try and avoid that for you."
"And you probably should at least know how trigonometry works, even if you forget the details as I clearly have," Michaelis said, studying Noah's previous school's transcripts. "The good news is you're a little ahead of most Shivadh students your age, so you can go into -- what would Americans call it? Junior year? And have time to fit in without worrying about catching up."
"Yeah, as if that's ever happened," Noah muttered.
"It could happen now," Jes said gently. "You'll be the cool new kid at school."
"Maybe. I just think I could learn this stuff faster on my own."
"And possibly you could," Michaelis agreed. "But school isn't just learning or socializing, it's an ongoing experience. It gives you something in common with other people. Which, if you want to stay in Askazer-Shivadlakia, will be important. You're a citizen, but that doesn't mean you know everything about living here yet."
"Learning a lot though," Noah said, rebellion still in his voice.
"All good points, but sometimes, kiddo, you just gotta jump through a few hoops in this life," Jes said wearily.
"Oh. Well. If it's just hoops," Noah replied. Michaelis glanced at Jes, wondering if it could be that easy. "Two years of jumping through hoops is a real pain in the butt, but if that's all it is, I can probably do that. As long as I still get to do the podcast and stuff."
"Thank goodness for small favors," Jes said. "Does this get you any closer to figuring out which one you want to go to?"
"Why do they start so late?" Noah asked. "Doesn't school normally start in September most places?"
"The olive harvest," Michaelis said. "Olive season is August and September. A lot of the kids used to help their parents -- not as many people farm olives now but all the kids still go out to the groves, make a little extra pocket money. Most of the teachers work in the groves over the summers, too."
"Can I go do an olive harvest?" Noah asked Jes.
"Sure, you've got your youth worker's card," Jes said. "Do an episode on it. Or I will."
"Let's focus on getting you enrolled, so you at least have somewhere to go afterward," Michaelis said, trying to redirect both parent and child towards the pamphlets. "The Highlands School is arguably the best, but -- "
"No, it's too far," Noah said.
"Well, of the ones close enough for you to attend day school and decent enough you should consider them, that leaves the Western Lowlands School, the Yeshiva, and this strange place down by the harbor in Fons-Askaz where you spend one day a week on a tall ship," Michaelis said, picking up the pamphlet for the Maritime Academy. "I should have paid more attention to our accrediting board when I was king."
"It looks like a military school but it's not," Noah said. "The messageboards say it's actually pretty cool. You can set a lot of your own curriculum once you pass the basics and I can test out of most of them. And it's close."
"Very snappy uniforms," Jes said.
"Don't love uniforms on the whole," Noah replied dubiously. "But they are unisex, so I have to give them that. I could go to school in a kilt."
"I'm fond of them," Jes replied. "You ever wear a kilt, Michaelis?"
"Too much of a breeze for me," Michaelis said. "Does come with a handy place for storing one's wallet and keys, though. I can't recommend the Yeshiva unless you want to be a rabbi, but the best I can say of the Western Lowlands School is that it's...adequate."
"Snob," Jes told him. "He went to boarding school," they said to Noah.
"Really?"
Michaelis nodded absently. "Institut Alpin. It's called the school of kings, but not on my account. Lots of powerful peoples' children are educated there. It's in the Swiss Alps, very cold in the winter. I loved it. Gregory tolerated it well. It's a great education, but not, I think, for you."
"Why not? Other than the obvious, that it's a Swiss boarding school like something out of an 80s movie about an evil stepmother," Noah said.
"It's very structured and traditional. They would try to train you for a life I don't think you want," Michaelis said. "If you want to go into hedge fund management or high civil service -- "
"Blegh. No offense."
"None taken. I always told Gregory, you have to want the job," Michaelis said. "I did, he did. You, young broadcast journalist, do not. Are you thinking of journalism school?"
Noah glanced at Jes, who shrugged. "Don't ask me, kid, it's your life. I can advise, but I can't pick it out for you."
"What if I don't know?" Noah asked.
Michaelis considered it. He'd known pretty young, and Gregory had too. If he hadn't known, he definitely wouldn't have gone to Institut Alpin, as much as he'd liked it there.
"If you aren't working directly towards a goal yet," he said slowly, "then there's no point going somewhere that's going to try to push you towards one you might not want. You should...explore, I suppose. Like your parent did -- learn what's out there in the world. In a structured way through formal education, and not by running off to another country," he added, when he saw Jes's look.
"Huh." Noah sifted through the pamphlets again. "It'd be cool to learn, like, knot tying and sailing and stuff. And useful, I guess. I could get credit for the podcast."
"Sounds like the Maritime Academy would be a fine choice, then," Michaelis said.
"Anyway, most schools are pretty much the same, aren't they?" Noah continued. "Reading, writing, arithmetic. College prep, school dances."
"I suppose in some respects, but not all. I had to take comportment at boarding school, and they still taught it when Gregory went," Michaelis said.
"Comportment?" Noah asked, grinning.
"Of course. Manners, dancing, table etiquette, how to address nobility. All of that. A good skill set for a king to have."
"What kind of dancing? I mean, I guess not like...Photogram dances," Noah said.
"No," Michaelis laughed. "More like Strictly Come Dancing. Ballroom," he clarified. "I've probably spent more time waltzing than you've spent alive."
"Funny to think of you dancing," Jes said.
"Why?" Michaelis asked.
"I don't know, I suppose I think of the king as the guy who sits on the throne and watches others dance."
"Great opportunity for diplomacy, dancing. Everyone should know a little," Michaelis said. "And a waltz is easy, so you can talk and dance at the same time."
"It never looks easy on the dancing reality shows," Noah said.
"Of course not, they want you caught up in the drama of it all. Here, I'll show you." Michaelis took out his phone, scrolling through his playlist for a waltz and putting it on, the music low. He stood up and offered Noah a hand. "I'll teach you how, it doesn't take long."
"Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, backwards and in heels," Jes said.
"Yes, I have seen that t-shirt," Michaelis informed them. Noah narrowed his eyes at Michaelis, but got up and took his hand. "Now. As your parent says, generally the lady has to dance backwards, but in Askazer-Shivadlakia, if she's of higher rank than you, you have to. And what if you have two men dancing, like now? Or if you're dancing with someone like Jes? A gentleman, Noah, always knows both parts, and defers to his partner's preference."
"Doesn't sound like much fun, being a gentleman," Noah said, as Michaelis positioned them on the open floor.
"I've always enjoyed the gallantry aspect of it," Jes said. "Getting to make someone feel special. That transcends gender."
"Or it ought," Michaelis agreed. "All right, so if you lead, we do a simple box step..."
Noah was a quick study, as Michaelis had expected, but he didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about it. Which was fair; unless you were training to be king, he supposed it wasn't a very relevant life skill a lot of the time. After teaching him to lead and at least to know when he was following, he let Noah go back to the table, idly paging through the Maritime Academy pamphlet again.
"Here, kid, let me show you how it's done," Jes said, getting up. Before Michaelis could come up with either an excuse or a good reason they shouldn't, Jes had placed one hand in Michaelis's and the other on his hip, in the leading position.
"Sure you're up for this?" Michaelis managed. "I've done this a lot more often than you have."
"That's cute, but drag and ballroom dancing are like half an inch apart," Jes said. "I've waltzed with men in heels higher than your opinion of yourself right now."
"Burn," Noah commented, sitting back to watch.
"Noah, turn Michaelis's old-dude music off and get my phone," Jes said, giving Michaelis a narrow look. "Track two on the dance beat playlist."
"Oooh," Noah said, queuing up some fancy pop song Michaelis wasn't familiar with.
"Quickstep," Jes told Michaelis, and about half a second later swept him off his feet.
He knew how to dance, that was automatic, and he could do a quickstep while following, but Jes had a bounce to them that he barely kept up with, and they were less cautious about banging into the furniture than he was. It took a few bars to get his feet truly under him, but then it was -- well, fun, swinging around the room, letting Jes direct the movement, keeping his focus on their face to keep from getting dizzy. Noah was singing along to the song in the background, and when it went to a typical pop-music bridge, Jes spun around and said, "Okay, now you."
He jumped into the lead role, keeping their orbit a little tighter just in case they'd been straying near furniture, and for the last minute of the song was really only paying attention to Jes, not even to the music or Noah or the room spinning behind them.
When the music ended, they swirled to a stop and Michaelis stepped back and bowed. Jes lifted his hand in theirs and kissed the back of it, grinning. It felt like an electric shock ran through his body.
"Okay, that was a little cool," Noah said, somewhere in the distance.
"Thanks," Jes said, turning away to sit down again.
Michaelis stood there for a moment, startled and confused, lit up with a desire he hadn't even thought he was capable of anymore.
Jes was fun and interesting and had flirted before, but that had just been entertaining, nothing expected to come from it. Now -- very abruptly -- he wanted.
"Getting your breath back?" Jes asked from the table, where they'd settled back in with Noah.
"Ah, yes. And some water, I think. Anything for you?" he asked, going to the sink to compose himself. It wasn't entirely successful, but at least it put some distance between him and that dance.
"No, I'm good," Jes replied. "Thanks, that was fun."
He had to get his breathing, and his pulse, and his damn emotions all under control. This wasn't an accidental affectionate look at the beach, this was bound to be obvious. He took down a glass, slowly, and filled it with water. By the time he'd downed half of it, his body at least was settled back into itself.
He came back to the table, sitting across from Noah, who was chattering at Jes about enrolling and school supplies and uniforms. All very...familial. Like Noah was a second son, blithely unworried about the crown.
This was...this was probably unwise. Not just his being here, pretending at parenthood of a child that wasn't his, but this sudden, sharp, bewildering attraction. He couldn't act on it. Jes lived here, they were working together, and -- he'd spent his whole life with women, well, with a single specific woman, who he was well aware he was not entirely over and probably never would be. Unfair to Jes. And he had no idea how to go about navigating anything more complicated than he already had with Jes.
But he wanted to. He wanted to learn how to. Also unfair to make Jes show him.
He considered this while Jes and Noah battled their way through the paperwork. If this was just his libido waking up after a few years of grieving, it could go right back to sleep. He wouldn't hurt Jes that way simply because they were present and available and possibly even amenable. He'd enjoyed knowing they thought he was attractive, noticing it and encouraging it, when he knew neither of them wanted it to go anywhere.
Now his mind whispered that there were all kinds of places it could go. Some of them were thrilling. Not all of them were good.
Well, that was what research was for, he supposed. He liked books, but he'd be at sea trying to find books about this. Jes, on the other hand, liked people -- going to first-hand sources, finding experts, talking to witnesses.
He leaned forward briefly to pick his phone up off the table, pulling up his text messages.
Word with you tomorrow? he asked Gregory, not expecting a swift reply, but one came back almost immediately.
I have some time in the afternoon. Anything urgent?
No. Personal business, not political. Nothing to worry about.
Lunch?
Prefer it in private.
But nothing's wrong? I could do three, but earlier if you need it, Gregory said.
Nothing's wrong. Three is fine. See you then, he said, and set his phone down again.
Chapter 21: Infinite Jes: Ch9
Summary:
Warning in this chapter for discussions of injuries and blood; nothing overly graphic and no serious injury, but if you're sensitive to any of that please be aware.
Chapter Text
His father might have told him not to worry, but when Michaelis arrived at Gregory's office that afternoon, something was definitely wrong. He was tense in a very specific way -- posture intent, shoulders back, face a careful blank. He wasn't upset or angry; he was confused, and Gregory knew his father well enough to know how much he hated being confused.
"Come over to the window," Gregory said, settling on the bench by his big office window. "I get tired of the desk and you're not a job applicant."
"I thought you were finished with hiring the new staff."
"We are, mostly. Though if you want a job I'm pretty sure there are some open," Gregory said, as Michaelis settled next to him. "It didn't sound serious in text, but it looks pretty serious from here. What's going on?"
"I want to ask you something," Michaelis said. "I think you might have more expertise in some areas than I do. I have a bit of a modern dilemma, but I'm not sure how to ask about it, to be honest." He gave Gregory a dry smile. "Difficult for a man to go to his son for advice."
"If it helps, technically you're also my subject," Gregory said, bumping his shoulder against his father's. "How can the king advise?"
"I don't want to pull you into something that isn't your responsibility," Michaelis said, studying his hands. "And if you don't want to answer any of this, you don't have to."
"Now I'm a little worried," Gregory said. "You're not in some kind of legal trouble, are you?"
"Hah. No. That'd be easier, actually, I know how to pay a bribe."
"Dad!"
"Well, politics was different when I was young." Michaelis slouched backwards, a move Gregory recognized -- he did it himself when he was at loose ends. "All right. I know when you came out, lord, a decade ago now, you were older than a lot of people do it these days. You took a while. To be sure of yourself. To know what you wanted to do and how to do it."
"Yeah. You were still the first person I told," Gregory said. "Well. Mom, then you."
"And I'm glad of that. I know I haven't always been perfect about it. I was so pleased you felt you could trust me, and I'm grateful you...tolerated me."
"It wasn't like that," Gregory said quietly. "I could always see you were trying."
"I was," Michaelis agreed. "I was just very worried about how the world would treat you. Never worried about you, yourself."
"I know."
"What I want to know is...how did you know? I know you struggled, you weren't sure...did you just wake up one day knowing, at last?"
Gregory frowned, considering this.
"Well. Around ten or so, you sort of start to get the message that things are going to change, you get told about the birds and bees and that someday you'll find girls interesting for new and exciting reasons," he said at last. "Even in Askazer-Shivadlakia, we're so small, most of the media comes from elsewhere and at least when I was growing up it was very heterosexual. The implication was always that starting to like girls, that's when you start to grow up. It isn't true, but a lot of people think it is."
Michaelis nodded.
"So I kept waiting to grow up, to find girls interesting, and I figured maybe I was just...a late bloomer or something, but I realized eventually that wasn't going to happen. And I wasn't sure what I felt about boys was right, either."
"Oh, no, Gregory -- "
"Not like that!" Gregory said hastily. "I didn't think I was wrong or something. Maybe I didn't like anyone! I just couldn't be sure what I was feeling. So I had to test it out. And eventually I worked out that it was going to be men, for me. After that I still had to work out how to tell people, or even if to tell people, given I wanted to be king. I had your public relations office do a poll, did you know?"
"You did what?"
"When I was nineteen. I had them do some secret market research about whether Askazer-Shivadlakia would elect a gay king. Good news is, they came back 91% positive on the idea, and here I am, so well done us."
Michaelis chuckled, which was good -- at least he wasn't as panicked as before. "Of course you did market research."
"Got to, these days. The point is, by the time I came out, I had some kind of ground to stand on. But no, it wasn't sudden. It took time."
"And a lot of work, it sounds like."
"Well, I did almost fail French Lit. I was distracted by a boy." Gregory grinned sidelong at him. "Why do you ask? Are you at the chapter in your memoirs where your extremely awkward twenty year old son tells you he's gay? I can come on the podcast and talk about it, if you want. I don't mind."
He could see his father considering how to answer, considering whether to lie. He cut that off quickly.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked. "Like...are you seeing someone? You know it'd be okay. Mom would want you to be happy -- "
"That's not exactly it," Michaelis said. "There's a person I care for, yes. I would actually be concerned you wouldn't be comfortable with me seeing someone after your mother passed, so that's good to hear. The problem is that I don't know precisely how I feel, and I don't want to get involved if I'm going to hurt them, even inadvertently. With your mother I knew, in a heartbeat, there was a specific day and hour that I knew, and that knowing didn't go away until she died. I was so certain with her and now nothing in my life is certain, anywhere."
He sounded distressed, like this one thing had somehow managed to put his entire life into a tailspin. Gregory turned on instinct and pulled him into a hug, tugging his father's head down to his shoulder. It said a lot that he went without protest, and stayed there for a while. They weren't really either of them big on hugging, but apparently everything was out the window today.
"It's a lot of change," Gregory said at last. "The last few months. I know how you feel. All this is kind of new to me, too."
Michaelis nodded and finally leaned back. "Thank you."
"Well, however I can continue to be awkward," Gregory said with a smile. Michaelis matched it, then looked away. "Seriously. You know what you and Mom had was weird and not the way these things normally work, right?"
"What?"
"Nobody falls in love with their soulmate in their teens and spends the next few decades happily ruling a country with them. You are literally some kind of fairytale prince," Gregory said. "Most of us have to fight to get something like that. You and Mom were effortless, but that's not how this normally goes."
"You have Edward," Michaelis said.
"I do, yes, and I love him, but he is so much work, you have no idea," Gregory said. "And I dated a lot of people before him, and he dated a lot of people before me. We had breakups and hurt people and got hurt, that's how dating is. What you're feeling now is what the rest of us spent our twenties feeling."
"Oh," Michaelis said.
"Yeah. It's okay to worry about hurting someone if you don't know how you feel, but that's just going to happen sometimes, I'm afraid," Gregory said. "The fact you're worried strongly suggests whoever this person is, you do care about them."
"Mm."
"Dad, listen...is it a guy?" Gregory said. "Because the drift of this conversation reminds me of being twenty again. It's fine if it is, I'm actually on much more solid ground with sexuality crises. There are books I can recommend."
"It's Jes," Michaelis said.
"Ah. Oh. Wow," Gregory said. Immediately, he could see it -- Jes was attractive, seemed like an interesting person, and they'd been working together, living in the same building if not the same rooms. It actually explained a few things. "I can see how that would be -- "
"Complex, yes," Michaelis agreed. "I do think they're interested, I'm not completely blind to this kind of thing, but the last thing I want to do is begin something and then turn coward. I get the sense Jes has probably had a lot of that in their life. I don't want to add to it."
"Does that seem likely?" Gregory asked hesitantly.
"Not likely, but possible. I don't know, Gregory. I don't know if I could be with anyone who wasn't your mother," Michaelis said, clearly frustrated. "Before now I'd have said I was fine being alone."
"Oh, Dad," Gregory said.
"I was," Michaelis insisted. "And then I met Jes and I had something to occupy my time again. And if it's just that I feel useful around them, them and Noah, that's not enough to sustain anything real."
"You don't know if you like Jes or just the person you are around them," Gregory said. Michaelis nodded. "You really can't do anything by halves in your life, can you?"
"I wouldn't get too smart about it, that gene's in you somewhere too," Michaelis replied.
"Yeah, well, that's Eddie's problem," Gregory replied. "Is this useful at all, what we're doing here?"
"Yes. I think so. It's one more thread to pull on trying to unravel all this," Michaelis said. "I do appreciate it."
"Do you, uh, want the books anyway? There are a couple on genderqueer relationships that might help."
"No. Well. Maybe make sure you know where they are. You know me, I like to muddle through on my own."
"Another thing that will probably eventually become Eddie's problem," Gregory sighed. "What can I do to help?"
"You've done it, as far as you can, I think," his father said. "Just having someone else's perspective is helpful. Do you...like Jes? That matters too, you know."
"From what I've seen of them, yes. But you're a grown man and so am I, I don't have to like the people you date."
"I'd prefer if you did."
"Then yes. I like them," Gregory said. "And I'm pleased you've found something that makes you happy, whether or not you do anything about this...potential thing with Jes. Come talk if you need to, you don't have to make an appointment. I'll make time."
"You're the king, you know that's not how this works."
"When I was twelve you canceled Parliament for the day because I was having a nervous breakdown over acne. If you didn't want me to make time for family you shouldn't have led by example," Gregory said with a smile.
"I'm your father, that's different."
"Not really, but that's a fight we can have some other time. Come talk whenever you need to, I always have time for you. Though maybe not Tuesday nights if you can avoid it."
Michaelis looked at him askance as they both stood. "What's on Tuesday night that's so vital?"
"Date night with Eddie. It's for your own good, you don't want to walk in on anything."
"Ah. Duly noted." Michaelis hesitated, then hugged Gregory again. "Thank you."
"Anytime," Gregory said. "Even Tuesday if you have to."
When his father was gone, Alanna knocked on the doorway.
"I just saw Michaelis leaving," she said. "He looked confused, and I only know it was confusion because I've never seen that expression on his face before."
"He's going through some things," Gregory said vaguely.
"Aren't we all," Alanna replied. "Is he okay?"
"He will be. He usually is. Ready for afternoon debrief?"
"Of course. Excitingly, the first of the building projects should go through budget approval tomorrow..."
It was not a long walk back to the lodge from the palace, and Michaelis felt that he could use a truly long walk right now. He thought better when he was moving, and the lake felt mockingly serene. How dare it be so scenic when human beings had to deal with turmoil like this?
He almost laughed. He was much too old to be so dramatic, even being Shivadh. Still, instead of taking the trail around the lake back to the lodge, he took the road directly down into Fons-Askaz. At least the act of having to keep out of the way of foot traffic and cars felt suitably chaotic.
He was conscious, in a way he wasn't usually, of the murmurs that surrounded and followed him. Locals knew him and didn't care much, but the tourists were thick on the ground and all of them clearly recognized him, some consulting the cash bills in their hands for comparison. He kept his expression abstracted -- not forbidding, just a little distant and, hopefully, unapproachable. He saw one person take a selfie with him in the background, but ignored it.
What was the point of having trained to rule, having ruled for decades, and having graciously handed over rule to his son, if he couldn't get a handle on this? Gregory was right, hurting people was sometimes simply a part of having relationships with them, and that obviously meant this shouldn't happen. Jes didn't deserve that and Noah certainly didn't. Even if he did know how to handle this, the possibility was still there that he'd screw it up. So, he would need to figure out a way around it.
That, at least, was a plan. It let him slow his pace a little, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. Fine; that was a problem to solve instead of an intractable roadblock.
He turned down an alley off the high street, stopping at the little side-door bakery he knew was there. They had a nice new awning and a few new pastries; one of them was a chocolate croissant that looked like a panda, and Michaelis examined it with curiosity.
"You would not believe who buys them just to take a photo," the baker said with a grin. "You make one cute pastry, you've made your sales for the week."
"Why a panda, though?" Michaelis asked.
"Who knows, Your Grace? My daughter suggested it. Someone else was already doing birds and rabbits."
"Hm. Well, it's still your croissant, isn't it? Two of the pandas in a box, and a sausage roll -- the lamb, if you have it."
"Want the roll hot?"
"Please."
Bakery box dangling from his fingers and sausage roll in hand, he felt a little better about the world. There was a scenic overlook on the harbor not far away; while the promenade had a number of people on it, the benches were empty. He sat and ate and watched people come and go, letting things simmer until he felt ready to consider them. That was the way his mind worked, he knew that well enough -- it took time for the gears to grind all the way around, but he could be patient.
His phone beeped, eventually, and he looked down to a text from Eddie.
Don't jump :D it read, and he opened it to find a screengrab of a Photogram of himself. Someone had taken his picture, sitting on the bench, looking contemplative, and posted it while he was still sitting there.
They'd captioned the photo Nice to know even the former king has sadness dinner sometimes.
He considered it, then texted back, Edward, life has become very recursive.
Not sure what that means, but let me know if you need a ride home or someone to talk to.
No, I'm fine. It wasn't a sadness dinner, it was a nice snack.
Eddie sent him a thumbs-up icon. Michaelis sat back and let a smile drift across his face, just in case anyone else was concerned. A few people nodded to him as they passed and he nodded back. Eventually he stretched a little, rising to go to the railing and watch a sailboat tacking into the harbor.
One thing he had learned in his career was the control of strong emotions. Especially when he was new on the throne, he couldn't show if he was upset or angry about something. He'd thought of himself not as two people but as two parts of a person -- the king, and Michaelis. Back then, if Michaelis was angry, he slipped into being the king. A little distant, very dignified, full of authority. He'd been twenty-one when he was crowned. What else could he do?
He hadn't had to use that kind of thinking in years. As one got older, all the politics seemed increasingly petty. Important, but not important enough for passion. He'd developed a level head, and he just needed to find the level again.
Well, he'd done it once; he could simply retreat a little into the king again, when things got intense. It would protect both him and Jes, and nobody would come to harm. If they couldn't have that...potential, as Gregory called it, well, one couldn't have everything in this life.
Content with this, he turned from the sailboat, docking safely in harbor, and began the walk back to the lodge.
When he let himself in, Noah and Jes were in the kitchen; Jes looked up from their half-eaten dinner and smiled. Michelis nodded and held up the bakery box.
"Wait until you see what nonsense I found," he said, and Noah took the box from him while Jes kicked out a chair so he could sit.
"PANDA CROISSANTS," Noah crowed, and Jes took the one he handed them and tore into it with delight while Noah looked for the best lighting to photograph his.
And the king Michaelis had decided to be, his very important and careful armor, simply evaporated. He couldn't even regret it. All his resolve and his plans, gone in a flash.
There was a restaurant in town -- near the bakery, actually -- that had nice views of the water and did extremely good pasta. He was pretty sure he could get a reservation there without too much trouble. He'd wait a few days, make sure the weather would be fine, and ask Jes to have dinner with him, as a date, to see how it would go.
It would have worked, probably.
Instead, it was all Noah's fault.
Michaelis had found the restaurant's phone number, and had meant to speak to the palace scheduler, who could swing him both the best table and an ideal time, but his days were so busy now. He was recording a new episode with Noah most of the morning, and in the afternoon he had retakes to do with Jes, as well as some kind of weird sound check Lachlan was insisting on.
They were nearly done, at least he hoped, and Lachlan was talking about possible vocal rest and not having any dairy for a week, when Jes's phone went berserk.
Michaelis, blinking at the sudden strobe lights and sirens coming from a phone, jerked backwards as if it might explode. Jes grabbed it and fumbled to silence it, while Lachlan leapt up from his seat.
"What the hell was that?" Michaelis asked, but Jes just held up a finger and set the phone down, tapping whatever insane button appeared on the screen.
"Noah, is that you?" they asked.
"Emergency ringtone," Lachlan said to Michaelis softly. "Noah uses it if he needs to interrupt recording."
"Hey Boss," Noah said, voice staticky over the speakerphone. "Can you hear me okay?"
"Sure can, what's going on? You're echoing, where are you?"
"Uh, you remember when Michaelis said there was a secret wine cellar?" Noah asked.
"He's here too -- you remember that?" Jes asked, because they clearly didn't.
"I do, Noah," Michaelis said. "It was just a rumor, though."
"I think I found it," Noah said. "I kinda fell in. You might have to come get me out."
"Wild Child, I am going to tie you to a chair," Jes said. "Are you okay?"
"Nothing bleeding," Noah said cheerfully.
"That's not an answer," Michaelis said, and from the look on Jes's face he wasn't the only one startled by how stern he sounded.
"Might have a twisted ankle. Nothing else hurts," Noah said, more meekly. "It is dark and the spiders are large, so if you could hurry..."
"Where are you from where we are?" Jes asked, getting up with the phone and walking out of the studio. Michaelis followed, Lachlan on his heels.
"Okay, so the room Michaelis said was the bunker's nursery?" Noah said.
"Yes, I know the one," Michaelis answered, leading them across the big meeting space and through the doorway.
"There's a hallway on the other side," Noah said.
"The one that goes to the north end of the garage?"
"Yeah, that one. You know the weird wood panel in the middle of the wall?"
"Yes, my son," Jes said, voice turning vaguely threatening, and Michaelis could see why -- the panel had been pulled down and laid on the floor. "Noah, did you -- how did you even get that off the wall?"
"I didn't! It fell off, I heard it fall so I came to investigate," Noah said over the speaker. They could hear his actual voice as well, if only faintly. "There's a secret room behind it! You try to resist a secret room!"
"I'm gonna hang up, we can hear you," Jes said, and put the phone away. "Noah!"
"I think there is actually a lot of wine here!" Noah's voice drifted in.
Jes climbed through the strange, half-plastered hole the wooden panel had been covering. Michaelis eyed it warily.
"This is some nonsense haunted-house bullshit," Lachlan yelled through the gap.
"Thanks, Uncle Lachlan, I want that on a t-shirt," Noah called back.
"Michaelis! Lachlan! Stop being dipshits and come in here!" Jes yelled. Michaelis let Lachlan squeeze through and then followed, scraping up his face when he met an unexpected jut of broken wood in the wall.
"Girl, the demolition of it all," Lachlan said, joining Jes at the edge of a gaping hole in the floor of the weird little room they were in. Unlike the rest of the bunker, it had dirt walls and wood floors.
"It's a miracle he even got a phone signal out to you," Michaelis said, using the light from his phone to study the wooden beams propping up ceiling panels, which were showing distinct signs of rot.
"The wifi can get in here from the hallway," Noah called up. "I wouldn't go anywhere in the lodge that I couldn't get wifi."
"Nice to know you have one boundary," Michaelis drawled.
"Did you fall through?" Jes asked. "You sound like you're about twenty feet down."
"Only a little," Noah said. "The hole was already here. There used to be stairs at one end. I kinda fell through the last few stairs and then they fell in after me."
"He's very calm about this," Michaelis said to Lachlan.
"He's the only one," Lachlan replied. Jes lit up the flashlight on their phone and aimed it down the hole, catching Noah's dirty but apparently unharmed face.
"I don't think even Lachlan's going to be able to reach you," they said.
"I am not dangling my ass down into that hole unless I have to, either," Lachlan replied.
"Can we call the fire department? Or, um, a mountaineer?" Noah suggested.
"I don't want you in that hole a second longer than necessary. This entire room isn't stable," Michaelis said.
"Well, unless you can levitate me out..."
"Rope," Michaelis said. Jes looked up at him. "There's plenty upstairs. Stay here with him. I'll get some rope and a pulley."
"What the fuck do we do with a pulley?" he heard Lachlan ask, but he was already slipping back out into the hallway, running full-tilt for the stairs.
Upstairs he headed for the supply shed next to the lodge. It was a catch-all for anything one might need -- spare oars and swimsuits, fishing poles and bows, camping gear, and emergency supplies. No ladders, which was something he was going to address at a future date. He pulled down two coils of rope that looked relatively new, then rummaged for a pulley, which fortunately came already attached to a tripod -- he guessed it was for getting small boats in and out of the water. After a second of consideration, he also took a knife from the shelf and a plastic tarp from the pile near the door.
He had to shove it all through the gap before he could get through, Lachlan taking the supplies while Jes kept up a running conversation with Noah.
"He's recording it, because of course he is," Lachlan said.
"Great content, though," Michaelis replied, even as he became aware it was probably not the appropriate thing to say.
"I know, I'm so pissed he thought of it first," Lachlan replied.
"Okay, Noah, I'm going to drop a tarp and a knife down to you," Michaelis said, kneeling at the edge. The only light in the room was Jes's phone light, lying on the floor next to them; he should have thought to take a lantern as well. "While we get this set up, you cut the tarp into strips. I want you to wrap your arms in them from palm to elbow, because that's where you're going to lock the rope, around your arms. The tarp will protect your skin. How are you at a dead hang?"
"What the hell's a dead hang?" Noah asked, sounding alarmed.
"Never mind. Just get to work," Michaelis said, and let the tarp fall. "Knife coming down, watch yourself," he added, and leaned as far into the hole as he could before dropping it. The floorboards creaked ominously.
"If the floor gives way I am going to throw a shit fit that will be so loud it'll get us rescued," Lachlan said.
"Don't brag if you can't back it up," Michaelis advised, examining the tripod. The problem was the size of the hole and relative smallness of the room -- no space for the tripod to actually sit. They'd have to just use it as a pole. "Here. We can't sit this on the floor so someone's going to have to hold it here at an angle. Do you think you can keep this steady while I pull Noah up with it?" he asked, handing the pole to Jes so they could test the weight.
"Lachlan, come help," Jes said, fixing their arms around the pole and leaning back. Lachlan got in front of them, resting it across his shoulders.
"I'll hold, you anchor," he said, and Jes moved back to keep the tip of it steady on the floor.
Michaelis unwound one of the coils of rope and began fixing it through the pulley, the same as he'd hitch it to bring a boat out onto a dock.
"Start getting ready to brace now," he said, as he paid out the rope, hanging over the open gap. "Noah, let me know when it touches ground."
"Got it!" Noah said.
"Great. Grab it at shoulder height and wrap your arms in it, so that it locks in place."
"Like the guys who do the silk acrobatics," Noah said.
"Sure," Michaelis agreed. "Let me know when you're ready. I'm going to pull you up but if you can keep your abdomen tense and your knees lifted we'll get you up a little faster. Safer, too."
"I'm ready!"
"This is going to be really ugly for about three minutes," Michaelis said, and began to pull.
Lachlan groaned and then swore, not obscenely but still quite imaginatively. Jes grunted and kicked one foot out to brace themself, heel digging into the soft wood. Michaelis pulled hand over hand, as fast as he dared, throwing his weight back on each tug, gradually moving backwards. Noah's arms appeared above the gap and then his face; when his shoes were visible, Lachlan swung the pole sharply to the left.
Noah and Lachlan tumbled onto the wood floor together and the pole clattered to the ground; Jes skidded in the opposite direction, and Michaelis went backwards with a thump, now that the tension was off the ropes. He gasped for a second, breath knocked out of him, and then pushed himself up on his elbows.
Lachlan was helping Noah to his feet and hustling him towards the door; Jes was scrambling up to offer Michaelis a hand, and he let himself be tugged to a sitting position, then got his first deep breath and pushed himself upright as Jes gathered up their phone.
"Go, this isn't safe," he said. "I'll follow, just get up to the lodge."
They nodded and slipped out, and he cut himself again getting through, but at least nothing collapsed before he managed it. It took him a while to climb the stairs, still winded, but the chaos upstairs was at least under control when he arrived.
Noah was sitting on the kitchen counter, getting checked over by Jes. Lachlan fussed around the boy, helping him get the crumpled tarp off his arms and clucking over the bruising there. Jes, satisfied there were no broken bones, noticed Lachlan's skinned elbows, and got the first aid kit from under the sink. Michaelis, still getting his lung capacity back, leaned in the doorway and watched, gently stretching his arms.
He was just starting to think about quietly disappearing to clean the dust and sweat off himself when Lachlan turned around and blurted "CARRIE!" at him in a panicked voice.
"Oh, shit, Michaelis," Jes said, dropping the first aid kit. He looked behind him, wondering what was wrong.
"Your face," Lachlan said, as Jes gathered up the kit and went to him, pulling him into the kitchen. They held up his hand in theirs, staring at it. He realized his knuckles and palms were scraped raw, red rivulets drying in tracks down his wrists on both arms. To his shock, his shirt was covered in still-damp blood.
"It looks worse than it is," he said, confused. "Nothing hurts, they can't be that deep. I don't know where all the rest of the blood is from -- "
"Inside you!" Lachlan yelped.
Jes was wetting a towel in the sink, and he saw their hands shaking from the adrenaline crash as they carried it over. They rubbed the cool towel gently against his forehead, bringing it away stained red, and then ran it down one cheek --
His face erupted in sudden, stinging pain, like antiseptic ointment on road rash. He let out a startled bellow.
"Found where the blood came from," Jes said. "Sorry, I'll be gentler."
He braced for a second swipe and managed to hold still, even when Lachlan actually did follow Jes's cleaning with spray antiseptic. The pain, at least, kept his mind off the newly discovered rope burn on his palms that Jes was trying to clean. He heard Noah taking pictures behind them and shot the boy a scolding glare.
"You really tore yourself up," Lachlan said. "If there is any good wine down there, you should call dibs."
"I think it's probably state property," Michaelis said.
"Not if the state never finds out about it. If you don't want it, at least let me loose before you report it. Ah, scalp wound," Lachlan added, working his way around behind Michaelis's ear. "Lie back and think of Askaz, darling."
Lachlan finally got everything disinfected to his high standards, and Jes wrapped the worst of the rope burns in gauze. When they were finished, Noah got off the counter, eyes huge and sad in the way only drama-filled adolescence allowed.
"I'm really sorry," he said. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt."
"We know, Wild Child," Lachlan said quietly.
"You've got to be careful," Jes said, sounding more anxious than angry. They rubbed his back. "We'll talk about it later. You're not in any trouble and I'm sure seeing what happened to Michaelis is punishment enough if you were."
"Sorry, Michaelis," Noah practically whispered, head hanging low.
Michaelis rested a bandaged hand on Noah's arm, wincing, and then pulled him forward. As soon as he was close enough, he wrapped him in a hug, face pressed to his dusty hair.
"Small price to pay to get you out safely," he said, as Noah's arms wrapped around his waist. "Glad you weren't hurt, Tavat."
Jes, he could see, recognized the word, though Lachlan and Noah clearly didn't. He let go and held Noah away from him, giving him a quick once-over.
"Why don't you go wash up? If anything starts to hurt, call Jes at once," he ordered, and gave Noah a gentle push.
"I'm gonna make sure everything gets saved and shut down properly," Lachlan said, moving towards the bunker stairs. "Nobody fall through anything until I get back, I have an extremely delicate constitution for this kind of thing."
Michaelis took the dish towel from Jes, refolding it to find a clean patch. He pulled his bloody shirt off and rubbed his neck clean with the towel. Jes turned and sat on the counter, next to him. After a minute or two, they laughed and put their hands on their head.
"That was really, really scary," they said. "My child almost literally fell down a well like in an old Lassie movie."
"He's definitely your kid," Michaelis said, moving to stand in front of them, still trying to get blood and grime off his neck. "But also, I'm pretty sure having an unstable secret wine cellar hidden behind a warped old board in the hallway is a liability."
"Are you saying I should sue?"
"Rather hoping you won't, but you'd have grounds," he said. They leaned forward and rested their forehead on his bare shoulder. He covered the nape of their neck with one hand and leaned his head to the side, speaking quietly, mouth close to their ear. "He's safe, Jes. Kids get into scrapes. Of all the dangerous stuff he could do at his age, this is remarkably wholesome."
"I'm still terrified."
"What kind of parent would you be if you weren't? He's not even my kin and I was scared, too."
"Bet King Gregory never fell in a wine hole."
"My son once crashed a golf cart into a water hazard and nearly drowned half the royal cousins and himself."
"That doesn't sound like him. Was he drinking?"
"No, he was seven. But he definitely did the driving on purpose, which is more than you can accuse Noah of. Did get me out of ever having to go golfing again, which I hated, so in the end I suppose I should be grateful."
Jes rested their fingertips against his ribs, trembling slowly subsiding. They turned their head further, pressing their nose into the hollow of his throat.
"Jes -- " he began, worried.
"Please, don't make me feel weird about this," Jes said. "I just -- "
"No, no, shh," he said. "I'm not objecting." He considered his next words carefully. Jes, apparently not aware they were supposed to wait, lifted their head and kissed him.
He felt like he sort of tumbled into it, letting them run the show, until good sense kicked in and he pulled away gently. He didn't go far; no one had that much self control.
"Can't get a word in edgewise with you," he said. Jes laughed nervously. They looked a mess. He slid his hand around from where it still cupped the back of their head, so that he could cradle their cheek.
"I want this very badly," he said in a low voice. "I've seen enough to know you probably do too. But there's some reason you always pull back, and I've never pushed it either. That's fine, I didn't expect it to go anywhere. This, now, is a stress reaction, and that's fine too. It just means...I'm not going to hold you to anything you do right now, and I'm not going to do much until I know you're really good with this. Or until we're both more in our right minds. Now is not a good time for this. Later will work just as well."
"I was worried it might endanger the network, us getting entangled. We were working in your home, after all, and then we moved into it...and I was worried about Noah," they said. "If it went badly. He might get caught in the crossfire. I never, ever wanted him to get trapped between two people who hate each other."
"Not like your parents," he guessed. They nodded miserably. "I would never hurt that boy intentionally. Or you."
"Yeah, I'm seeing that," they said.
Michaelis leaned in slowly, giving Jes time to meet him halfway. When they kissed, he could taste chalky plaster dust and his own blood. Jes pushed forward and his mouth opened, scrapes on his cheek singing in pain. It felt spectacular, dangerous and satisfying. He stepped in and slid his free hand around their waist, their arms resting on his shoulders. When he finally retreated, because he could hear footsteps, they looked dazed.
"Lachlan's on the stairs," he said. "We'll talk later? Perhaps tonight?"
Jes nodded and gave him a quick last kiss, then turned in time to see Lachlan emerge from below.
"You both look like you've been through a small war," he said. "Not to be the pragma queen instead of the drama queen but Jes, we are going to need to rebook the last few appointments for studio time today, unless you want me to keep going."
"No, that's not fair to you or them. I can help call and make the changes," they said, glancing at Michaelis.
"I should make some calls about the wine cellar. We're going to need a structural engineer and a historian, which sounds like the start of a joke," Michaelis said. "I'll do it from my rooms."
He showered first and then called Gregory, who was equal parts alarmed and intrigued. They had to have a brief debate about whether Michaelis or Noah needed formal medical care, which required a promise to see a doctor if anything else started to hurt, but eventually Gregory agreed that rest was probably best. He forwarded the call to the palace switchboard, which connected Michaelis to the head of the historical society. By the time he'd made all the necessary explanations and arrangements with three separate offices of the palace, he was exhausted and crashing fast. He dropped onto the bed to rest for a few minutes, and more or less passed out.
He woke when someone sat on the edge of the bed; Jes, it turned out, looking clean but weary. He sat up, leaning in from behind, and didn't so much kiss their shoulder as tiredly rest his mouth there. They raised a hand to stroke his hair, cautious of the long cut on his scalp.
"How's Noah?" he asked.
"Lachlan's watching a movie with him. I said I'd see how you were doing."
"No worse than I was..." He looked at his watch. "An hour ago when I was having a very surreal conversation with the royal sommelier. And how are you?"
"Better. I know now's probably not what you meant when you said later, but I have questions."
"It's all right. I've had some rest and you've had a bath, so we could be worse," he said. Jes didn't laugh.
"You said you want this," they said.
He propped his chin on their shoulder. "Indeed."
"I don't get the sense that you're casual about dating."
"You are very correct."
"And I don't do that unless I think someone is going to be around for a while, for me but also for Noah. People who are safe. Stable."
"I'm doing my best," he said.
They turned to give him a quick kiss. "I know. Which puts a lot of my worries to rest. But I also need to know that if we do this, you're going to be cool with my identity -- and yours. That you aren't going to startle and bolt because you're too straight for this."
"I was worried about that too. I didn't want to give you a false impression. Asked Gregory for some advice, actually," he said. "It helped, but I couldn't really talk to him about some things. Not a child's job to help his father out like that."
"How do you mean? Incidentally, I'd love to hear Eddie's take on this."
"I considered it, but I didn't feel ready for what I might hear from the sage Eddie Rambler. What I couldn't tell Gregory was that -- I loved his mother, but it was for her, the...essence of who she was. If she'd been a man I might still have loved her, I don't know. And Gregory reminded me that what we had was unusual; we spoke this weird personal language for each other."
"So...are you straight?" Jes asked, looking perplexed and concerned.
"I'm not often attracted to anyone, to be honest. I think perhaps because there was no room for that while Miranda was alive, and we fell in love when I was eighteen. After she passed, well, grief tends to smother that kind of thing. In my limited experience, all of the people I've felt attraction to have been women until now, but I don't have a problem with the fact that you aren't one. I like you, Jes, and I want you. There are reasons this might not work, but...I was planning to ask you to dinner before all this happened."
He kissed their throat, then leaned forward as they twisted around to kiss him on the mouth.
"Well, maybe you are a little queer, then," they said, amused. He held up his thumb and forefinger, a little space apart, and they nodded. "When were you making moves, anyway? You said you never pushed. When did you even drop hints?"
"Jes," Michaelis said. "Did you think I was walking around shirtless after swimming because I wanted to air dry?"
"Oh. Well. That was very nice," they said. "I said hello to your biceps every morning."
"Glad to hear it." He leaned close, voice soft. "I enjoyed it. I had no expectations, but I saw you noticing. I liked that."
Jes turned to him, impulsively. "Let me take you to dinner tomorrow instead," they said. "Instead of you taking me, I mean."
"Sounds fine," he said. "But I'm willing to put out now. How much time do you think we have?"
"They're watching Dune."
"So we could do dinner and at least half an hour of foreplay and still have plenty of time."
"How much foreplay did you intend?" Jes asked, sounding intrigued.
"Dealer's choice," he replied. They kissed him again, deep but gentle.
"You're right, this is coming from stress," they said. "No need to rush."
He nodded but didn't move away; they both sat there for a while, touching quietly, until he sighed.
"What?" they asked.
"I'm going to have to wear concealer to make the scrapes on my face look less intense," he said. "First time I've ever been the one putting on makeup for a date."
They smiled, patting his cheek. "If you want, I know a lipstick that would look killer on you."
"Pass, but I appreciate the thought. Next time I have to wear some for television, maybe."
"Get some more sleep. One of us will wake you for dinner," they said. "I'm going to go listen to Lachlan rhapsodize about Sting's abs."
"Oh, it's the David Lynch one? We could have a whole relationship before that one finishes. Have fun," Michaelis replied, as Jes stood and headed for the door. They turned and gave him a smile so bright and full of promise that he didn't manage to speak before they'd gone.
He slept a little more, waking eventually when his scrapes started to bother him. He found a clean shirt and walked, slow and stiff, out to the front of the lodge. Jes and Noah were both asleep on the couch, Dune still going on mute, and Lachlan was in the kitchen.
"Sit, I'll bring you something," Lachlan said. "It's only canned soup, but it's hot and salty, just like me."
Michaelis nodded gratefully, seating himself and taking the bowl with care.
"How are your scrapes?" Lachlan asked.
"Not too bad. Bet you're bruised to hell from holding up that pulley," Michaelis said.
"Back's going to be purple all over," Lachlan said good naturedly. "But like you told Noah, it's a small price to pay."
Michaelis nodded. Lachlan studied him.
"You said something else, too, when you said that. Something you called Noah," he said. "Tavan?"
"Tavat."
"Is that like a new name he's trying out, or a nickname or something? Unless you're not allowed to tell me."
Michaelis shook his head. "I just said it in the moment. It's in the old Shivadh language. You're not Shivadh by birth."
"No, I'm from Massachusetts. Married in. Jes introduced us, actually. Why?"
"It's a little complicated. We have this...legal tradition, not a law but more of a cultural rule, that some things only princes are allowed to do. But because we are exactly that arrogant, we also say, well, every Shivadh is royalty, everyone is a prince, so anyone can do these forbidden royal things if they dare to. Tavat is what you call a person who is so self-assured that they, as an ordinary person, act like a royal."
"So it's a compliment. Like calling someone brash or daring. Oh! Like the Shivadh version of Wild Child, right?"
Michaelis gave him a measuring look, but Lachlan, as loud as he could be, wasn't indiscreet.
"Yes, coming from anyone else," he admitted. "Coming from me, it's different. Usually you'd translate it to English, especially for a youngster like Noah, as something like...princeling. Little daring prince. But I'm the king. Former king. So when I call someone Tavat, it's layered."
"Almost like saying he's an adopted son," Lachlan said quietly.
"I care about both of them."
Lachlan nodded. "My husband and I adopted. She was only a few days old."
"I listened to the podcast about it. Sounds harrowing."
"It was, but I wouldn't trade it. I would absolutely jump in a wine hole to keep my child from getting a bumped head, let alone anything worse."
"Then she's a very lucky child." Michaelis smiled. "But even if I didn't feel...paternal towards Noah, he is Tavat anyway, you know. A Shivadh princeling if ever I met one. If he manages to survive to adulthood I'll be interested to see where life takes him."
Lachlan sipped his drink. "And Jes?"
Michaelis looked past him to where Jes was sleeping, Noah tucked up against them.
"I didn't know them when they were young, but yes, I'm sure they would have been considered Tavat. Leaving home so young, returning in triumph years later, that's practically mythological. If I were still king, I'd need to coin a word for them. Caez, I think."
"What does Caez mean?"
"Some words for king, like Kaiser and Tsar -- and, incidentally, Askaz -- descend from the Latin, Caesar. It's a family name, but obviously when we think of Caesar we think of emperors, of men. Caez is just a...part of a word. There's no gender involved. It would be a neutral name for a monarch, or the spouse of one."
"Do you mean you'd call them that, or you'd make them one?" Lachlan asked, arching a brow.
Michaelis arched one back. "Objections either way?"
"Only that you two come from pretty different worlds. But Jes is old enough to look after themself. You looked after a country, I assume you can handle them." Lachlan glanced over his shoulder. "It was hard for them to come back here. You made that easier, so I'm inclined to be grateful. And you're pretty, so it's hard to hold much against you," he added with a grin.
"Been skating on my looks all my life, no reason to stop now," Michaelis said, taking a sip of the broth left in his bowl. "Stay here if you want, but I suspect you'd like to go home and have your husband fuss over those bruises. I can look after Jes and Noah."
Lachlan nodded. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, probably?"
"Sure. Unless Noah's not feeling up to recording."
Lachlan gathered his keys and briefcase and left quietly enough that neither Deimos woke. Michaelis tidied what he could in the kitchen, then went into the living room and gently settled on the sofa next to Noah, resting an arm over his shoulders, palm on Jes's bicep on his other side. Noah woke and turned to look up at him, curious.
"Go back to sleep, unless you want some dinner," Michaelis said softly. "Lachlan went home, but I'll be here."
Noah nodded and closed his eyes again, head tilting over to rest against Michaelis's shoulder. Michaelis tugged the remote gently out of Jes's hand and flicked the channel over from Dune to the news, but he spent more time watching light play over Jes's face than he did watching the muted television.
Chapter 22: Infinite Jes: Ch10
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A trio of people arrived at the lodge the following morning, and looked horrified when Michaelis answered the door.
"Your Grace," Joann, the historian from the palace, gaped at him. "What happened?"
"Lost a fight with the wine cellar," Michaelis replied with a smile, gesturing them inside. Overnight, bright blue-purple bruises had developed around the scrapes, which themselves were angry and red. "Please, come in."
"Did you actually go exploring in it?" a rough-hewn looking man asked. "I'm Bennet, by the way, Your Grace. I'm the engineer."
"Pleasure," Michaelis replied. "No, one of my guests fell in, and we had a time getting him out. It's why I wanted you out here today, to make sure nothing further collapses."
Hugo, the palace sommelier, gave him a nod. He'd come to Askazer-Shivadlakia with his brother Simon when they'd been hired for the kitchen, and Michaelis had known him a long time; he was interested to see how he'd react to what might be down there.
"There should be coffee, if you'd like some," he said, leading them down the stairs. "And Noah -- the boy who fell in -- says he's okay to answer some questions about what he saw."
"Oh, the one you're working with!" Joann said. "I've been listening to your podcast -- both of them, actually. A bit fast and loose with some of the history but one can't expect rigorous scholarship for something like that."
"Well, I'm happy to get notes," Michaelis said. "But right now, the cellar's my concern."
Jes and Noah were in the kitchen downstairs, going over something on a tablet; Noah waved when he saw them, and Jes shot Michaelis a warm smile. He gave them a nod.
"So -- coffee, or would you like to speak with Noah here, if he's free, or do you want to see the cellar first?" he asked.
"Boss canceled all my stuff today," Noah said. "I can show them if you want, Michaelis."
"I'd like to see it, and to speak with you, Noah," Joann said. "Hugo's interested in whether you took notes on any of the vintages."
"Yeah, I got some pictures," Noah said. "Okay, come on."
He led the trio off, already talking with Joann, and Michaelis accepted a cup of coffee from Jes gratefully.
"He seems to have bounced back," he said.
"Faster than I will," Jes agreed. "Or you. Those scrapes look nasty this morning."
"I was thinking about that," Michaelis said. "I really would like to have a few days to heal up before I'm out in public and subject to Photogram. I don't want to postpone," he added, before Jes could say anything, "just perhaps to do something a little more private. I thought about asking Simon if he'd do a nice meal for the two of us, but I didn't want to presume."
Jes grinned into their coffee. "Good, I like dancing lead in this relationship."
"I thought you might. Hence asking," he said.
"Hm. Let me think about it. I'm sure I can cook something up that will keep your poor scratched-up face out of the limelight," they said. "I did cancel the recording with Noah today, so you're free to fly off if you like."
"No, I'll stay close. Just in case."
"I know how you feel," Jes said. "Very sweet, with that nickname, by the way. Tavat."
"I thought you recognized it. Lachlan asked me to explain it. I think he's clocked us."
"He won't say anything to anyone. Noah hasn't asked about it? Tavat, I mean."
"He probably doesn't remember. I'll talk to him about it eventually. I know there's not much to this whole idea of genetic personality, but he is so Shivadh, Jes. Tavat to his bones."
"I know. I was hoping he'd be a little milder than I was. I guess he hasn't run away from home yet and he doesn't seem to hate me, so progress is steady but slow."
"Well, at least he's somewhere people understand. And if I'm not recording today I'll just keep an eye on the cellar project, maybe run up to the palace to let Gregory know what's going on." He bent to kiss them, the movement surprisingly natural. "Don't work too hard today."
In the hallway, Bennet the engineer was carefully widening the hole in the wall with a crowbar and a mallet, squaring off corners and breaking away the rough ends of wood that had scraped Michaelis as he'd gone in and out. He had a slim lantern with blinding LEDs set up just inside the entry.
"This used to be a door before it was a hole," he said, as Michaelis approached. "I don't know when or how this happened, but you were right to get everyone out of here as fast as possible. The soil's been eating the wood for decades."
"That wood panel's been there since I can remember -- at least forty years," Michaelis said.
"Wouldn't surprise me." Bennet poked his head through. "It's a mess in here. I can't let you folks in until I get scaffolding up."
"How long?" Hugo inquired.
"To scaffold the interior? Couple of hours. I'm going to have to build out a walkway to the hole in there, get down, brace the floor from underneath, then put more bracing in up here. I can put in some kind of dumbwaiter thing so you can get the wine out. I'll have to haul out debris anyway. You two oughta take the kid and go talk to him somewhere more comfortable, this won't be ready for anyone until well after lunch."
Michaelis gave Noah a look, silently asking if he wanted company; Noah shook his head and led Hugo and Joann back the way they'd come.
"Guess this is what nailed you," Bennet said, hefting a chunk of wood.
"I didn't even feel it at the time," Michaelis said. "By the time we got Noah out, I looked like an extra from a horror film."
"Honestly? You're lucky you didn't bring the entire floor down when you pulled him up," Bennet said.
"Should we have waited?" he asked.
"No, that'd just increase the risk, and it's probably cold down there. Looks like a natural cavern of some kind from the photos, and those don't warm up in summer. He'd have risked frostbite or hypothermia if he was down too long. He said you rigged a pulley -- good thinking."
Michaelis smiled. "Thank you. Not a skill I've often had to put to use."
"So this is the famous lost wine cellar," Bennet said. "Suppose you want lots of documentation. Photos and such."
"As much as you can. I'm more concerned about any kind of collapse affecting the rest of the building. Is the lodge safe to use?"
"Oh yeah. This is outside the footprint of the rest of the building. I'll get upstairs and mark off outside where it is so you don't walk there -- that's a sinkhole waiting to happen -- but the bunker's sound, and the lodge is anchored to the bunker. Safe as can be."
"It was absolutely terrifying," Michaelis said, unsure why he was confessing this to the man whose main responsibility in the palace was making sure nothing fell down. "I was very worried for Noah. Jes was in here and they'd fall if the floor collapsed...I wasn't sure we could get him out with just the rope, either."
"I can imagine," Bennet said sympathetically. "I've been in one or two collapses, after the fact, to brace them up. I was in that one you got a bug in the king's ear about, the office building by the harbor?"
"Yes. I saw the roof fall in on that one."
"Well, either you're cursed to cause building collapses, or blessed to survive them," the man said.
"I suspect it's not me," Michaelis said. "Noah's got a knack for trouble."
"So it's for the best you're around. Go on, I'll take it from here. I know where the loading dock is. Better call some of my people to help out. You mind us doing the work today?"
"Better today than later."
Bennet tipped an imaginary hat. "Then good morning to Your Grace. Next time you see me you'll be standing in a safe wine cellar, hopefully sampling some of the good stuff."
"If there's anything salvageable I'll see you get a bottle," Michaelis said, and went to make sure Hugo wasn't being excessively French at Noah.
"I have a thought," Jes said to him, when he returned to the kitchen.
"I've heard your work, you have many thoughts," he replied.
"About the date," they said. "But it's a little different from what you or I were thinking of."
"Well, I'm open to ideas."
"Lachlan's mother-in-law, Carla, made a standing invitation to us to come for Friday dinner," they said. "Tomorrow's Friday, you could come with us. It'd get us out of the lodge and be sort of like a date. But low-key because there'll be like five other people on the date. Including Lachlan's baby daughter and my teenage son."
Michaelis let a smile spread across his face. "Jes, that sounds delightful."
"Are you sure?" Jes asked. It was obvious they hadn't thought he'd like the idea.
"We didn't meet in a vacuum," he said. "Noah's important to both of us. Lachlan's good opinion is important to me, too, and I've wanted to meet his husband. A family dinner sounds about our speed, don't you think?"
"Well, we can ditch everyone else afterward if we want to. Dinner's usually over by about eight and Carla likes to kick us out by nine."
"Are you coming to dinner, Michaelis?" Noah asked, arriving with Hugo still in tow.
"Yes, I think so," Michaelis said.
"Boss, Great-Aunt Carla said there's an art fair in town on Saturday so I can sleep over if I want and you say it's fine," Noah said.
Michaelis gestured at Jes, trying to indicate even better.
"All right, but you have to text me goodnight and send photos from the fair," Jes said.
"I'm going to take Hugo to see what you've got in the kitchen upstairs. He says he wants to make sure you're restocked," Noah said.
"Don't let him touch the Davzda," Jes said sternly. "I'm saving that."
Friday afternoon, Jes emerged from one of the recording booths to find every surface in the bunker's elderly kitchen covered in dusty bottles of wine.
"I see the cellar's getting cleaned out," they said, examining the bottles on the island curiously. "Anything drinkable?"
"Almost all of it!" Hugo said excitedly.
"Hugo's over the moon," Michaelis said. "They're doing inventory now. He's helping select some bottles to set aside here at the lodge. Also, I regret this in advance, but..." he nudged a crate with his foot. "That one's full of Davzda."
"Good, we can sell it and put Noah through college," Jes said.
"Actually, some of this does belong to Noah," Michaelis said.
"How do you figure that?"
"Salvage law. He's entitled to ten percent as a finder's fee. By value, not mass, but still. Either you can sell a lot of wine and subsidize his school tuition, or buy him a very nice car, or you'll have great vintages for every life milestone he celebrates. I recommend this one for a wedding," Michaelis added, indicating a cobweb-covered bottle.
"No, surely for a first child," Hugo said. "The red -- "
"Hugo, you and red wines," Michaelis sighed.
"Just because you don't like a strong tannin!"
"We have been having this fight for twenty years," Michaelis said. "I'm not having it again today. Pick me out something nice to take to a dinner, I have to impress someone."
Hugo sniffed, but handed him a bottle. "This one is fine. It wasn't meant to be aged, but aging won't have made it worse."
"And it's a nice rose. All right." Michaelis presented the bottle to Jes. "Please say you're impressed."
"Couldn't tell you, my knowledge of wine starts with Manischewitz and ends at Three Buck Chuck," they said.
Both men looked mystified.
"Hugo, bear in mind when selecting for Noah that he has an immature palate and so does his parent," Jes sighed. "We'll probably want to sell most of what we get."
"Of course," Hugo bowed. "Your Grace?"
"You know my taste," Michaelis said. "I need to get ready for dinner. I'll see you upstairs," he said, cupping Jes's elbow briefly and heading for the door, wine still in one hand.
Hugo watched him go, then turned to Jes and offered them a second bottle.
"Red is much better," he said. Jes took the bottle, nodding.
"I will bear that in mind," they said gravely.
Lachlan and Stephen's baby daughter, Bonnie, was clearly the star attendee at dinner, even though it included both Lachlan's business partner and the former king of the country.
Michaelis understood. Bonnie was Carla's only grandchild, and she was reasonably adorable. Noah, who he would not have thought would be enthusiastic about an infant, immediately took Bonnie from Stephen's arms and held her throughout dinner, feeding her spoonfuls of puree.
"He likes to be an uncle," Jes said to Michaelis after dinner, when they saw him watching Noah with perplexity. "He's had aunties and uncles and zazas his whole life. He finally gets to be older and wiser than someone."
"Ah," Michaelis nodded. "Well, Bonnie doesn't lack for support, that's for sure."
"She's one of the reasons we considered coming back," Jes said. "Lachlan and I met in New York a long time ago. He moved here to be with Stephen, and when he and Stephen adopted Bonnie he said 'something something family, time to come home'," they said drily.
"I hope you're at least a little glad you did."
"I am," they said, sipping the wine Hugo had sent. They shot him a smile. "Didn't expect it to turn out quite this way, but I can't object. Carla," they added, in a slightly louder voice. "Did I tell you about the second time I met His Grace?"
"This sounds like it's going to be embarrassing," Carla said, folding her hands under her chin. "Sure you don't want to save it for your tell-all book, Jes?"
"Not embarrassing, just funny," Jes said, nudging Michaelis with an elbow. "The first time we met I told him midlife crises usually involve shiny cars, not podcasts. The second time, he pulls up to the studio in a classic green Jaguar."
"Which you called a Hot Wheels toy," he said.
"Honey, it looks like a Hot Wheels toy. Those things don't look real," Lachlan said.
"He rolls up in this Hot Wheels like that's going to impress us," Jes continued.
"I wasn't trying to impress anyone," Michaelis protested. "I just thought it was funny. I told you I already had a shiny car."
"He did look very heroic, soaking wet and trying to help rescue the tech," Lachlan said.
"You weren't even there," Michaelis pointed out.
"Noah sent me so many photos," Lachlan said. "When Jes writes the tell-all book there's going to be one of those old fashioned middle sections that's just photographs of you looking bedraggled."
Michaelis sat back, gesturing at his still-bruised face in resignation. "My lot in life these days."
"Isn't it more interesting, though?" Stephen asked. He was much quieter than Lachlan, but when he did speak he generally had very keen things to say, Michaelis was noticing. "I mean, as king, when was the last time you literally fished someone out of a pit?"
"Used to wish I could cast a few people into them," Michaelis remarked. "Very politically expedient, your average pit."
"Well, the wine's good, anyway," Carla said, drinking the last of hers. "And I'll be the envy of all the old biddies around here tomorrow for hosting the King Emeritus. But I'm afraid now I'm going to kick you all out except Noah, because he's going to stay up with me watching awful old horror movies."
"Don't give yourself nightmares," Jes said, kissing Noah's forehead as they rose to go. "Remember, text me tomorrow so I know you're still alive, and be home by dinner."
The evening was fine, still warm even well after sunset. Lachlan and Stephen were off to go for a drive down the coast with Bonnie; Michaelis and Jes declined the offer of a ride back and walked instead. The palace, rising up on their left, was ablaze with light.
"Gregory's entertaining the MPs. I think it's his favorite part -- not hosting Parliament, but the evening entertainment in the summer," Michaelis said. "He loved those parties as a boy. The last few years of the reign I fell out of the habit. Nice to see it back."
"I suppose Eddie does the catering?"
"Do you know, I haven't asked? Since you arrived, I've been too busy to attend. I'd say we should go, but aside from a few of the juniors it's not the most scintillating conversation," Michaelis said.
"I sort of like that I've been a distraction," Jes said, as they turned off the main road of town and up the footpath, which forked left towards the palace or right towards the lodge. They pushed open the little unlocked gate that said NO ACCESS AFTER SUNSET and held it for him to pass through.
"I certainly haven't minded," he agreed. "It feels nice to have purpose again. And the company doesn't hurt."
Jes smiled. "You know, half my New York friends don't believe I know a royal. Generally the ones who knew me when I was twenty and really punk and more than a little messed up."
"You seem to have come through all right."
"Took some time. Don't we all, though," they said, and he let his fingers drift out to catch their hand, squeezing it. They held on and walked a little closer. "Well. Maybe you didn't."
"Depends on how you look at it. In one light, my destiny was set by the time I was twenty-two," he said. "But when you lock yourself into a path that young, once the path ends..." he shrugged. "I had a great marriage. I had a great reign, too. Wasn't ready for what came after. So I got at sixty what you got out of the way at twenty."
"Are you saying you're a little messed up?" they asked, teasing.
"Who's to say? I suppose it's a warning you may need to be patient with me."
"Michaelis," they said, stopping, and he turned and stopped as well. "If I didn't know that you required patience by now..."
He opened his mouth, a little offended, and before he could retort they broke down in laughter.
"The look on your face!" they hooted. "Oh no, can't tell the king he's sometimes difficult!"
He grinned. "All right, fine. But to be fair, I always fix my mistakes."
"You haven't gone back and fixed that one date you got wrong in episode two."
"I did not get that date wrong," he said, pulling them closer, "and I am going to win the fight with my detractors who are slandering my scholarship. I have citations."
"Save your citations for the show notes," they said. They looked past him, towards the lodge, lit only with a single lantern hanging from the eaves over the front door. "Would you like to come back to mine tonight?"
He considered them, a little cautious. "Are you sure?"
"If you want to wait, I don't mind," Jes said. "But if you can't see a reason to, I can't."
He glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm not looking for reasons, no. Although it did occur to me I have no idea if I'm any good in bed."
Jes laughed and leaned against him, forehead resting in the hollow of his throat. "Are you kidding me?"
"I was with one person most of my life, I might be terrible at this," he said, which only made Jes laugh harder. "Mocked, all I get is mocked. I was king!"
Jes propped their chin against his chest. "Quitter."
Michaelis raised his hands to cup their face and kissed them. "Not in this. Come on."
"We could give you a few shots of Davzda if that would help," Jes teased, as they kept walking. "Noah's a liquor magnate now, we can raid his stash."
"You have the worst ideas," he said, but on the porch of the lodge he pulled them in close again, arm around their waist. "Some other night, perhaps. I want to remember tonight."
"Good," they said with a smile, and pushed the door open. "Me too."
EPILOGUE
Michaelis came out of the recording studio, one afternoon in late spring, to find a flotilla of teenagers clustered around the big conference table in what used to be the bunker's war room.
"I understand we've been invaded by sea," he said, faced with a gaggle of youths in navy-blue polo shirts, brick-colored yachting shorts, and boat shoes.
"Hi, Michaelis," Noah called, slightly louder over a desynchronized chorus of children murmuring Your Grace shyly. "Study group."
"It will definitely take study if you want to defeat the Spanish Armada," Michaelis agreed. "Have you seen Jes?"
"They fled ahead of the invasion," one of the kids said boldly. Michaelis pointed at them.
"Amani," he said. They beamed at having been recognized. "Good to see you again. Which direction did they go?"
A couple of hands pointed up.
"Yes, I...assumed that," he said.
"Boss said they were going out on the lake," Noah said. "They asked if you'd stick around for another ten minutes until everyone had to go."
"Ah. Conscription. Carry on, then. Will anyone need a ride home?"
"No, we're gonna walk down into town, people will get rides from there."
Michaelis nodded, duty mostly discharged, and took up a strategic position in the corner, far enough away that he wouldn't be obtrusive. He reviewed the following day's calendar and paged through a script Jes had sent him for editing until the children began trickling out. Noah, last to leave, waved at Michaelis and said, "Dismissed, ensign," and Michaelis nodded.
Upstairs, he changed into a swimsuit and ambled down to the dock, walking to the end. Jes was in the boat, well out in the middle of the lake, with what looked like a book and a cooler. He stepped out of his shoes and dove in, enjoying the brief, brisk swim out to the boat. By the time he reached them, they were sitting up, arms on their knees, a skeptical look on their face.
"If you capsize me, I'll end you," they said.
"How long do you think I've been doing this?" he asked, hefting himself into the boat without even rocking it that much. It did require an undignified tumble onto his back, but from there he could dangle one leg out of the boat and look up at them, upside-down, which he knew charmed them.
"All the kids gone? The noise was starting to get to me and I figured they couldn't get into too much trouble," they said.
"Yep. Nice to see Noah with so many friends." He sat up and shook water out of his hair, sliding around so that he fell into their lap backwards, head on their chest, arms resting on their knees. "Bliss."
"Closest I've found," Jes agreed. "Beer and snacks in the cooler if you want something."
"No, I'm fine. Are you comfortable?"
"Yep." One of their hands rested over his heart, and he felt a kiss dropped into his hair. "Can I run something past you?"
"Of course."
They propped their phone on his chest, open to an image of a person in a tuxedo that flowed into a dramatic, elegant ball gown in the lower half.
"Couldn't pull that off, not with my hips," he said.
"Don't sell yourself short. This is option one. Option two," they said, and flicked to the next image, which showed a vivid orange sheath dress, rather traditional for their usual tastes, shot through with gold. "And option three..."
The third outfit was a midnight-blue men's suit with velvet lapels. The model wore a shimmering blouse under the suit jacket, with a banded collar and a cutout below it, deep to show decolletage. He whistled low.
"These are for the coronation anniversary ball?" he asked.
"Considering my options. I'd like to stun, but subtly."
"You'd look fine in any of them, but you could have something made. Or buy a couple, pick out what you want on the day. Won't be the last formal you have to attend, probably. I'll be in the uniform, so it's easy to coordinate with anything you wear."
"I'm thinking option three."
"I like it, but you don't normally do cleavage."
"True. I don't know, it seemed like somewhere I'd like to go a little femme. Would you mind?"
"Not in the least, you know that." He turned his head to look up at them, nose bumping their collarbone. "Neither of us are being presented to court. Eddie has to follow the rules, for once in his life. You never have to, Caez."
"Too late for Caez. I'm relegated to Consort of the King Emeritus."
"Caez of my heart," he said. They scruffed his hair gently.
"All right, I'll make a decision tonight," they said. "I was going to stay out here another hour or so."
"Perfect. Mind if I sleep?"
"Keeps you out of mischief," Jes said. Michaelis settled in, eyes closing, and didn't even startle when he felt their arm drape over his shoulder and their palm drift down his abdomen, fingertips tracing gently across the skin.
"I love that," he said drowsily, and felt Jes smile against the crown of his head.
"What, belly rubs?" they asked, amused. He shifted a little.
"I love the touch," he said, pleased with how easy the words came. Sometimes they didn't, but he was working on it. "And I love that it's you doing it."
"I'm glad," they said. "I love you too."
"Hm." He closed his eyes. "Wake me when you get bored."
"Sleep a while. We have plenty of time."
He heard, distantly, a beep, and then the soft chatter of voices. He fell asleep to Jes's breathing and the low murmur of their headphones as they caught up on the day's listening.
Notes:
Thanks so much for reading along with this story! Hey, stay tuned: this is the end of Infinite Jes, but tomorrow I'll be posting up two short stories set after the books!
Chapter 23: Post-Books Short: Theophile And The Kings
Notes:
This is one of two short stories set after both Fete for a King and Infinite Jes; it follows the party that happens in the epilogue of Fete.
Chapter Text
There had been a great deal of champagne at the coronation anniversary ball, where the king announced his engagement after an undignified but charming double-proposal. Jerry had fallen drunkenly in a fountain; Alanna had fished him out and taken him away to get out of his wet clothes and hopefully somewhere he could sleep it off in relative peace. Gregory, of course, had to close down the party, being king, and Eddie for once couldn't sneak out early. There had been toasts, one very short speech by Gregory, and a minor media commotion over Jes Deimos, who Eddie liked a lot but who had shown up looking better than almost anyone else, including himself, on the arm of the King Emeritus.
Now, waistcoat unbuttoned, bow tie off, and collar loose, Eddie was more than ready for bed; Gregory was saying goodbye to the last of the partygoers, so Eddie slipped through a concealed door in the ballroom into the service hallway, where the waitstaff were tidying up. He'd just get himself a glass of water from the now-empty caterer's kitchen --
Where Michaelis ben Jason was sitting in a chair, arms crossed, as if waiting for him.
Oh, no.
"Good evening," the King Emeritus said. "Theophile."
"In my defense," Eddie said, "no one other than my parents has called me that in years and they only do it when I'm in really, really big trouble."
Michaelis made a gesture with one hand, as if to ask What do you think is happening now?
"I explained it to Alanna," Eddie tried. "They used to call me Ted, but one of my brothers could only say Ed so everyone started calling me Ed, and Eddie's really...camera friendly," he finished. Michaelis didn't respond. "I'm not saying you couldn't kill me, but if you're going to try it's going to create some very awkward headlines tomorrow," he added.
Michaelis put his thumb to his lips as if in thought, and then took his hand away and said, "You know, I did know who you were before you arrived here. The name Eddie Rambler, I mean."
"I knew you watched the show!" Eddie said with a bright grin. Michaelis did not smile.
"So admittedly, I have spent the last year referring to you mentally as Eddie. I'm a man who likes a little hint of formality -- that's the Shivadh dramatist in me -- so I thought it would be appropriate, and also funny, to call you Edward."
"I feel like this is probably a point at which I can't get in more trouble with you," Eddie said, "So maybe now is the time to tell you that I think you have the weirdest sense of humor of anyone I know. For what it's worth, that's a compliment."
Michaelis stood up, and Eddie had faced down angry directors, Hollywood power brokers, violent chefs, and a lot of drunk people in bars, but it was still an effort not to flinch. He stood very still as Michaelis came to stand in front of him, almost nose to nose.
"If you don't kill me until after I marry him, he gets my media empire," Eddie tried.
The former king rested his hands on either side of Eddie's face. "I agree, my sense of humor is extremely strange. But you understand that, so you may also understand why I am going to call you Theophile for the rest of time."
Eddie's eyes widened, and there was a terrifying beat before Michaelis's face cracked in a grin.
"Oh thank mercy," Eddie said, sagging in relief as Michaelis patted his cheek and stepped back. "I did genuinely think you had a knife."
"It is extremely embarrassing to have called you by the wrong name for a solid year while I thought I was being funny," Michaelis said, moving away to lean against a counter. "But it's much, much more amusing that your real name is Theophile."
"I honestly didn't even think about telling anyone," Eddie said. "Like, I didn't let you mistakenly call me Edward on purpose. People just do from time to time and it's not worth correcting."
"I'm sure," Michaelis said. "It's still very funny. I'm going to get a little bit of satisfaction out of it every time I say it. Theophile."
"Nothing I can do to get out of it, huh? I figure I've only got a week of it from Gregory, maybe a month from Jerry since Jerry commits to the bit."
"No, I'm afraid not," Michaelis said. He looked down, and Eddie followed his gaze to the slim silver ring on his own finger, Gregory's engagement ring. "Theophile for life, son."
"Son, huh?" Eddie asked.
"Well, I made the match, or I'm going to take credit for it in any case. I'm glad you stayed, and I'm glad Gregory saw sense," he said. "I'm not unhappy about the engagement at all. And you can have eighteen months before I bring up the fleeting nature of life and my desire to see grandchildren before I die."
"That's good of you," Eddie managed.
"In the meantime, Theophile, behave yourself," Michaelis said, pointing a finger at him. "I'll see you tomorrow for dinner, at which point we will discuss a few suggestions for the wedding."
"Oh good," Eddie said, mostly to himself since Michaelis was already walking away. "There's going to be wedding input. Excellent."
***
"Have you put enough fear in the poor kid for one night?" Jes asked, as Michaelis joined them outside on the lawn, at the head of the footpath which would take them back to the lodge.
"I thought he was going to collapse. I deserved five minutes of amusement out of that, and I think I got at least seven," Michaelis replied, taking their arm. "Very satisfying evening. Not every day you get to see your son get engaged. You look delightful," he added, kissing them on the cheek.
"I always look delightful," they replied. "But yes, thank you, I feel we made a splash together."
"The old Shivadh kings used to say that the king wore black so his queen could be his brightest ornament," Michaelis said. "Old-fashioned, I know, but I've always liked the idea -- being able to fade back and let someone else shine a little more brightly."
"Fortunately Eddie is an extremely shiny person. Gregory won't lack for ornament."
"Something like that," Michaelis agreed. "I'll need your help in the morning -- I've got to come up with the most outrageous and irritating possible wedding suggestions to tweak Gregory and Eddie with at dinner tomorrow."
"Oh, let Noah help, he loves weddings," Jes said. "He has a whole file of ugly wedding pinterest boards."
"Brilliant. Looks like he's still up, too," Michaelis said, nodding at where the lodge's lights were shining across the lake. "The night is young -- "
"Michaelis, it's past midnight."
"All right, then the morning is fresh," he said. "I'll open some of Noah's finder's fee wine and we can have a glass and a snack while he shows us the most hideous bridesmaid dresses possible. Jerry will definitely want one."
"Sounds fine," Jes said, leaning into him. "Couldn't ask for a better nightcap."
***
"I thought I saw you creeping off," Gregory said, catching up to Eddie in the hallway just outside his rooms. He pulled him in by the back of the neck and kissed him, then poked him gently with the giant novelty ring on his finger. "Come on, let's celebrate the engagement in private."
"Won't say no," Eddie agreed, following him inside. "Your dad stopped in to have a word."
"Oh? His blessing, I hope. This is roughly 30% his fault," Gregory said, shedding his uniform jacket and collapsing onto the sofa. "You and Alanna split the other 70%."
"He's taking 100% of the credit, according to him. No, he wanted to play a very mean practical joke on me by making me think he was going to murder me for letting him call me Edward for a year," Eddie said, going into the bedroom to undress.
"Hm. Yep, sounds like Father," Gregory said.
"I told him if he murders me after we marry, you get it all," Eddie added.
"That's very nice of you," Gregory called. "You know if I die you have to step in until we can elect someone new, yes?"
"If you die, I'm going to rule with an iron fist," Eddie declared, emerging from the bedroom in his pajamas. He dropped a second pair of pajamas on Gregory's head as he passed. "Also we're on an eighteen-month deadline before Michaelis starts talking about grandchildren."
"Oh, good to know," Gregory said, pajamas adorning his face.
"I should tell you that I can't promise eighteen days before my parents bring it up."
"Your parents named you Theophile, they get no input," Gregory moaned. "Do I have to move? Ever again?"
"Not on my account, Your Majesty," Eddie said, dropping down next to him and removing the pajamas. "Hey."
"Hey," Gregory said, giving him an open, goofy smile. "Theophile."
Eddie groaned and sat back. "Mood-killer!"
"Lying faker!"
"Snob," Eddie said, pulling Gregory over against him. "Come on. Bed. If you move now, I will make you an omelet in the morning."
"Crepes," Gregory bargained.
"I could just leave you here," Eddie threatened.
"Let me die," Gregory groaned.
"Or I could carry you."
"Eddie no -- Eddie!" Gregory yelled, as Eddie grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up, slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
"Crepes," Eddie reminded him, and hauled him across the room, into the bedroom.
Chapter 24: Post-Books Short: A Pizza For Purim
Notes:
There's been a running joke for a couple of years that I couldn't ever allow Hallmark to make a movie out of anything I wrote until I got to make my own "Holiday" movie, A Pizza for Purim. Between Eddie's pizza experiments and Jes missing delivery in Infinite Jes, it was suggested to me that it did seem to be time to follow through. It's really just a short, but a lot of love and a little bit of sexiness went into it.
Chapter Text
"In honor of Purim," Jes said that evening, "And our heroes Esther and Mordecai -- and a little for Vashti, bless her -- I have invented a drinking game."
Michaelis, seated at the kitchen bar, enjoying the afterglow of a royal Purim celebration and the anticipation of excitement to come, put his face in his hands.
"I blame your misspent youth for this," he said through his palms. "America did this to you."
"Come on! Noah's at a sleepover, we have the day off tomorrow, and we are compelled by the mitzvah to drink."
"You're compelled by something," he replied.
Jes merely opened the freezer and produced a tray they'd clearly prepared earlier -- five shot glasses, each with a clear liquid up to the brim and a little bit of sediment at the bottom. They set the tray on the bar in front of Michaelis, who sighed.
"You didn't really think you were going to get away with not drinking. On Purim? You're lucky I'm making you play this after the reading and not before."
"I did a portion of the reading. I agreed to wear a costume. I cannot and will not get up in costume and read the Megillah while drunk," Michaelis protested, letting his hands fall to the counter. "Not again, anyway. Got that out of my system early."
"You looked very nice," Jes told him. "Nobody could impeach your choice of costume. Shivadh traditional dress flatters the thighs."
"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't make me dress like Han Solo."
"Only one person in this relationship gets to dress like Han Solo, and it is me," Jes told him.
"I am not trying to," Michaelis protested. "That's the point."
"Good, because I shoot first," Jes said, and gave him a dirty grin.
Michaelis grunted, pointing at the tray. "All right, explain this game."
"There are two shots of legal Davzda and three of the illegal stuff Eddie gave you last summer," Jes said. "You don't know which is which and neither do I. We each pick two shots, down them, and split the fifth."
"And they say romance is dead," Michaelis drawled.
"I think I've done the math on this extremely well," Jes continued. "The most anyone can get is two and a half shots of the good stuff, and if that happens, the other person just gets a buzz and can trip-sit."
"Trip-sit, this is a word?"
"Michaelis. You were born in 1961, not 1861," Jes said. "It just means looking after someone."
"May I remind you, while you were learning how to trip-sit I was ruling a country."
"And which of us had more fun? I rest my case." Jes gestured again at the shots. "If we each get a shot and a half, we won't need a trip-sitter, there won't be enough of a dose. Any other variation, one of us stays sober enough to keep an eye on the other. The point is, we will have a nice evening and at least one of us will get a little high."
"You know I would be happy to just...let you have the illegal stuff, right?" Michaelis asked.
"Your Grace," Jes said, stroking a lock of hair off his forehead, "you are missing the point so badly I think you're doing it on purpose."
He smiled. "All right. Maybe a little."
Jes gave him a bright smile in return and leaned on the counter. "Then take your pick. Flip it upside down when you're done."
Michaelis raised an eyebrow, but he picked up one of the shot glasses and drained it, then set it upside-down on the tray. The bottom had a little red sticker on it.
"Legal. Lucky you," Jes said, choosing another one. They shot it back, shook themselves to dispel the burn, and set it upside down next to his. It had a green sticker.
"Well, that's one illegal shot down," they said. "Oh! Let me put the playlist on."
Michaelis made his selection while Jes opened the music app on their phone, hooking into the speakers Noah had installed a few months ago. Soft Motown funk filled the air. When they looked up, he was holding the empty shot glass with the bottom facing them.
"Illegal," he said.
"Aw, don't be upset. That means one of these is the hooch and one is basically gin."
"You keep saying that like gin isn't an incredibly dangerous clear liquor," Michaelis said. Jes downed a shot and then set it on the tray sticker-down.
"Last one, then reveal them both," they said. They took half of the last shot, then leaned across the bar and held the glass to his lips. He tilted his head back a little, swallowing when it poured in.
"Ugh, I tasted that," he said. "Is this what university is like?"
"Was for me," Jes said. They turned over both glasses. The one they'd had was illegal; the one he'd shared with them was the legal, relatively harmless stuff. "Well. One for you, two for me. Come sit with me, it's been a minute since we got much time to ourselves together."
"Hardly my fault, I'm retired."
"Retired my ass," Jes rolled their eyes. Michaelis settled on the sofa, just where they liked him, a little ways from the arm. They sat in their usual spot, back to the arm, legs over his lap. Initially, before they'd been dating, it had just been a sort of friendly comfort -- touch between two people missing it, and remarkably chaste. Now Jes leaned their head on his shoulder, and he wrapped one hand around their calf.
"I did like hearing you give some of the reading tonight," they said. "And I don't at all mind arriving in royal company. For someone who doesn't like the monarchy in general, I must say it has its perks."
"I don't like the monarchy either, that's the point," Michaelis said. "If Gregory wasn't going to be a good king I would have kept him out of it."
They patted his chest. "I believe you would. I suppose the people knew integrity when they saw it, when they put your family on the throne."
"I hope so," he said. "They like you, certainly. Theophile sent me some very choice quotes from your hashtag tonight."
"Oh, no," they groaned, as he took his phone out and cleared his throat. He gave them a mock-quelling look.
"This one says How do you say GIRL YOU ARE FABULOUS in nonbinary," he read.
"I'll take it. Girl is camp-drag slang, if you say it in the right tone of voice it's practically gender neutral anyway," Jes said, peering at the phone. "Can I reply to that one?"
"No. You are interrupting my extremely important reading," Michaelis said, holding it out of their reach. "Here's one. I want Hashtag Jes Deimos to destroy me on microphone if it means I can be in the same room with them."
"That's a novel kink," Jes said.
"When I say they are handsome I don't mean like a man or a woman is handsome, I mean like I want them to pull me onto a horse and ride away with me."
"Less novel but very specific," Jes observed. "Oh, what's the highlighted one, that's going to be good."
"King Michaelis and Jes Deimos look like a power couple in a sexy thriller movie who would use you in a psychological chess game with each other," Michaelis read.
"We HAVE to reply to that one," Jes said. "If you reply to that one and all you say is Small correction: King Emeritus the internet will lose its collective mind."
"Do we want that to happen?" Michaelis asked, scrolling on. "Last one, here we are. Find you a man who looks at you like Michaelis ben Jason looks at Jes Deimos." He leaned in and kissed the side of their head, just above the ear. "I like that one. Means people notice when I look at you."
"Very sweet. Oh, this was a good evening," Jes added, relaxing another few degrees into the sofa. "I can feel the alcohol kicking in, at least. Can't tell whether that's the mushrooms too."
"Mm, well, fortunately we have nowhere to be," Michaelis said, flipping to another screen on his phone and pushing a button. It beeped a response. The package was on its way, or would be soon. "Tell me what you thought of the service at the Grand Synagogue on the whole. I've been thinking I need to speak to Gregory about allocating funding for some upgrades to their tech."
"Maybe," Jes said. "I don't know, some of this new garbage isn't worth the plastic it comes in..."
They fell into easy chat -- audio technology, government funding. Shop talk, of course, but pleasant shop talk, and a nice convergence point for their life's passions. By the time he felt comfortably tipsy, Jes was laughing into his shirt about something and he, himself, couldn't remember what it was they were laughing at.
There was a knock at the door and Jes startled; Michaelis gave them a reassuring pat on the back and began disentangling himself. "I believe that's your surprise," he said, getting to his feet, pleased he was mostly steady on them.
"My surprise?" Jes asked. "You got me a surprise? That had to be delivered?"
"I did," Michaelis said, going to the door. "Because I suspected we were going to drink tonight, and when you drink there is one thing you always bring up."
Jes's brow furrowed. Michaelis opened the door. Eddie was on the other side, grinning. Michaelis gravely offered him a tip. Eddie handed him a flat cardboard box, and Michaelis closed the door.
"What is that? It smells -- " Jes broke off suddenly. "Michaelis. Oh, shit, what have you -- oh yes," they said, as he put the box on the coffee table and opened it. "Delivery pizza."
He sat on the floor, looking up at them as they hovered delightedly over the greasy, steaming pizza in the box.
"I know it's something you really miss from New York," he said. "And you always want a pizza when we drink. I asked Theophile if he'd make one that tasted as much like the ones in New York as possible."
Jes took an enormous slice of floppy pizza out of the box reverently, folded it in half, and bit in. Their eyes rolled back in their head.
"This is amazing," they said. "Take a slice, before the grease congeals. How did he get it so close?"
"The ways of Theophile Rambler are mysterious," Michaelis said. "It's good, then?"
"Whatever you paid Eddie, it isn't enough," Jes said around a mouthful.
"I'm glad you think so. Although I will point out, my own, that you are high as a kite," Michaelis said.
"That makes it even better!"
He took a slice, mostly to be companionable, and watched Jes while they demolished two and a half slices without even slowing down. The little dose he'd had from the illegal Davzda made colors seem brighter but blurred the edges slightly, which was fine; all he really needed to see was Jes enjoying themself.
"All I got you was a little bit drunk," they said with a grin, when they noticed him watching.
"Well, there's always more if I want some," he said. He leaned his head on the couch cushion, still contemplating them. "Anyway, I like giving gifts and I don't get to do it very often."
"You definitely hit this one out of the park. Don't eat these two slices, I'm going to have them tomorrow and savor every bite."
"I think I can safely say I'm not tempted," he replied.
"Snob," they said, petting his hair.
"I like a terrible fried breakfast as much as the next person, I'm just not one for pizza," he said. "I'm glad you liked it. And I'm glad you came with me tonight. And that you're here. What I mean is," he said, realizing he was babbling a little, "That you've been here. With me. It's meant a lot to me and I'm glad."
"I'm glad too, and I see I'm not the only one who's a little high," Jes observed. Michaelis rested his chin on their knee. "See? This is fun."
"I will acknowledge that fun was involved," he said, then patted their thigh and rose to his feet again, gathering up the pizza box. "Come along. I'll put this in the fridge and we can go to bed."
"No! The oven!" Jes said.
"The oven?" Michaelis asked, on the threshold of the kitchen.
"The oven. That's where you put leftover pizza so it isn't super cold the next day for breakfast."
"You are going to poison yourself. This has to be refrigerated," Michaelis said.
"It doesn't! It's cooked, once it's cooked pizza is good for like four days. Everyone knows this," Jes insisted, going to the oven to open it. "No air circulates in the oven, it's fine. I did it all the time in New York!"
"I'm texting Simon to ask him about this," Michaelis said.
"Simon doesn't know anything about it. Ask Eddie," Jes said, taking their own phone out.
"Simon's also very likely asleep," Michaelis realized.
"Ha!" Jes held up their phone. He squinted at the text. Jes had simply messaged Eddie Fridge or oven?
Eddie had messaged back, The eternal dilemma. I say oven.
"I can't," Michaelis said, putting his hands to his forehead as Jes took the box and triumphantly placed it into the oven. "I can't with American food. This can't be good for you. How did you feed yourself and keep a small child alive?"
"Shivadh children are extremely durable," Jes said, closing the oven door. They came to lean against him, arms over his shoulders. "And I have insanely good luck. Now we can go to bed."
"I suppose I can't deny you anything on this, your last night on Earth before you die of food poisoning," he said, kissing them.
His phone beeped as he was following Jes down the hall to the suite; when he checked it, Eddie had texted him.
450F/232C for at least five minutes will make day-old pizza safe to eat.
Michaelis sent back a pizza-slice emoji and set his phone to Do Not Disturb.
***
About an hour later, Jes carefully leaned over Michaelis's sleeping form, picked up his phone, unlocked it, and opened the Photogram app. Scrolling back up to the ones Eddie had sent him specifically, they found the 'sexy thriller' comment and opened a response window.
Aska-zero: King Michaelis and Jes Deimos look like a power couple in a sexy thriller movie who would use you in a psychological chess game with each other.
MichaelisBenJason: Slight correction: King Emeritus.
They hit post and watched.
Several people are responding to your comment Photogram informed them. Jes gently locked the phone again and curled up around Michaelis, drifting off to sleep.
Chapter 25: End Note
Chapter Text
Hey friends, just a quick note for anyone subscribed to this story -- I decided to post the third story in the series as its own separate AO3 post, in part to keep things from getting unwieldy and in part because it's almost as long on its own as these two put together :) So you can either navigate from here to the "Shivadhverse" series and find it there, or just follow this link to chapter one. I'm posting the chapters one-a-day, like I did for this, but there are also links in the chapter one notes to the whole thing on GoogleDocs. Happy reading!
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