His Royal Favorite (32 page)

But there were other moments too. One morning James awoke early to find Ben already out of bed. He’d shuffled through the corridors to find Ben staring out one of the windows that led to the garden, as restless as any caged animal. Sometimes when their car swept through swarms of reporters, Ben scrunched down in the seat as though he were almost in pain. And after all but the most congenial of their “private gatherings,” Ben would wilt, exhausted from what he still saw as pretense.

He’s trying
, James would remind himself.
He’s looking for a way. You have to have the courage to let him search on his own.

Ben even participated fully in family therapy with Indigo—but on one important visit in late May, he didn’t come. Neither did anybody else besides James and one guest, who had been invited months before.

“Obviously we’d envisioned a very different visit,” James said as the sedan swept up to St. Maur Hall, then wondered why he was apologizing for this.

“Of course, Your Royal Highness,” Prince Zale replied, gravely courteous as he had been since his arrival the day before. “But if Indigo’s wish to see me is unchanged, then I’m happy to visit her under any circumstances.”

Indigo
: She’d given this man her name. Their relationship was more than the one official visit from months ago; they’d spoken online and via Skype countless times, even if they’d apparently never discussed her self-harm. How well did Zale really know her? Was it a mistake to bring him here? James was still profoundly uncertain how to feel about this.

Still, when he’d asked, Indigo had said she wanted to see Zale, so here they were.

They were met by Colin, who had set apart some time to prepare Zale for the visit. “I’m not sure how much she’ll want to confide right now,” Colin said as they sat in his office. “She may not want to talk much at all, or she may need to vent. What’s important is that you don’t react with shock or disgust.”

Zale inclined his head. “I understand, Dr. McKay.”

Whenever anybody else used the term
Dr. McKay
, Colin usually offered his first name immediately. Today he didn’t. James realized Colin too was trying to take Zale’s measure. But Colin said only, “I’ll stay with you all for the first few minutes. After that, if things are going well, we can give you a little more privacy.”

If they weren’t going well, obviously, Colin intended to step in. This was so evident that the mood threatened to turn tense for a moment, until James easily said, “Maybe you could talk with Prince Zale about the formula. You know, the one you taught me for talking about the injuries.”

“Good idea,” Colin said. “There’s a basic formula we often coach family members and friends to use when they want to talk to someone about their self-harm. This is . . . when you see a wound or a scar, or even just see things that make you wonder. Like, maybe a sharp instrument left lying around, that kind of thing.”

“What is this formula?” Zale asked.

“First of all, don’t make assumptions about her actions or her feelings,” Colin said. “Second, when you speak up, use these three elements . . .” He glanced over at James, either testing him or feeling the suggestion would have more weight coming from a fellow prince.

James obliged. “
I see, I think, I feel
. For instance, if a box cutter were lying on Indigo’s desk, I might say, ‘I see that one of your blades is out. That makes me think you might want to hurt yourself again, and that makes me feel concerned.’ It invites her to talk about what she’s feeling without threatening her, judging her, et cetera. Just remember those three steps. I see, I think, I feel.”

“A formula.” Zale’s smile was thin. Apparently he didn’t think much of the idea of using a formula to speak, but they’d just have to see what he did.

The three of them walked upstairs and went into one of the communal meeting areas. However, by prearrangement, nobody else was in there at the moment except Indigo. The small verdigris sofa she sat upon was in the corner of the long room with its pale wooden floor and many windows. She wore a simple dress, dark blue patterned with white birds, and her soft brown hair was pulled back into an untidy tail that nonetheless looked beautiful. James took heart to see her like this, pulled together and yet still utterly, entirely herself.

Her face lit up in a smile when she saw Zale, though the smile was an uncertain one. “Hello. It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Zale replied, stepping closer to where she sat.

Indigo’s gaze turned toward James and Colin then, but less as a greeting and more as a source of strength. Then she looked back at Zale and said, very steadily, “I need to show you something.”

Zale nodded. Then, after a moment’s pause, he went down on one knee. James felt a jolt of panic—
is that fool proposing?
—but he wasn’t. Instead Zale was bringing his face level with Indigo’s, without sitting on the sofa next to her . . . without invading her space. Somewhat grudgingly, James realized Zale had good instincts.

Slowly Indigo pushed the hem of her skirt up her leg, exposing her thighs. The crisscrossed scars were dark in the afternoon sunlight, the new ones at least; the older ones were still evident, pale lines like a blueprint. Even for James, who had seen the damage before, it was an excruciating sight.

“I look like this almost everywhere that doesn’t show,” Indigo said, her voice almost even. “I’m learning other ways to cope, but I can never—I can never promise that I’ll stop completely. As much as I hope to, I simply don’t know. And the scars will heal more, over time, but they’ll never totally go away.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t want them to.”

Zale looked down at her legs for long seconds afterward. When he lifted his face to Indigo’s, he simply nodded again. “It is your body,” he said. “It is yours to do with as you wish. No one has the right to tell you otherwise. Your body is yours alone.”

Indigo made a sound that was half a sob, then threw her arms around Zale’s neck. He returned the embrace.

That was the right thing to say?
James couldn’t quite believe it. First of all, it didn’t have anything to do with the formula. But there was no denying that Indigo was deeply moved.

“Come on,” Colin whispered, tugging at James’s sleeve. The two of them went into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Colin’s smile was rueful as he said, “I don’t think our presence is required any longer.”

“That was good, wasn’t it?” James said.

Colin nodded. “Very good. He got it instinctively, I think. Few people do. That’s a relief, isn’t it?”

If you loved someone, truly loved them, instinct sometimes told you exactly what to do. All you had to do was listen.

Could James listen to his own instincts if they told him to let Ben go?

***

“There you go, sir,” Paulson said as he finished tying Ben’s tie. “Very dapper.”

“Thank you, Paulson.”

You’re letting another grown man dress you
, said old Ben, disgusted as usual.
And this is how you intend to lead the rest of your life?

Ben knew he was being stupid. Tonight represented a step forward in his life as James’s “consort.” The Canadian ambassador’s party wasn’t exactly an official function, but it would be the first time Ben met diplomats from other governments while on James’s arm. Paulson’s help should’ve been welcome.

As Paulson went off to see to James, Ben studied himself in the mirror. Deep gray suit, white shirt, silver tie, all of it cut precisely to his body: It made him feel like a creature of liquid metal, amorphous or strong by turns, still awaiting his final shape.

He wanted to stay with James. And yet something in him fought it, clawed at him from the inside out, and Ben couldn’t tell whether the thing fighting was his truest self or the deepest lie.

You have to decide soon
, he told himself, not for the first time.
It’s cruel to do this to James.

How patient James had been. How kind and calm. In every way, he had made it clear that the choice was Ben’s to make in his own time. But Ben could see the strain James worked so hard to hide.

Soon
, Ben told himself again.

***

“I think you’ll enjoy tonight,” James murmured as their car pulled up to the event. “Ambassador Allen is unorthodox, but I find him a refreshing change from the usual diplomatic types. Just be prepared to come home smelling slightly of cigar smoke.”

“Something to entertain Happy and Glo,” Ben said. The dogs always liked sniffing at their humans’ trouser legs when they came home.

Soon they were in the whirl of the party. There was no need to mingle, not when the crowd naturally flowed toward James. Ben found himself attempting to remember an impossible string of names and titles; his face had begun to hurt from smiling. The people around them were outwardly friendly but mostly curious, wanting to gawk.

Wait, there was a term for that, wasn’t there?

After one particularly avid gawker, Ben leaned close to James and whispered, “Dog—Pug?”

James grinned. “By Jove, I think he’s got it.”

Ben was able to laugh, but inside he felt that same shudder of despair. Could he really do this, night after night, for the rest of his life?

Yet the alternative was giving up James, and that seemed more unbearable by far.

Slightly restless, he glanced over to the side and saw a familiar face.

The sound of the crowd seemed to hush. A spotlight might have fallen, pointing him out from everyone else in the room—a harsh light, but undeniable. Their eyes met long enough for denial to be impossible.

Ben turned to James and said, as normally as he could manage, “Warner’s here.”

“Warner Clifton?” James’s voice was light, as if this were some mutual acquaintance they might discuss easily. Nobody around them would realize anything was amiss. “I didn’t see his name on the guest list. Then again, I never do check those thoroughly enough.” He looked steadily at Ben. “Do you think you should speak to him?”

“I’m sure that’s why he’s come.” Ben squeezed James’s hand, then walked away with enough purpose that no one else would delay him.

With every step Ben took, Warner’s smile broadened. Finally they stood face-to-face for the first time in years.

“Warner,” Ben said evenly. “You look well.” It was no more than the man was due. Certainly Warner possessed nothing of James’s beauty—he never had—but he’d always cut a fine figure, and age had mellowed his handsomeness without dimming it. His hair was shot through with silver now, but the small lines around his eyes only enhanced the strong lines of his face. If only time could have been a little less kind.

“And you, Ben.” Warner shook his head and laughed softly, a sound Ben remembered very well. “Look at you. Come on. Let’s take a turn on the terrace.”

Together they walked out of the main crush of the party onto the candlelit terrace, which clearly had been intended to be the center of it all. However, the day’s rain had put paid to that idea and thinned the crowd in this area, since most people wouldn’t want to risk a sudden deluge drenching their finery. It wasn’t pouring at the moment, but the air was cooler than it had any right to be this close to June, and the tang of moisture in the air made it clear the storms were sure to return. Ben’s well-shined shoes stepped through shallow puddles on the stone. A few curious partygoers glanced their way, but apparently the sight of the Prince of Wales’s consort making conversation didn’t attract undue attention.

“Why are you here?” Ben said, without further preamble.

“What, do you think I intend to make a scene? How little you know me, after all.” Warner’s smile had an edge to it. “Besides, such a demonstration wouldn’t be in my best interest, as that harpy Tseng made clear. I had no idea you even knew about Bangladesh, Ben. You kept closer tabs on me than I ever dreamed.”

Bangladesh?
Ben had no idea what Warner was talking about, but he could connect the dots. Kimberley had not stopped with the dirt Ben had given her on Warner; she’d done some digging of her own, and turned up something so dark that it ensured Warner’s public silence, forever.

Good work, Kimberley.
It should have been a bigger relief than it was. Maybe it would be, later. Now all Ben could do was stand in the presence of the first man he had ever loved.

“I only came here to see you,” Warner said. “Used an alias that wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar, just in case they’d have kept me from you. Or you from me. Silly, for two people so connected to be kept apart, don’t you think?”

“It’s been a long time since we were connected,” Ben said.

Warner shook his head. “You know better.”

He did. As much as Ben hated it, as little as he thought of Warner now, there were still things Warner understood about him that no one else on Earth did, save for James—and some things, not even James might know.

“If you’re wondering how I’m doing,” Ben ventured, knowing that wasn’t it at all, “I’m very well. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Warner’s voice lowered. “Do you want to know what’s obvious to me? That this scene, with its neckties and protocol and insincerity, is about a thousand miles away from anyplace you’d ever want to be, my wild, beautiful boy.”

Ben turned his face away, but he couldn’t make his feet move.

Warner, damn him, knew when to press his advantage. “I watched that interview you two gave. How lovable you both were. Prepackaged for public consumption, and very nicely too. But I know you, Ben. I could read through that meet-cute story about the chess match. How long was it before you had him? An hour? Two? You saw a conquest and you took it. I’d have expected no less from my most brilliant student of human nature. Then somehow it took a turn. Somehow the conquest took you.”

“If you think I’ve learned what I know about human beings from you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Am I? Maybe. You always were bright. Always wanted to have your own way. But your own way is precisely what you’ll never have again.”

It felt like being flayed with sharp knives—Warner carving through him, through all his defenses. The pain was horrible and yet strangely welcome, in ways Ben couldn’t begin to understand.