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Somehow, I had bees in my head. Big and loud bees. They caused headaches, and the sunlight streaming into my room didn’t help at all.
This party was really awesome, but champagne and red wine had left their marks. Slowly, I propped myself up in bed, trying to avoid hasty movements. What had happened last night? A lot, actually too much, and only gradually did the memories return. One only turns eighteen once in life, but one tends to exaggerate...
I smelled like perfume. Strange perfume, quite sweet and intrusive. It clung to me everywhere and somehow made me feel nauseous.
I threw back the blanket, stood up slowly, and pulled on the fabric ribbon next to the four-poster bed that activated the bell in the kitchen. Usually, it took less than ten minutes for Mortimer to appear with breakfast.
The sunlight in my eyes hurt, but I forced myself to look out of the open window. Out into that beautiful nature on that summer morning.
Eighteen, I thought. Adult. A man. Or not yet?
I stepped in front of the large mirror and looked at myself. Had I gotten a year older last night? No, I decided. I had looked the same twenty-four hours ago. Not quite as rumpled, but otherwise...
My blonde, shoulder-length hair stood tousled from my head. I ran my hands through it and had to grin. Jane once told me I had bristles like a wild boar. She hadn’t meant it seriously, but she was right. However, the blue eyes I inherited from my mother were not as bright white as usual. They were probably still a bit red. I bared my white teeth, which I was really proud of, and stuck my tongue out. Stupid alcohol. My gaze wandered over my body in the mirror, and I thought it was time to get a little color back on my skin. The few hairs on my body gathered on my breastbone, and not much more was around my navel, disappearing there in a narrow strip into my shorts. I reached into my pants and assured myself that everything was still as it had been yesterday. All good.
I took a deep breath. What would change from today? More rights, more responsibilities? I had had more than enough of those before. And now even more? I sensed that my carefree years would be over. The end of the good life, and I hadn’t even managed to sleep with a girl. I had more than enough chances, but something held me back. Well, my relatives were glad about it, even though I could have lied to them about it. But this ultra-conservative society preferred it when one didn’t engage in premarital sex. Because of morality and all that. And then the endless headlines when the paparazzi caught you kissing or when you had one too many to drink. I could hardly change my appearance; that would be immediately documented on page 1 of the "Sun." I would have liked to wear an earring or add some highlights to my hair, like many of my classmates. After school, going to the public pool, just goofing around. Riding out with my horse, all alone. I was really only alone in the evening in my four walls.
Sometimes it was strange. I lay in my bed and was pleasurably taking care of myself, while out there millions imagined just that.
"How does he look naked?" Well, tough luck. Very few of them would ever find out. Unless I let myself be caught by a paparazzi on purpose. And then I would be in the "Sun" for days. I just couldn’t think of a headline for it. Even stranger was the idea that I could make a lot of money from it. First the money, then the photos. And then disappear, once and for all. South Sea. Hawaii. Just cocktails on the beach...
“Good morning, Wallice,” Mortimer greeted me as I had invited him in after his knock.
He rolled the silver tray cart to my table and bowed politely. Mortimer had been a servant of the house for ages and was always friendly. He had turned seventy in the winter and was still one of the old guard. I had asked him years ago not to address me by my title; I just felt too young for that. I liked Mortimer because he was neither intrusive nor arrogant. Meanwhile, there were already some around me who possessed such negative traits. Most bodyguards thought highly of themselves for being allowed to protect me. I often thought about how I could do without them. Who would want to harm me? Sure, there were anarchists, those crazy types who didn’t think about why they were after someone’s life. But if they really wanted to, they would get to you anyway. A few monstrous meat mountains around you wouldn’t help much.
“Thanks,” I said briefly, as even that word stirred the bees again.
As quietly as he came, Mortimer disappeared, and I sat down at the table. How long could I be alone today? Alone with myself? Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour? I dreaded the celebrations. Celebrating my birthday was entirely my plan. The best friends and girlfriends, no one else.
From shadows in my head, colorful figures emerged. With each sip of coffee, the evening became more vibrant.
Anne. My best friend. Pretty, intelligent, from a good family. But the way she spoke to me at night didn't sit well with me. She had hopes, and that's something I can't tolerate. I even thought I heard something like the word "dowry."
Beatrice. Small, chubby, red hair. Of Irish descent. Not my type, but at least she was neither pushy nor vulgar.
Jane, on the other hand, was much more so. She was the one who had transferred her perfume onto me. She constantly hovered around my neck, tried to kiss me, and always presented herself as my future partner. I didn't dare say that I could do without her. But she would notice soon enough anyway.
Rachel. She was my star that night. Tall, slim, with a narrow, even face framed by long, chestnut hair. The sister of my best friend Peter. I had known her for a long time, yet it felt like we had just met. I constantly sought her closeness, but somehow she avoided me. Maybe she was too shy to act in public as we did otherwise. Or she thought the thing with Jane was something serious.
But something else happened that night that wouldn't leave my mind. Something I hadn't thought possible. And yet it had happened.
Steven, a school friend, was also at the party. A quiet, thoughtful young man. The same age as me but a bit shorter, slim, with dark hair, brown eyes, and... Well, somehow he was always around me next to Jane.
Anyway, I went to the bathroom at midnight, and when I came out, he was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. He had a strange expression on his face.
"Are you not feeling well?" I asked him.
"No, I'm not."
"Do you want to be taken home?"
"No. I'm not feeling sick, if that's what you mean."
"What is it then?"
Steven suddenly looked at me in a way that made me feel completely different.
"You are," he said casually.
"What do you mean? Did I behave badly?"
Despite the dim light, I could see that his eyes were moist.
"Nonsense, you can't."
"Yes, but what is it then?"
He came closer to me, wrapped his hands around my waist, and before I knew it, he pressed a kiss on my cheek.
He suddenly stepped back, but his eyes suddenly sparkled.
"I kissed Prince Wallice."
I stood there like a pillar of salt. Somehow, I was used to receiving such a kiss from all sorts of people in the extended family. I liked most of them, but this was something entirely different.
The realization that Steven might be gay would not tarnish my friendship with him. He suddenly looked truly happy, and I felt happy for him too. If you could cheer someone up with such a small thing, then that was fine by me. I hugged him back.
"Hey, Steve, no matter what feelings you have, you are and will always be my friend."
He smiled dazzlingly and beamed at me with sparkling eyes.
"Really?"
"When the prince says something, it's true."
We stood there like that for a long time until Peter stepped in front of us.
"Well, is there a problem?"
I separated from Steve.
"Not really. Steven has a little problem, and we just sorted it out."
"Come in," I called when there was a knock at the door.
My father stood in the doorway with a strange grin on his face.
"Well, young man, did you sleep well?"
I nodded, and he surely guessed how I was really feeling. His eyes scanned the room. Of course, he must have hoped that I didn't spend the night alone in my bed; I could clearly see that. Also, the disappointment that his expectation had not been fulfilled.
He waved briefly.
"When are you coming down? The Scotbys are on their way."
I swallowed. Yes, the Scotbys. The entire nobility from the countryside. Starting from my grandparents down to the Sirs and Lords.
"Give me some time; the night was long."
"Yes, but not too long. The press is also on the move. And you know, you can't always escape them."
"Yes," I groaned, "I'm aware."
Nothing I hated more than the public, and the worst were the reporters. You could hardly avoid them, especially on a day like this.
I stepped in front of the mirror again. No, nothing had changed.
The extensive shower afterward was mainly aimed at that terrible perfume. Even when I dried myself off, it still seemed to cling to me. I would definitely stay out of Jane's way if I caught even a hint of that almost overpowering scent again.
I looked out of the window of our country estate, Folthmore, in southwestern England, Gloucestershire. Being a prince is not exactly easy. The world is watching you, whether you want it or not. A lot of cars had pulled up in the meantime, most of them probably belonging to those hyenas, as I aptly referred to the reporters. Cameras were being set up, a real commotion. Longingly, I looked into the forest that stretched far behind the estate. Disappearing in there was at that moment my most fervent wish. Perhaps it could rain buckets, and this pack would get soaked to the bone. But it was a glorious day, and hiding away was impossible anyway. A prince who was second in line to the throne could not escape the mob. People wanted to see him, to be part of his life. Maybe I was also part of their dreams. The dream of eternal laziness, spending money, and the fun one supposedly has. And every woman in the world would be at his feet. If only they knew... All I wanted was to be left alone. To study like thousands of other boys, without having to endure those secretive glances. And the whispering, too. The girls were often more than annoying. A time or two, I had locked myself in my room and cried. I begged to be allowed to be like the others out there. But it was of no use. Future Prince of Witham – and one day King. Did I really want that? Was that my destiny?
Sure, I had a lot of comforts. Many, in fact. My work abroad. I had the privilege, no matter what club it was. They tried to read every wish from my eyes; nothing was to be lacking.
What brought me the most joy were the regular visits to children's or animal shelters. There was no showboating, no envy, no exaggerated politeness. I was allowed to be the person I truly am.
But there was also the other side. Although I had no real obligations yet and the throne along with the responsibility was far away, I became more aware every day of what would eventually come my way.
In the ballroom of the castle stood my dear relatives from all corners of the country. Starting from the lord to my grandmother, the Queen of Witham. And the hugging began. I took it bravely; after all, I had little choice. I was glad I could spot Peter in the crowd. My best friend was never far from me, and I cherished him as the dearest person around me. His presence meant security, comfort in difficult times, joy, and fun. He was the one who had comforted me for days when my mother died. I don't know how I would have coped without him. Peter was very distantly related to me, over a thousand connections or so. We had known each other since childhood, and I believe I would have given up the throne for our friendship. Now I saw him, discreetly in the background. Sometimes he seemed like a bodyguard to me, as he hardly took his eyes off me. And I needed that closeness, more than ever that day. I would have liked to grab his arm and run out. Somewhere, just away from all of this. But a prince cannot do that. He cannot do so many things. And if he does, then under observation. Often, the tiny cubicle of a bathroom somewhere during various occasions was the only place I could be alone for minutes. Then I would close the door, sit on the toilet seat, and listen to myself, trying to forget everything around me for a few minutes. I thought about my future and my life in general. But whatever I concocted in my mind – shortly after, I found myself back in the spotlight.
"Steven?"
I looked unexpectedly into the boy's face. I had expected everyone here, but not him. But of course, he was the son of my great-aunt Agnetha; why shouldn't he be here?
There they were again, those brown eyes, that smile. And a look I couldn't interpret. I rarely get goosebumps, but there it was. It enveloped my whole body for seconds, only to be replaced by a very pleasant feeling. Suddenly, I felt his kiss again and came to the realization that it hadn’t been unpleasant for me. That had been Jane's perfume much earlier.
The banquet in the evening was another theater. Luckily, Peter sat to my right, and Steven to my left. I had wished for this seating arrangement and faced considerable resistance from some family members, as the seating had been planned weeks in advance. But I really didn't care that evening; no one was more important to me than the two of them. Well, some nasty looks came from Julie, one of my many nieces. But she's really not that great. And from Sarah. Well, taste can be debated. She is pretty, in a way, but just as dim-witted. Nothing drew me to them, and the nobility around me viewed these things with disapproval, even if they didn’t officially admit it. There was fear that I might one day bring home a commoner. That must not happen. Essentially, it was such regulations that often annoyed me. And then to put on a good face to a bad game was particularly difficult for me.
My gifts were indeed the highlight of the evening. Dad gave me a new VW Golf, exactly the one I had admired weeks earlier while shopping in Dover. I won't list the other presents; that would be too much. But I must mention the bracelet from Peter. Made of copper. It was supposed to keep me healthy for a long time, and I was happier about it than all the other things. Well, Grandma didn't want to miss the chance to give me a computer. I was quite familiar with those things, but I hadn't had my own until now. Why would I, I was rarely home anyway.
They really knew how to celebrate. After various speeches from my father and some uncles, the evening dragged on and on. Luckily, it turned into a kind of standing party, and I was able to sneak away with Peter and Steve for a while. I felt like having a cigarette and a strong glass of red wine. I could have drunk it alone, but it just tasted better when there were only people around me who meant something to me.
We sneaked into the kitchen, where I normally was never present. The cooks nearly fell into their pots when we showed up there late at night. I felt like they had been paralyzed by a Taser. But after a few explanatory words, the mood lifted, and it became a really great hour with them. We smoked with the cooks like crazy, drank sherry and wine, nibbled on lobster tails, and spooned caviar. I hadn't felt this good in a long time.
Slightly tipsy, we returned to the ballroom. No one had really missed us; there were too many people around.
My father stepped in front of me.
"You know we're starting our European trip in four weeks?"
Of course, how could I forget that? Luckily, this time it wasn't anything highly official. A visit to the Airbus production facilities. Hamburg, Toulouse, Illescas, Cadiz. A week of seeing something other than just politicians, and somehow I was even looking forward to it. And the best part was—none of my nieces or any other hangers-on would be there. Just my grandma, dad, the finance and education ministers, and then the usual entourage. With some of them, I wondered what they were doing on such a tour, but it wasn't—yet—in my hands to decide that. In Hamburg, there was a reception with the German Chancellor on the agenda. Well, whatever. I thought to myself that I would survive it. Peter had no time, which I regretted because having him by my side would have made it all the more enjoyable. After all, we were very interested in aviation, and besides, I wanted to become an air force officer once.
It was well past midnight when the first guests left, and I was dead tired. The previous night was still not entirely digested, and I was really glad to get to bed. Steven had left early; he was also completely out of it. Peter followed shortly after him, and from then on, it naturally became really boring.
It was three in the morning by the time the last person finally left the house. Feeling completely drained, I pulled myself up the railing to my quarters on the upper floor. I wanted to see and hear nothing more.
But sleep didn't come at first. I had received 20 text messages on my phone, and I had to read them first. Friends from university, almost all of them had checked in. Among them was also Steven.
"Hi Wallice. I hope you're doing well after this exhausting night. I wanted to apologize for the kiss; it really slipped out. But... I don't think you're the type to hold grudges. Or do you see me soberly in a different light? I didn't want to ask you that tonight; it was so nice. Have a good night. Regards, Steve."
Aha, of course. He feared that I might have taken it badly. I hadn't. I lay on my bed and read the message a few more times. Again, I saw Steve in front of me, felt his soft, gentle lips on my cheek. Saw those sparkling eyes, that smile.
I turned off the light and rolled onto my side. Even though I was so tired, I couldn't get Steve out of my head. Yet I had so many other things that should occupy me. My gifts, my new car, the trip through Europe. No, Steve stuck like a plaster in my head, blocking out other thoughts.
Again and again, his face appeared before me. That cute little nose, those eyes. And... was I just smelling him? No perfume. I ran my trembling fingers over the spot where his kiss had touched me. Had it just happened? Had it even happened? What was happening right now?
Stirred by my feelings, I got up and went to the window. A few lanterns in front of the house provided enough light to see the bodyguards making their rounds. One of the men raised his hand and waved at me discreetly. These people missed nothing, absolutely nothing.
And at that moment, a curtain lifted. It glided up silently, as one knows from theater plays. Behind it revealed another world to me.
How was it recently in Dartmoor? The Prime Minister had invited us to a reception. I don't remember the reason anymore, but it doesn't matter. In any case, I was walking towards the entrance with my father when a young guardsman stood in front of me. He stared at me and nodded very discreetly; no one but me noticed. Then he stepped aside and let me pass. Well, at that moment, his face reappeared in my mind's eye. He had been a very handsome young man, but I only realized that in that moment. I had encountered him several times that evening, and always that look. From now on, I knew he was just as attracted to me; I had simply ignored it.
"You can't be gay," I told myself quietly. "You can't. Blue bloods are never gay."
The guardsman kept looking up at me through the window. He could only see my shadow since it was dark in my room.
Did they notice what might be going on with me? Didn't I read somewhere that gay people can sense when others like them are nearby? Did Steve kiss me just because he was sure of it?
I felt hot. Very hot. Why weren't Beatrice, Jane, or Rachel competing for my attention in my head? That would have made sense.
I sat back down on my bed and stared at my phone. I had to respond to Steve, no matter how.
A flash of lightning illuminated my room. Was that a sign? Was something beginning that I had never expected? And if it really was?
It would probably remain my secret for a lifetime. I had to find an aristocratic woman, marry her, and have children. Etiquette demanded it. A gay prince? In this country? Never.
The rumble of thunder confirmed that I wasn't dreaming. From that night on, my life would look different. No, not one life. Two. The one the state wanted to see and the one I truly lived. My life.
I felt tears in my eyes. Not that they were tears of disappointment about myself and my feelings. No, it was nothing but the certainty that I would never be the person I truly am.
The second morning in a row that I didn't feel particularly well. But this time, it wasn't just the alcohol's fault.
"What's wrong?" my dad immediately wanted to know when I entered the dining room. He had always been a good observer, which sometimes annoyed me.
I couldn't tell him what was wrong, never. He belonged to the arch-conservatives who despised any form of alternative lifestyles. And gay people were at the top of that list. Admittedly, I had never thought about it because I had no contact with them.
With them? Thinking that sent a shiver down my spine. I belonged to them, even if I might not have wanted to admit it at that time.
"No, it's nothing."
I could feel that he didn't believe me.
"Here, read this," he said, handing me a list. The itinerary for our Europe trip.
"If you want to make small changes, do it early. You know the protocol has to be set three days in advance. I'll leave you alone now; I have to go to Parliament. See you later."
He ran his fingers through my hair, which hadn't bothered me all those years. That morning, I flinched for the first time at the touch, and Dad noticed.
But he just grinned from ear to ear.
"Aha, my boy is grown up."
With that strange remark, he left me sitting there and disappeared.
There were some interesting points on the list. I was most looking forward to Hamburg. I had probably been there before, but I could hardly remember it. It was cold, and I was whiny. Somehow, I had lost my stuffed bear back then.
"Welcome by the Mayor of Hamburg at the Town Hall square. Afterwards, visit to the Airbus manufacturing hall in Hamburg – Finkenwerder. Then a meeting with the Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Germany at the Town Hall. In the evening, a banquet in the grand hall."
Well, that was fine with me; it didn't sound stressful at all. The stress I faced was from a completely different direction. Constant stress with my feelings.
I retreated to my room. Luckily, it was vacation, and I didn't have to worry about things like studying.
I held my phone in front of me and was tempted to call Steve. But I couldn't do it. I just couldn't bring myself to. Peter? No, I wouldn't be able to keep him if he knew. I couldn't expect him to be understanding. Peter was a bit of a womanizer, and I had often noticed that he liked to see me in the company of young ladies. Maybe he even envisioned a double wedding; who could know? But the idea of his best friend being gay would probably be a disaster for him. Somehow, I saw my chances slipping away. Surely I could keep it a secret until old age. But did I really want that at the cost of the crown? Admittedly, the idea of being king someday intrigued me.
But during that time, I also thought of all the others. Those who weren't lucky enough to grow up at court and had to live in poor conditions out there. Those who barely had money for clothes and food and had to fight the battle for survival anew every day. Alcohol, drugs, and prostitution were never far away. I was aware of these circumstances, but I regularly pushed them aside.
"The most are to blame themselves," I often heard when it came to this topic. But I always felt that no one really wanted to have anything to do with it.
Every day, something of ours appeared in the newspaper. Some kind of tour, a celebration, a wedding, or a birthday. Then I imagined the beggars and the stranded ones, fishing the newspapers out of the trash bins and looking at the photos. All that food, the sinfully expensive clothes and suits, the beaming faces. How must a person on the edge of the abyss feel?
Maybe I didn't belong here at all. I was born into high society without being able to help it. I increasingly hated my fickleness and still didn't know how to confront it.
"Out there is someone who will desire and understand you," I heard my thoughts.
Out there? I could never be there.
My phone rang.
"Hello Steve."
"Well, my prince, how are you this morning?"
I was glad to hear his voice.
"You shouldn't always call me prince," I complained into the phone.
"But you are."
"Yeah, okay, what's up?"
I swallowed. Nothing did I long for more than him, and nothing did I fear so much at the same time.
"Tomorrow is the fox hunt. You’re definitely coming, right?"
The fox hunt. It was a nightmare, and I hated it. I loved animals in any form, and foxes in particular. Those clever, secretive creatures; they had a right to life just like all of us. But the nobility saw it differently. Not that they didn't like those little dogs, but for hundreds of years, they had been hunting them. And somehow, no one really seemed to mind the brutality of this "sport."
But I had to go; once a year, we were required to participate. Everyone was really excited about that day, and I was the only one who kept my deep aversion to myself. Well, Steve had complained last time too. Something about murder, but we had no way to escape the slaughter.
"Yeah, sure, I'm coming."
"Great. We're riding together, right?"
"Sure."
"Is something wrong?"
"No, Steve, nothing's wrong. I'll see you tomorrow."
Of course, Steven was sensitive enough to notice that something was wrong with me. I suspected that Steve only rode along because I was there.
I threw myself onto my bed. Nothing did I hate more than the fox hunt, but I couldn't exclude myself. Although a prince can get sick too. I started to think of a rather simple yet effective illness.
But nothing came of the illness. A glance in the mirror that morning was enough; I looked like the picture of health, and no one would have believed I was sick.
So I put on my riding outfit. I thought it suited me very well. Just not for this occasion.
And the sun was shining. No bad weather, no storm. Nothing that could have been detrimental to the hunt. I like the sun and summer, but on this day, I would have preferred a massive storm.
What I always looked forward to the most were the many dogs, and Fips was my favorite. The smallest of all the dogs. Sometimes I would lift him onto my horse when the distance became too long for him. He belonged to Lord John, but whenever the little one saw me, he would go wild.
The proud horse stood beside me.
"Hello, my prince," Steven said so quietly that only I could hear it. How did he look on his black horse? More of a prince than I.
"Hello Steve. You’re supposed to..."
"...not call you prince," he laughed. "But what can I do? You are and remain one."
Steve was a beauty among all the others here; he just looked good. This pale face, the dark hair peeking out in curls under his riding helmet, gave the boy a certain wildness. Those eyes, that stunning smile, and the slim waist in the riding outfit. Wouldn't I much rather be galloping through the woods and meadows with him at a full run, always close together? Just for fun?
But as always, the whole company gathered in the courtyard of the stud farm that was attached to the estate.
Sparkling wine, red wine, Campari. With that, the riders fortified themselves first, and then the chase began. Cross-country, followed by the press. I even thought I saw a camera crew in the courtyard. They were capable of following us with a helicopter.