Prologue

                                    

                                              
The King is dead. 
                          
That is what the papers and the radio broadcasts will say tomorrow. The entire country will come together and mourn, forgetting all about class differences or the possibility of war with neighboring nations. Tomorrow they will be united in their grief. But for today, they still scuffled along, and King Richard of Westhaven still drew shallow breaths. The doctors and nurses had cleared away to let him have a last few moments with his family, a last few words before his lungs gave out for good. 
                          
Scott, Prince and heir to the throne, knelt at his father's bedside, numb and terrified. The King had been such a good and fair ruler, a just man, and a wise parent. Scott didn't know how to be any of those things, and had rather been hoping for more time to figure it out. Now a definite date had been set for when he had to act like a grownup, unless someone came along to change the rules. As it stood now in Westhaven, if an heir is under the age of twenty-five, a regent will rule in his stead until that time. So, his mother the Queen would sit on the throne for now, but only until Scott's twenty-fifth birthday in just over two years. Then it would be all over. 
                          
In a fair world, Scott's half-sister Kirstin would inherit the throne. She was older, and better suited to it, and she certainly wanted it more. But she was a girl, and that's just not how things were done. 
                          
Scott's mind whirled in endless circles, looking for loopholes and finding none. He finally lowered his head to touch the cool hand of the dying man, clutched between his own. "I can't do this, Father. I can't be who you need me to be."
                          
The King squeezed his fingers gently. "You are my son. My blood. My flesh," he said hoarsely. "You'll rise to it as I had to. I wasn't meant to be a king either, you know."
                          
This was true, though it was not a subject often spoken of. It was the story of the last time the King of Westhaven died. 
                          
Richard was actually the second son of King Stuart; his older brother Matthew was the heir, and had been well groomed for the role. Richard, being free to marry for love rather than politics, fell in love with a girl from the village named Ana. They married and soon after gave birth to a daughter named Kirstin. The wedding of Prince Matthew to the Lady Constance of Meravia was the event of the season. It would solidify peace between the neighboring countries and it seemed as though the entire nation was in attendance. Unfortunately, also in attendance was a pair of radical separatists from Solevar, the bordering country to the south. 
                          
The terrorists had opened fire on the bridal party just as Constance was coming down the aisle, dressed in white. Richard had been nearby and pushed her to the ground, taking a bullet in his shoulder, but protecting the future queen from injury. She was one of very few that escaped unscathed. The King, Prince Matthew, and several members of nobility were assassinated right on the altar of the church. 
                          
Perhaps most devastatingly for Prince Richard was the bullet that had missed a low-ranking Duke and killed his lovely wife Ana. Guards were dispatched and the terrorists were quickly captured, but nothing could prepare Richard for the consequences of that horrible attack. He had become a widower and a single father and a king all in one day.
                          
Somehow he survived that time, taking his brother's place in all things, even marrying Constance to protect the political treaties between Meravia and Westhaven. They did not love each other then, were too blinded by grief to even consider it, but their duties were clear and within a year, the Queen gave birth to a son. Scott knew those same expectations would be on him beginning tomorrow, and this scared him more than running the country. 
                          
"You must do your duty, son," the King said, seeming to read the direction of Scott's thoughts. "You must ensure that our dynasty continues."
                          
"I don't want to be a father," Scott blurted. "I don't want to be a husband, certainly not to a woman."
                          
"Scott!" It was his mother speaking now, her tone laced with disapproval. She had very little room for tolerance when it came to Scott's preferences. He couldn't blame her. She came from a conservative family, and had been given so few choices in her own life. It didn't make sense to expect her to be lenient with him. 
                          
But the fact of the matter was, Scott was physically attracted to men. Some women too, but never one he'd consider marrying. There were clubs, secret underground places where he could go in disguise and play around with boys from the village. He knew it was dangerous, and it deprived him of building a real relationship, but the Queen had made it clear that he was to hide his "sickness" from the kingdom. The King had been less harsh, accepting him for who he was, but reminding him always of his position, as he did even now that he lay dying. 
                          
"There are sacrifices we must all make for the good of the nation," the King said gruffly. "Fortunately we are royalty and may have our cake and eat it too." He wheezed a laugh at his own joke. 
                          
"What are you saying, Father?" Scott asked and his voice sounded nearly as rough. 
                          
King Richard squeezed his son's hand with brittle fingers. "I hope you know how much I love your mother, but it was not always easy, for either of us. And that's to say nothing of my parents--they didn't even set eyes on one another until their wedding day, and barely spoke to one another in all the time I knew them.  They were not cold or unfeeling people; they found their own form of happiness, and so will you."
                          
"Richard, you can't seriously be telling our son and the heir to this kingdom that it's alright for him to keep some boy toy on the side!" The Queen's voice was like ice. 
                          
"Connie, my love, I may be dying, but I am still the King, and I can tell him what I like." He somehow managed to make these words ring with authority and with love despite having little volume. He gave his wife a wistful sort of smile and then turned to face his son again. "Scott, I know that life is far too short to be unhappy.  Do your duty to the crown, but don't forget to live." 
                          
Then the King broke into a severe round of coughing that had Scott moving back and watching on in horror.  It took several minutes for him to catch his breath, and once he did, his skin looked gray.  Once so tall and physically commanding, he seemed shrunken and weak, Unable to speak any longer, the Prince moved to the window and let the women take his place.  Kirstin knelt where Scott had been, pressing her tear-stained cheek into her father's icy palm.  The Queen sat delicately at the foot of the bed, her carefully composed mask cracking here in these final moments.  
                          
Scott couldn't watch them.  He turned and stared out the window over the lush green palace gardens.  Despite the oppressive summer heat, those gardens were still a riot of color, at odds with the dull sadness inside the palace.  The sky over Westhaven was a stunning shade of blue, interrupted by a handful of wispy clouds and a pair of iron-colored airships, drifting toward one another.  Scott could remember being a little child and seeing a sight just like this, upset because he expected the ships to crash.  That was before he understood perspective, before he could see that one ship was much closer than the other, and that they could cross safely and never touch.  His father had taught him that lesson, among so many others, and he'd taught him a new one today.  
                          
The King spoke a bit more, whispers of love to his daughter and his wife, pleas for them to be kind to one another, for theirs was not an easy relationship. And then he was gone. Scott called for a doctor and then held Kirstin in his arms while the Queen wept silently. Not five minutes later, a trio of noblemen came in to have Scott's mother sworn in as Regent. It was all very efficient, and it became clear that there would be little time to mourn; the Queen Regent would need to go to work immediately. The transition of a monarch is always a vulnerable time for a kingdom. 
                          
As she was ushered away, Scott caught her eye briefly. It was a long enough look to know that she would have no patience when it came to the expectations she had for him. He would need to take a wife and father an heir, sooner rather than later. But he wouldn't deprive himself of pleasure. A royal should be able to have his cake and eat it too. Even if he had to eat it in secret.