Barely Regal - E. Davies Page 0,1

get a place somewhere out of pity.

But he had four big brothers. The heir was duty-bound to learn the country’s history and laws and act in Rosavia’s interest. This was largely theoretical for Leo, who hated the whole system. The second-born, Sander, had the same lot but none of the fun parts. Diplomacy and trade was handled by Jules, even if he complained about being a prop. The fourth in line, Ben, was supposed to be commander in chief of their small military.

Pierce’s tone was wry. “Indeed,” he said, but the hint of incredulity in his tone made Wren stop.

“You don’t think I could? I’d love the military,” Wren insisted, folding his arms. “It would give me something to do every day, at least. What was it like for you?”

Something flashed in Pierce’s eyes. He didn’t often talk about his time in their country’s defense force. Nobody had told Wren much, either. All he knew was that Pierce had done something heroic before taking the palace’s job offer when Wren’s childhood valet was due to retire.

“Structured,” Pierce answered, caution edging his tone. “I can only speak to the officer’s school, of course. It’s a popular choice for prestigious families with prodigal children. Many of them chafe under the restrictions.”

Wren snorted with laughter. “The stories you must have.”

“Indeed.” Pierce’s eyes flickered his way, and with a ghost of a smile, he added, “Many students chafe at not being allowed to spend their days as they please: getting tattooed on a whim, or visiting disreputable addresses.”

“For example,” Wren prompted, grinning at the cheeky response. Thom gave as good as he got, and it worked perfectly. “I’ve only gotten one tattoo. Yet. I count it as one.” And maybe he’d gotten drunk on his eighteenth birthday and called the nation’s best tattoo artist to give him a Veni, Vedi, Vici tattoo in sprawling cursive across his chest. So what? He was a new, modern prince.

“Despite being three words, a phrase is, grammatically, singular,” Pierce answered in the gravest tone of agreement that managed to express his disagreement.

Wren laughed and clapped Pierce on the shoulder. “Maybe not the military for me, then. But something where they tell me what to do. Not just lie around all day looking pretty for visiting dignitaries and tourists.” He made a face.

Pierce didn’t answer, his cheeks suddenly flushed, perhaps from the brisk pace Wren set.

They’d reached the king’s study, where they were greeted by the king’s private secretary. After Wren was announced and ushered in, they left him alone with his father.

“Hi, Dad.” Wren smiled as he crossed the room and plopped casually in the formal carved chair across the desk from his father.

King Alphonse was getting on, but his silvery hair and care-lined face didn’t slow him a bit. The twinkle in his eyes still lit up whenever he saw his sons, and Wren was reminded again of why everyone liked his dad.

He just felt easier the moment he walked in.

“Renford,” his father greeted him by his full name, ignoring the way Wren grimaced. “I hope you enjoyed your birthday.”

“Oh, hell, yeah.” Wren grinned and rubbed his head. The hangover had nearly faded. With him being a New Year’s baby, his birthday always felt like the last event in the holiday season before they returned to normal life. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s time to discuss your royal duties,” his father said, cutting to the chase. “I know you’ve wanted something to do for… well, almost your entire life.”

Wren nodded sharply. “And?” He was impatient, a flutter of excitement pulsing through his blood. When push came to shove, he had van Rosavia blood. Whatever his duty, he’d do it.

“I’ve decided to put you in charge of one of this nation’s greatest symbols.” His father folded his hands and leaned over his desk, and Wren’s hands started to tremble with anticipation. Whatever he anticipated, it wasn’t his father’s next words.

“The palace rose cultivation program. As the Commander of Roses.”

Wren blinked wordlessly two or three times. “The…?”

What the hell? I can’t have heard that right.

Roses were the royal family’s official flower, and even more important to the country than their national food, the blueberry. As a result, everything in the bloody palace was covered in roses or tasted like blueberries. Sometimes both, which was a real mindfuck.

Wren’s heart sank as his father went on, smiling away at him like he expected him to be thrilled. The words blurred together as Wren struggled to contain his disappointment.

“The gardeners have been preparing