Barely Regal - E. Davies Page 0,3

preferences and needs in every sphere.

Book learning had always been a problem, and with less resting on his shoulders than those of his older siblings, the family tolerated the youngest son’s lack of attention to his studies.

Thom had always found just enough discipline, given kindly, was the most effective strategy with him.

Most teachers didn’t connect with Wren, though. They were either overawed by Wren’s status and afraid to pull him up when needed, or tried too hard to treat him like any other student, without an eye to the subtle differences in his everyday life.

“What am I going to do?” Thom muttered, rubbing his face again.

Thom’s job was to know what Wren needed before even Wren was aware of it. The third dismissal in a row was weighing heavily on his conscience like his own personal failing.

He took a moment to stretch and looked around his wood-paneled office. Then, he turned in his chair to gaze out at the garden below. His office was located directly by the door to Wren’s rooms, and their wing overlooked the rose garden.

Wren had been down there a handful of times since his father had told him what his new duties were, but never for long. The everyday chores of weeding, watering, pollinating, potting up seedlings… all of that was handled by the palace’s small army of gardeners.

All Wren was supposed to do was learn the theory behind their family lineage of rose cultivars and instruct the gardeners in which to develop.

What had King Alphonse been thinking? Even Thom knew that rose cultivation wouldn’t capture a vibrant nineteen-year-old boy’s imagination.

Poor Wren had been so crushed to learn that he wasn’t doing anything important for the nation’s practical, everyday matters. But with five princes, aside from parties and receptions, there were never going to be enough duties for everyone.

The ball was less than two months away, and Thom was getting daily inquiries into the status of Wren’s training. Many people were anxious for him to choose a rose cultivar so they could get started printing it on invitations, carving it into paneling, and God knows what else.

Thus far, Thom had protected his prince from this pressure, but it wouldn’t last much longer.

Thom stood up, wandering to the window to watch the gardeners at work. He racked his brain, tugging at the collar of his simple white shirt and fidgeting with the buttons of the black waistcoat. If he could just find the right tutor for Wren, seeing the real-world impact of his decisions would make a difference.

After the Royal Ball, the moment the official match was to be announced, the palace would start using the appropriate rose. It would appear on the eventual wedding invitation and be woven into the decor. People would clamor for their own seedlings to grow that summer. As they took their new prince, the other royal consort, into their hearts, the citizens of Rosavia would love the flower chosen to represent the marriage. It would grow, along with the princes’ love, in the people’s hearts.

He’d found it hard to study from books back when he was in officers’ school. Learning in a controlled environment had felt pointless. He’d only found himself and learned to feel comfortable in his skin when he’d gotten out there.

And the regimented routine didn’t hurt, either. Knowing who was above and below him in the pecking order minimized stress. That was just how the palace operated, and despite his fears, he’d found his place here—not just serving Wren, but guiding and teaching.

Wait. There was an idea.

Thom stopped in front of the window, tapping the glass lightly with a fingernail. It was crazy, but it might just work.

What if Thom taught Wren?

After all, he’d learned much more in the past two months. He had to know just as much as his charge, if not more, in any given field. Long nights of homework had paid off. He might not understand the scientific side of botany like a professor emeritus, but he understood how Wren’s mind worked and how to motivate him.

Unlike them, he also knew how not to make Wren feel like an idiot. Every time he saw that thundercloud around the young prince’s face, the protective instinct in him rose fast and hard. Sending those men packing had been too easy.

He’d never stepped in like this before, but this wasn’t a normal education, either. He didn’t have to be from the country’s oldest university to understand the respiration cycle of a rose. And once Wren had