A Royal Without Rules

“Did Lenz know?” she asked in a whisper.

“We were both called before the king.” Pato could hear the grimness in his voice. He’d never told this story before—he’d never imagined he would tell it to anyone. It certainly wasn’t part of the plan. “He informed us that a great crime had been perpetrated against the throne of Kitzinia, and that it must be rectified. That was how Lenz found out.”

Adriana’s eyes closed, as if that was too horrible to imagine. Pato had been there, and he felt much the same. He and Lenz had been ordered before the king, commanded to appear, even though Pato had been in England and Lenz in South Africa at the time. Pato remembered how baffled they’d been, jet-lagged and even somewhat concerned about their father. Until the nasty, furious way he had delivered the news, as if Lenz had engineered his paternity himself for the sole purpose of deception.

“You have no brother from this day forward,” the king had intoned into the stunned, sick silence, glaring at Pato as if Lenz had disappeared into thin air. “You are my heir, and your mother’s bastard is nothing to you.”

“But,” Pato had begun, his head spinning. “Father—”

“I have one son,” the king had snarled. “One heir to this throne, Patricio, and God have mercy on this kingdom, but it’s you.”

Pato had never cared much for his father before that day. He’d always been a distant, disapproving presence who had rarely lowered himself to interact much with his second son, which had always suited Pato well enough, as he’d seen what it was like for Lenz to have all that critical attention focused on him. But after that day, Pato had loathed him.

“My father cannot bear scandal,” he said now. “He is obsessed with even the slightest speck of dirt anywhere near his spotless reputation. And I had recently landed myself in the tabloids for the first time with an extremely inappropriate British pop star. The king was not pleased about it when I was merely the ornamental second son, or so I heard through the usual channels, but when it turned out I was his heir, he went apoplectic.”

Adriana was still sitting there, so straight and shocked, her eyes still wide. “Did he plan to simply toss Lenz out on the street?”

“He did.” Pato moved to the nearby armchair and lowered himself into it. “He thought he’d wait until my pop star scandal faded, exile Lenz from Kitzinia and force me to take on the duties of a crown prince in a sober and serious manner that would indicate my brush with the tabloids was no more than a regrettable, youthful indiscretion, never to be repeated.”

Adriana only stared at him, shaking her head slightly as if she couldn’t take it in. Or perhaps she was attempting to imagine him in the role of dutiful crown prince—a stretch for anyone, he was well aware. Even him.

“Lenz’s exile was to be presented as an abdication well before he was to take the throne.” Pato smiled slightly. Darkly. “But I never let the scandal die down. From that day forward, I made it my job to be an embarrassment. To make it abundantly clear that I was and am unfit for any kind of throne.”

“Pato.” She shifted then, moving forward in her seat as if she wanted to reach over and touch him. Her hands moved, but then she held them together in her lap. “You know I admire your brother. But if you’re the heir to the throne...?” She searched his face. “Isn’t it your birthright?”

“You sound like Lenz,” Pato said roughly. He had to get up again then, had to move, and found himself staring out the windows that looked down to the peaceful water. “I never envied Lenz his position. I never wished for his responsibilities. And when they were handed to me, I didn’t want them. Can you imagine if it was announced I was supposed to be king? The people would take up arms and riot in the streets.”

“They might object to the Playboy Prince, yes,” Adriana said after a long moment. “You’ve made sure of that. But that’s not who you are.”

His breath left him. He ignored the ache in his chest.

“My choice was a throne or a brother,” he said quietly. He turned to face her. “I chose my brother. And I don’t regret it.”

“Pato...” she whispered, and the look in her eyes nearly undid him.

“Since then,” he said gruffly, pushing forward because he couldn’t stay in this moment, couldn’t let himself explore the way she gazed at him, “my father has had to pretend to keep Lenz in his good graces, because his pride won’t allow him to explain the situation to his ministers. Especially when, as you say, I’ve made certain the alternative is so unacceptable.”