Rogan
Maymoore Castle
“Why must I always find you hiding from the family when you know we are expected at the dining room table at precisely six o’clock?”
“Hence why you’re the next King of Kannick, and I’m not.”
“You could be.”
“The chances of that are slim to none, thanks to our two-year age gap. You are as healthy as a horse, Deagan. Thank God, too, because you make a better-looking king.”
My brother grunts in a fashion unbecoming of our royal lineage. I’m impressed. Loosening his tie, I watch him sit on the edge of the couch. My sitting room is a mess. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and the alcohol I consumed the night before to celebrate my return home litters the coffee table. The servants love to hate me. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the used condoms under my bed. I make a mental note to clean that up.
“I’m not so sure of that, Rogan. At least you have a backbone.”
“Avaya giving you a hard time again?”
“There are days I wish I were you out there organizing military strategy rather than listening to her bitch all the time. Between her and mother, I could go insane.”
“Personally, I think they’re running the country just fine.”
I’m expecting the pillow that sails toward my face, but I let it hit me anyway.
“We’ll let them believe it just the same. Now, come on. You have five minutes to make yourself presentable. We’re having the head of our military defense dining with us tonight. There’s been unrest with Wharwick and Mendoza this year, and we hope to secure a treaty.”
It’s my turn to grunt. “That man is an idiot, Deagan. He wouldn’t know his left arm from his right. If Father allows him to form an alliance, he’ll fuck it up.”
“Language, brother.”
I return the pillow throw while rising to my feet. It would be reasonable to put some clothes on, but now that I know our guest of honor, staying in my underwear seems way more appealing. I suspect the Defense Minister, Arden Weinstein, feels the same way about me. I’ve undermined many of his maneuvers out in the field, often taking control out of his hands and into mine. It has saved our lives countless times, which is one of the perks of being the king’s son. I can’t help it. Weinstein seems determined to get us killed. His military strategy sucks ass. Of course, the king will be furious to know how many times I’ve put my life on the line. Or I think he would. Half the time, I can’t tell how he feels about me. I’m supposed to stay out of the line of fire, but I have a terrible habit of doing the opposite.
I quickly put on the evening attire set up for me and run a hand through my messy, dark brown hair. The natural auburn highlights give me an exotic look that the women here seem to love. I need a haircut. Opening the door, I walk out. I don’t even look to see if my brother is following me. He will beat me there. He always does. Passing several guards and servants along the way, I feel like I’m walking to my execution. Thankfully, mealtimes usually allow me to pass under the radar. Once again, that’s the beauty of being the spare.
“Father, I am not a babysitter.”
This isn’t happening. I don’t want the job. Please give it to someone else.
“If I may.”
I glare at Defense Minister Weinstein. If I could get away with it without getting my ass arrested, I’d shoot a hole through his damned skull. He ignores me.
“Presenting a diplomatic presence will be a step toward making peace, sir. Wharwick is by far the largest country in the world. Building a stronger alliance with them will allow us to build on the alliance with Mendoza.”
“She’s a goddamned ballerina.”
“Dancer, sir.”
I ignore the correction. “How could babysitting this girl build a stronger alliance than we already have? She’s just an ordinary girl.”
“Who has captured her people’s hearts. And watch your language, son. She’s brought a lot of recognition to her country. That’s how their country works. They don’t have a royal family. They run off a system different from ours. Their government rules more aggressively, which entails a system of governing foreign to ours. Her ability to move her feet in such a way has garnered her tremendous attention and affection from her fellow citizens. They say she’s a shoo-in for the Games.”
I don’t care what it entails—babysitting her means I can’t return to my unit. I will have to stay here and play my part. I don’t hate being a prince. I love the people. I frequently ride through the country and aid them whenever possible, often to the chagrin of my family. The part I hate is the stiff, diplomatic responsibilities with the title. Aside from that, dancing isn’t my idea of a sport. Still, for some reason, unbeknownst to me, it’s the reigning sport alongside football among the countries. Sports play a significant role in our world. The Games are a big deal. Every year, it puts all the countries in one arena, and contestants from each one come together to compete and bring notoriety to their side of the world.
Along with it, diplomats and royalty work harder than ever to forge friendships and alliances during this time of unity. This is the part of royalty I love. Being the spare, I’m literally spared from having to make those tedious rounds. Instead, I get to be a spectator, and I’ve even competed in martial arts a few times. My military training aids in my martial arts training, making me a top contestant. Unfortunately, recently, they banned royalty from competing. They say allowing someone from a ruling family into the competition brings an unfair advantage to a country. A fucked-up rule if you ask me.
Sighing, I place my napkin next to my now-empty plate. I could fight with my family, but that would only cause a lot of attention I don’t want. Besides, the flirtatious looks my sister-in-law is giving me are starting to make my dick shrivel into nonexistence. Deagan could have done so much better. Why he allowed Mother to set up their marriage is beyond me. We don’t live in the Middle Ages, for fuck’s sake.
“When will she arrive?”
