Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The scratching and snuffling sound filtered through to his morning dreams. Within moments he opened his eyes and regarded the familiar, opulent surroundings to which he was accustomed. The painting seemed to look down from its majestic horse and regal finery to the sumptuous, priceless antique oak posted bed that filled the room.
“Bloody dogs” he murmured to himself.
Soon the butler will bring me the breakfast and another day of duty will begin. Every bloody day doing this and doing that, what is the fucking point?
The prince’s inner dialogue questioned.
The prince rolled on to his side wondering whether he could get another five minutes without being fussed over or being bothered by his grandmother’s dogs barking at his door.
Closing his eyes and quickly falling into the hypnogogic sleepy haze, the prince’s jumbled thought had him mumbling out loud,” There has to be more than this.”
“Sir, sir” were the sounds that awoke the prince for the second time, who was still lost in an imagined foreign clime.
“ waaalk and learn” the prince responded in a gabbled dream speak.
“Breakfast is served your highness.” said Gerard, “You have so much to do today sir. Your clothes are ready and…”
“Okay, okay” the prince cut him off; and then quickly reposed himself and added,” Thank you Gerard” out of courteousness.
Gerard had been the appointed Royal Butler to the prince since childhood and the prince was very fond of him.
Why does this man call me sir, anyway? This man has spent pretty much his whole life serving me or my brother or my father or anyone with any so-called royal blood, like Gods. I just can’t understand it really. Why me? Just by a fluke of birth.
The prince shook his head slightly in accordance with his inner dialogue and settled down for breakfast.
I am not going to do this anymore. No more. Just how many days am I going to wake up and live like this? People bowing their heads, serving me and looking up to me, for no reason at all. My whole life is a charade. This plastic bubble I live in, floating around like ‘Willo the Wisp’. This isn’t life as everyone else sees it. I can have anything I want, anything at all and yet I cannot exist or relate to anyone or anything.
The bacon cooked to caramelized perfection crunched noisily in his mouth. The sounds didn’t block out his inner dialogue and the thoughts plagued in his mind like the salty, satiating meat that pervades his tongue.
“Gerard, I am not going to do this anymore you know, and neither should you.” The prince vocalized his thoughts.
“What is it, sir? The chef is new, but we know how you like your breakfast, sir. Is it to your satisfaction sir?” came the worried and hurried response.
“The breakfast is absolutely, bloody perfect, as is everything that I ever have or do, Gerard. You know…” the prince seemed to mumble and then drew the courage to finish his sentence,” I don’t feel alive anymore and soon you won’t need to bother catering for me any longer.”
Gerard had often thought when he had finally retired from his duties for the night that he had always provided everything the prince ever needed. He had shown him how to dress and act, and carry out the royal duties in finesse and class to which he deserved. Gerard had also noticed how that; as the prince had grown, that he was becoming more and more distant and unhappy, but could never comprehend the reasons why.
Pensive and worried, he had talked to the school tutor and the royal aides about the ever-growing resentment, the prince had displayed in private. Was this another show of discontentment?
“Really sir?” Gerard asked wondering if the prince meant suicidal thoughts.
“Yes, Gerard, and no more calling me sir, please.” The prince paused before adding, “If anything, I should be calling you sir from now on.”
They will try to stop me, but I am going to do this; no matter what!
James lied back in his luxurious bed and recollected the night before. It had been yet another night out with his old school friends. Champagne had flowed at the now over-familiar London nightspots. Even the select nightclubs were extremely exclusive in their choice of patrons and had a further echelon of privacy in the VIP lounge where only the even more rich and famous could frequent.
This had been one of those places where the sons and daughters of pop stars, relations of zany, perfect teethed billionaire Russian oligarchs and the well-tailored offspring of Lords and the grand landowners attempted to mix with the actual royalty that they all so wished to be.
James had sat, back towards them in the quietest corner he could find to avoid their endless approaches. They always wanted to speak and possibly touch what all their money could never bring them, and to sleep with such a prince would be beyond their wildest dreams, let alone to actually date him.
James had wondered again why he had found himself there and had sipped, then gulped back countless glasses of the bubbling, golden elixir from its crystal flute. He had found himself drunkenly staring vacantly at the same wall lit in varying places from second to second in time to the blaring music. The bass made all attempts at talking inaudible, but the repeated conversations and approaches had bored him anyway.
Everyone was the same. Everything was monotonous. Everything was dull, even in those glaring, glitzy and tinkling charade palaces filled to the brim of the cool and trendy people.
James then rolled his eyes back in his head when he remembered how he had thought that if I have to look at another Farah jumper he’d scream.
Abjectly dancing in to the small hours and falling out in to the street for the ever waiting paparazzi made James grimace at its recall. The also ever present specialist police protection unit made James shake his head in dismay.
Rolling over in the silk sheets from Egypt James pondered his memories further.
James had always assumed it was automatic for a young man of privilege and of aristocracy to fulfil the role of partaking in his senior grandmother’s protectors of State and monarchy. He thought it was his job to serve his country, especially as it literally was his country.
He had found that all his time at the militarily acquisitioned and converted, old stately home in the wilds of Berkshire had been filled with strenuous exercise and the education of being able to be obedient and also control other obedient inferiors in the military hierarchy, but now he had time on his hands.
It had been two months since Prince James had finished his military officer training at the world-renowned Sandhurst. In that time he had become expert in army practice and had been fit enough to pass their grueling tests in the field. In the classroom, James had also excelled in the strict protocols of the army curriculums that had served Britain so well throughout the centuries.
James thought that although he had been well occupied and somewhat satisfied with his days completely filled with things to do he had still not been happy. Falling into bed exhausted after long wet days trekking had been easy enough, but to wake up filled with a constant dull depression and sadness that never seemed to end was beginning to become debilitating.
James had considered the reasons for this melancholy countless times over the partial three decades of his life.
The women were boring. The conversations were more than dull. The inane grins of the public clawing at his presence. Ahh…
Once again, James tossed and turned in that sumptuous bed.
James had come to the conclusion that the lifestyle that was meant to befit a king was a future split between being tirelessly paraded for a world audience cutting ribbons, fake smiling and travelling to and fro to all these venues; and then on the other hand, forever trying to hide away from the public eye at every available opportunity.
James closed his eyes again and fell back in to a restless sleep so he could be bright eyed and bushy tailed for his scheduled meeting with his father and stepmother later that afternoon.
