The Trafalgar Gambit

Chapter Twenty-Five

It had been years since Henry had seen a full-sized hamper, even one designed for a handful of people rather than a full diplomatic party. Setting it up on his own had been a headache, but it wasn’t as though he was short of time. His only real official duty was monitoring the diplomatic talks and offering his insights, such as they were. Trained researchers seemed to have already moved ahead, thanks to computer assistance, of where he’d been when they’d returned to the Old Lady.

He looked up as he heard the door chime. “Come,” he called. “It’s open.”

The hatch hissed open, revealing Janelle. She started into the room… and then stopped and stared in disbelief. Henry had set up the table with knives, forks, plates and glasses from the hamper, each one worth more than a midshipwoman would see in a year. The cold meats and bread in the centre of the table, surrounded by sauces and spices, were just the icing on the cake.

“…Henry?”

Henry rose to his feet, suddenly very nervous. It had seemed a good idea, even a great idea, when he’d first had it, but now… he honestly wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea after all. They’d first met and courted in the heat of battle, with the certainty of death hanging over their heads, and now… she’d thought him dead and a liar and… what if she laughed in his face or slapped him again?

“I thought we needed a proper dinner,” he said. He waved a hand to indicate the table and the glowing candles he’d placed around the compartment. “What do you think?”

Janelle stared at him, then shook her head in amused disbelief. “Where did you get the food?”

“There’s always a diplomatic hamper or two dozen wherever the diplomats go,” Henry said, as he motioned for her to take one of the seats. “They always have the best food, intended for the diplomat and his counterpart to share while bonding — or perhaps doing some secret negotiation. I just asked for one.”

Janelle sat down. “And you want to share it with me?”

Henry swallowed. This wasn’t going according to plan.

“I wanted us to have a proper dinner,” he said. “And a proper chat. We haven’t really had time for it since we reunited, have we?”

“No,” Janelle said. He could see the doubt in her eyes warring with something else. Guilt, perhaps. There wasn’t much food on the table, but it was of higher quality than anything else on the ship. The mess served slop by comparison. “Henry…”

“Please, eat,” Henry said. He took a piece of bread, buttered it expertly, then reached for a chunk of chicken. “This is all going to a good cause.”

Janelle hesitated, then took a piece of bread for herself. They munched in companionable silence for several minutes, trying out the different slices of chicken, pork and beef with their respective toppings. It was a very diplomatic meal, Henry knew, as he swallowed a piece of beef with horseradish sauce. The diners could take whatever they wanted, add whatever seasoning they wanted to try and eat. There would be no row over badly chosen dishes.

He put down his final piece of bread with some satisfaction, then poured them both a glass of rose water. It had been a surprise to discover that there was no alcohol in the hamper, but perhaps that was for the best. Alcohol might have made them both act badly.

“There’s rarely very much in these hampers,” he explained, as she took her glass. “The idea is to show off the very top-class foods, rather than try to negotiate when the other side is stuffed to bursting. It isn’t an easy balance to strike.”

He sat back in his chair and looked at her. She was stunning, as always, but there was a harder edge around her now. Loving him, losing him… and discovering that her life was no longer her own had to have left scars. Henry cursed himself under his breath, then leaned forward. He wanted — he needed — to make her understand.

“I fell in love with you,” he said. It was so hard to find the right words. “I wanted to enjoy being with someone who wanted me for myself.”

“And so you did,” Janelle said. Her voice was very even, but he thought he heard a quaver in her tone. “But I never expected to discover you were hiding a dark secret.”

“I know,” Henry said. Most boys would have concealed a past girlfriend or an unwholesome relationship, perhaps an experiment with homosexuality. He’d concealed a connection to the Royal Family. “I should have told you from the start.”

“But you couldn’t,” Janelle said. “You had no way of knowing what I would do with it.”

“No,” Henry said. He swallowed, again. Other royals had been betrayed through trusting in the wrong person. “You might have wanted to become a Princess or you might have contacted the media or…”

“I understand,” Janelle said, tonelessly.

“I was going to tell you,” Henry said, remembering the Admiral chewing him out for selfishness. “I told myself that I would confess the truth on the voyage back to Earth and if you decided you didn’t want to be part of the Royal Family — or even have a relationship with someone in the family — we would separate and no one would be any the wiser.”

“That would not have happened,” Janelle pointed out. “Someone saw fit to contact the media about me after your name was revealed.”

“I know,” Henry said. He felt so useless. “I couldn’t keep that from happening.”

“Of course not,” Janelle said, bitterly. “You were dead — presumed dead.”

She half-rose to her feet, glaring at him. “Do you know what I went through because of you?”

“…Yes,” Henry said. He didn’t know the specifics, but he could guess. The media would have sifted through her life, looking for scandal to tantalise and thrill the masses. Even after Earth itself had been attacked, he knew, nothing would have changed. They’d tell themselves that they were distracting the people from their woes. “And I didn’t mean it to happen.”

“But it did,” Janelle said. She slapped the table, tears visible in her eyes. “They had people harassing my parents, for crying out loud! My parents!”

Henry almost pointed out that he had reporters harassing his parents too, but somehow managed to hold his tongue. It wouldn’t have helped. His father had been born in a glass house, knowing — all too well — that anything he did would be used against him. And his mother, born to minor nobility, had had far more privacy until she’d married King Charles and discovered the truth behind the royal household. Janelle hadn’t even had that degree of scrutiny before she’d become his lover.

“Tell me,” she said. “Does it end? Does it ever end?”

“No,” Henry said.

He took a breath. “I don’t intend to stay,” he said. “When we get back to Earth, Janelle, I intend to abdicate my position. I won’t be Prince Henry any longer.”

Janelle managed a weak smile. “I think they know about Charles Augustus by now,” she said. “Call yourself John Smith this time.”

“Perhaps,” Henry said. “It was foolish of me to hope I could honour my family’s wishes and have a normal life. I can go elsewhere and I will. There are quite a few asteroid colonies where my privacy would be respected. I can go there and live a blameless life.”

Janelle frowned. “And would you be happy there?”

“I would be,” Henry said, “if you came with me.”

He took a breath. “I love you,” he said, simply. “You’re smart, sensible and pretty and… I love you.”

Janelle leaned forward. “How do you know you love me?”

She held up a hand before he could say a word. “I researched your family history,” she said, softly. “Almost every marriage your family entered into when both partners were young ended badly. They either separated or stayed in relationships that were effectively warzones. There was no way they could have a long relationship as an unmarried couple.”

Henry winced. His parents — and Royal PR officers — would have vetted any girlfriend he’d met outside Buckingham Palace. Some of them had been deliberately pointed at him, he suspected; they’d seemed to know who he was, even without being told. Others had been reluctant to enter into the full glow of the media spotlights. He could hardly blame them, he knew; a single night spent with one of the girls could have ruined her life. And how could he blame Janelle for feeling the same way.

“We don’t have to marry,” he said, softly. “We could go to one of the asteroids together and set up a home there. If we can’t endure one another…”

Janelle hesitated. “I wanted to stay with the Old Lady,” she said. “But that might not be possible now, Henry.”

Henry nodded, cursing himself once again. If Janelle became the Princess Consort, even unofficially because they weren’t married, the Admiralty would probably insist on transferring her somewhere safer. Henry, now his identity was no longer a secret, would probably be transferred elsewhere too. Hell, the bastards could even justify it without reaching for torturous logic. Henry knew, without false modesty, that he’d learned a great deal from his career as a starfighter pilot. The Academy would probably be happy to have him teaching the newer recruits.

And reporters are banned from the Academy, he thought. I could be safe there. We could be safe there.

“We could go to the Academy,” he said. “I could teach; you could… teach too.”

Janelle snorted. “How to catch a Prince in ten easy lessons?”

“Charge though the nose for them,” Henry advised. “They won’t last long.”

Janelle started to pace the room. “I don’t know how I feel,” she admitted. “I fell in love with Charles Augustus…”

“Who is me,” Henry said.

“…And discovering I was also dating Prince Henry was shocking,” Janelle said. “I already mourned you once.”

“I believe there’s a tradition that if someone is reported dead, falsely, they are guaranteed a long life,” Henry said. It was one of the pieces of trivia he’d been forced to remember for some diplomatic meeting or another. “I can’t remember where it comes from, but…”

“This isn’t funny,” Janelle snapped, whirling around to face him. “My life turned upside down.”

“I know,” Henry confessed. He rose to his feet, then walked over to the sofa and sat down. “I didn’t intend to cause you any problems.”

“But you did,” Janelle said. She sat down next to him. “And now we have to deal with the consequences.”

Henry hesitated, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She relaxed into his touch, minutely. He felt an odd surge of relief — she still cared for him — which he pushed aside, mercilessly. He’d managed to get into trouble, before, by misreading a girl’s body language. It was the last thing he wanted to do now.

“Yes, we do,” he said. “This is a Morton’s Fork, Janelle. Whatever choice we make, there will be pain. Lots of pain.”

He sighed. If they married and remained as part of the Royal Family they would have no privacy. If they remained lovers they would have no privacy. If they broke up they would still have no privacy. Janelle would be considered a helpless victim by some parts of the media, a jezebel-like bitch by others… and everything in between. The only halfway reasonable solution was to walk away from the Royal Family completely.

It wouldn’t be easy, he knew. He did have his training, which would buy his way onto one of the independent asteroids, but it would be a far from easy life. And Janelle, too, would have to work for a living. She wouldn’t have the gilded cage she would have if she lived in Buckingham Palace. But then, he knew she didn’t want the cage. If she had, she would have taken him back at once.

“Then we live together elsewhere,” Janelle said, firmly. “Are you really prepared to do that for me?”

“Yes,” Henry said, with utter certainty. He’d died once — or at least he’d been reported dead. Reading his obituaries had been eye-opening. He’d always known the media was two-faced, but switching between endless praise — as if he’d been a Mary Sue — and savage condemnation had surprised even him. And none of them had talked about what he’d been like as a person. “I will not remain at their mercy any longer.”

He shrugged. “I can write to my parents and Elizabeth,” he added. “That’s what happened before to Prince George. He might no longer be part of the Royal Family, but he could still contact his family.”

“If you’re sure,” Janelle said. “I’m sorry.”

Henry stared at her. “You’re sorry?”

Janelle looked back, her eyes bright with tears. “I loved you, then I mourned you and then I cursed you because of the damage you did to my life,” she said. “And now here I am, wanting you, pushing you into abandoning your birthright because it’s the only way you can have me. I’m a bitch and yet I can’t go to the other side…”

Henry reached for Janelle, pulled her to him and kissed her, hard. She kissed him back, her hands reaching around to stroke his back. Henry felt the kiss grow longer and longer, then his hands were suddenly working at her uniform, pulling it away from her body. It was suddenly very hard to undress without tearing something…

Afterwards, they lay together on the deck, holding each other tightly. Henry kissed her, allowing his mouth to trace the edges of her face, one of his hands stroking her breast gently. She moaned, a deep sound, then reached down to stroke him in return. They were both interrupted, moments later, by the sound of the buzzer.

“Duty calls,” Janelle said, as she reached for her wristcom. “I’m back on duty in an hour.”

“Bugger,” Henry said. Several viler words came to mind, but he held them back. Had they ever had a chance to just lie together and cuddle? It wasn’t very manly — he still cringed at some of what he’d been told, at school, was proper manly behaviour — yet it felt good. And it definitely felt better than a loveless coupling with a prostitute. “Want to shower together?”

Janelle smiled, then winked at him. “Why not?”

Henry pulled himself to his feet, then followed her into the washroom. It was barely large enough for two bodies, but he didn’t mind as he splashed soap on his hands and started to wash her breasts. Her nipples hardened as he stroked them, then she pushed his hands away reluctantly. Henry knew she had a point — she did have to go on duty — but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. His body was intent on telling him just how long it had been since he’d slept with her, prior to his capture.

“Don’t tell the Admiral about our decision,” he said. Now he’d made the decision, he felt curiously free. He had a long way to go before he could separate himself from the monarchy for good, but he felt better for knowing what he was going to do. “He might be obliged to tell someone.”

Janelle frowned. “Who?”

She stepped out of the shower and rapidly began to dry herself. Henry forced himself to look away as her bare body winked at him, then concentrated on washing himself clean. In hindsight, it would probably have been better to ask her to bring spare clothes to his quarters before she came, but he couldn’t have done that. She might have snapped at him for presumption.

He sighed as he took a towel and scrubbed himself dry, then walked out into the main room, where Janelle was buttoning up her uniform. She looked remarkably presentable, he decided, although the grin on her face was quite alarming. Henry hesitated, then told her to concentrate on appearing normal. Everyone would know what had happened if she walked out of his cabin with that grin.

“Bastard,” Janelle said, without heat. She made a show of eying his face. “And what about your grin? You’re smirking like a cat in heat.”

“I have to clear away the mess,” Henry said. He looked down at the remains of the hamper. They hadn’t even managed to get to the chocolate cheesecake… he shrugged, then transferred it to the fridge. It could be devoured later. He had a sudden vision of licking it off her breasts and had to fight to keep calm. “And then review more and more boring diplomatic stuff.”

Janelle smiled. “Have you thought about requesting assignment to the embassy, once one is set up on the alien homeworld?”

“The government wouldn’t let me, I suspect,” Henry admitted. The thought was tempting, but there were too many objections. He’d have to remain Prince Henry, for a start. “They’re very keen to keep the Royal Family away from power. Too many people remember King Charles I.”

“He was centuries ago,” Janelle protested. “I thought most people remembered Charles III.”

Henry shrugged. Charles III had been unlucky enough to be monarch during the Troubles. He hadn’t been malicious, but there had been too many politicians eager to divert blame onto the monarch’s shoulders. Charles’s reputation had never really recovered. His namesake, however, had plotted to destroy Parliament and wage war on his own people. Henry would have liked him more if he’d slaughtered reporters by the bucket load. Instead, he’d started a civil war and then lost, losing his head in the process.

“Aristocrats have long memories,” he said, instead. “They need to think long-term if they have any hope of surviving at all.”