“Women’s medium, I think. Actually, bring several sizes just in case. I’ll pay for them all.”
“Very well, sir.”
“And some movies. Some science-fiction movies. The Mr. Who ones.”
“Doctor Who, sir?”
“Yes, those.”
“I believe that’s a TV show,” the woman corrected gently. “And I’m sure you can find some of it on-demand if you check your television.”
“Oh, of course. Thank you.”
“If you can think of anything else, let me know, sir.”
“Will do.” He hung up, rubbing his jaw and thinking. After a moment, he called back down to the front desk again. “Do you know of a game called MMOG?”
“Um. Do you mean an MMORPG?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“That’s a type of game, Mr. delle Scogliere. My son plays several. That’s the only reason I know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was amused. “Was there one in particular you were interested in?”
“I’m not sure. What’s the most popular one?”
“That would be World of Warcraft.”
“Can I get a copy of that, too?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” If she was going to be house-bound for the next while, maybe he needed to learn how to play the game to spend time with her. The thought wasn’t unappealing, for all that it was sedentary. After all, his excursion out to the local polo club hadn’t exactly been the most welcoming. Going there had been nothing like home, where he was friendly with everyone and all the people at the club actually wanted to play, not just hang out and drink.
For a brief moment, he was homesick. Dreadfully, awfully homesick. He’d left his country in the past, but never before had he been told not to come home. It rankled, quite a bit. He wasn’t a criminal. He was just a member of the royal family, a bit lower down the food chain than most. Why on earth should he have to play all these games just to avoid taking a job he didn’t want anyhow?
Frustrated, he picked up his cell phone and called his manor house.
“Villa delle Scogliere,” a smooth voice answered.
He didn’t recognize the person. “This is Loch. Who’s this?”
“Oh. My lord. I’m sorry. This is Brandon. I’m filling in for Simon. His wife had their baby. A boy.”
“Give them my regards.” Damn. Simon was his friend and his valet. If the man wasn’t in, who was looking after his estate? Loch should have been there, not this terrified-sounding man. He wasn’t a monster, after all. He was just calling to check on things. “Who’s in-house today?”
“Myself, the cook, the stable master, and your accountant. Shall I get one of them for you?”
None of them would be able to help him. “No, thank you.”
“I do have a number that Simon left for you if you should call with any questions?” The man—Brandon—sounded hesitant. “It’s for the Minister of the Crown? Franz Bersatz?”
Right, the little man with the glasses when he’d had his meeting with his aunt. “Excellent. Let me have it.” He wrote the number down, thanked Brandon, and then dialed the new number.
“This is Franz Bersatz.”
He cleared his throat. “This is Loch.”
“Loch! My lord, how are you enjoying the States?”
He wasn’t enjoying them much at all, actually, but to complain would sound petulant. “Lovely. I wanted to call and see how the situation was back at home. Everything swept under the rug?”
The man made an unhappy noise. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“I mean that the insurgents are aware that you have left the country and are lobbying for your return.”
Well, on that they both agreed. He wanted to return, too. Of course, if he did, they’d insist on him taking the throne, and that wouldn’t do. “What if I abdicate? Like George?”
The minister made another unhappy noise. “That would be bad.”
“Why would it be bad? Isn’t that what we all want? Me to be taken out of the line of succession?”
“Yes, but it’s the how that is sticky.”
He rubbed his brow. “Explain.”
“People start making noises about the line of succession after the princess marries an American. Then, George drops from the line—”
“But George dropped because he got caught sticking his dick in the maids.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Franz said. “It can still be seen as manipulated by the throne. Griffin is less of an issue because he hasn’t lived in Bellissime for the last decade. He’s not much more than a remote figure, unlike you. Also, he’s technically still in the line of succession, just considered undesirable because of the new wife-to-be. Now, let’s say you were to drop from the line of succession for whatever reason. How would that look to the public?”
The man was right. It would look as if his cousin Alex were getting rid of her competition. It didn’t matter that there were no ulterior motives on his cousin’s end—Alex was a nice girl but very much a stickler for the rules. All that would matter was that all the male family members were being struck off the list for one reason or another. He sighed heavily. “Damn it.”
“You see my point? You can’t just drop from the line of succession simply because you don’t want to be king. Everything has to be carefully orchestrated in order to reduce any amount of blame that Princess Alexandra might get. All it takes is a few words in the wrong ears and we’re looking at revolution. No one wants that.”