Chapter Text
Part 1: Enemies
[Photo: blond man with immaculate posture and a linen suit, listening intently to a woman in a coral cocktail dress and a preposterously big hat]
[Photo: the same man, dressed in polo gear and sat expertly astride a bay polo pony, caught mid swing, dirt and grass kicked up from the horse’s hooves]
His Royal Highness Prince Henry was spotted this week at a charity polo match for the Naturalism Society, which is currently pushing its Urban Initiative. The initiative plans to open several teen centers in London.
“My family has supported the Society for many years,” the Prince said when we caught up with him after the match. “I expect it will continue that support for many years.”
“Fuck him,” Alex hissed, flipping his phone facedown on the table and picking up his fork.
“That is what you get when you taint the sanctity of brunch. Nothing good comes of it. Whoever you’re mad at will probably still be worthy of your disdain later.” June leaned back in her chair, adjusted her sunglasses, and picked up her mimosa.
“Not a good enough reason to use the word taint,” Nora muttered under her breath, attempting to eat what amounted to a fancy powdered donut with some semblance of decorum. It was not going well.
Alex tried to sit back and let his surroundings wash away his anger— the gentle sound of the Potomac lapping against the docks, the cool drip of the condensation on his cocktail glass, the smell of cooking seafood and Old Bay wafting over from the fish market, the man laughing with his children on the walkway next to the patio where they were currently eating—
“Okay but here’s the thing.” June and Nora groaned audibly as he broke the silence. “His Royal Highness is up to his shit again. He’s partnering with a foundation. The Naturalism Society, which is as messed up as it sounds.”
June grimaced, rubbing at the abstract blue and purple shapes around her left wrist. Alex mirrored the gesture, stroking his thumb over the white whorls flowing from his right temple and across his cheek.
“Yeah, that’s terrible,” Nora agreed. “But, the world is a dumpster fire and we are trying to chill out for just a second. Now shut up and eat this donut. It comes with a chocolate dipping sauce.”
Alex took the donut and grudgingly bit into it, refusing to admit out loud that it did make him feel perhaps a teeny tiny bit better. He stared at his phone for a few seconds, deep in drunken, carb-loaded contemplation, and then turned it all the way off and shoved it in his pocket. He picked up his glass and took a long sip.
“That’s the spirit!” June said brightly, holding up her own flute in a toast.
————-
Alex woke from his post-day drunk nap with a splitting headache and a pissy mood. He tried and failed to remember why (concerning the bad mood; he was extremely aware of the choices that lead to his headache) until he turned his phone back on and saw the headline staring back up at him.
The whole thing wormed its way into Alex’s brain. His anger and sadness bred around it. He couldn’t help thinking about what he would say to Prince Henry, if he were ever in a position where speaking his mind to the man wouldn’t endanger a trade deal or something. He’d planned and re-planned what he’d say about his Mark if given the chance. About how proud he was of his soul mark. How much it meant to him.
Alex truly, genuinely loves his Mark. He remembers the year of jealousy he had when June got hers first, the day before her quinces. The thrill he felt when his dad took him to the church to get his Mark on his birthday. He also remembers the small crisis he had when he realized it was going to bloom on his face, and the comforting hugs and long talks with both his parents that helped him move from embarrassment to pride. Now, he sees it as a connection to both his past and future. To his father, who was taken to get his soul mark by his father, and his father before. And to the person he would eventually share his life with. The one that would cause his Mark to sing and shift and settle. He was willing to put in the hard work to get there with someone, and he was excited that the whole world would get to see it every time they looked at him. Also, he thought it made him look dashing. Magazines seemed to agree.
He’d written that essay in his head a hundred times, addressed to dozens of people, but that didn’t stop him from rewriting it over and over again all the way through dinner and movie night. He daydreamed about possible inciting incidents while eating pizza. As Furiosa tried to beat Max to death with a wrench, he considered possible introductory sentences. He reordered his main points as the Doof Warrior shot sparks out of his guitar. He knew, he knew that there was no magical combination of words that would change the Prince’s mind. There was no situation in which Alex reciting what basically amounted to an immaculately written tirade to his dumb face would result in a satisfying character arc. This did not stop Alex’s brain at any point.
“Come on, baby bro. Don’t let him get to you.” June held open her arms, wordlessly demanding a hug. Alex didn’t bother pretending to resist.
“I’m fine,” he lied, face on her shoulder.
“Listen, if it’s that bad, we’ll just shove him off a balcony when we see him next week.”
Alex narrowly avoided slamming his head into hers as his spine straightened and his eyes widened involuntarily. “Oh shit.”
June laughed with the kind of delight only older siblings feel when causing their inferiors distress. “Yeah, I think Prince Philip is planning to get married no matter what your current feelings on his brother currently are. “
Alex scoffed, turning to head down the hallway. “My feelings are the same as always: he’s terrible and always will be. “
June snorted. “Uh huh.”