Chapter Text
The worst part of his upcoming announcement to the world, Curt thought, would be the sudden lack of privacy.
It was traditional, his mother insisted, for the heir to the throne to be introduced to the world upon their 25th birthday, and spend the next few years serving as Crown Prince or Princess before being coronated upon their 27th.
He’d known that since he was little, he’d spent his whole life preparing for it.
That didn’t mean it made today any easier.
“You’ll be fine, dear,” His Mama said, brushing his hair back gently. “We can hold off until the announcement and crowning until it’s nearly time to serve the entrée’s.”
Curt nodded, absentmindedly parroting out a Yes, Mama. He had until dinner time— that should give him two and a half hours before the ceremony, so that food could be served at precisely seven PM.
Two and a half more hours of freedom, then.
Curt gave his Mama a smile and a kiss before she left his side— while he could sneak in from one of the hidden passageways in the castle, his Mama had to be announced. It should at least give him time to slip in unnoticed.
Curt wanted to hesitate, to gaze out at the ballroom and truly see how many people had been invited to come see him, but he didn’t have time for that.
Instead he quickly stepped into the bustling crowd, giving nervous smiles to the staff and receiving encouraging ones in exchange. Though Curt was hidden from the public and press all these years, he was still able to socialize and make friends amongst the palace staff.
Curt weaved his way through the room, able to sidestep the people around him— for the most part.
Curt felt the body slam into him before he saw it, felt the champagne soak into his suit, before he heard the accented voice go, “Oh, bloody hell!”
Quick as a flash, Curt gave a subtle signal to the guards posted around the room— stand down but stay alert— before he even took time to take in the stranger. He didn’t want the poor man to get a taser to the knee— or worse— just because of an accident.
The stranger was in the midst of wiping him down with a handkerchief he had on had, apologies falling off his lips. “I’m so sorry, love,” The man said, and Curt identified his accent as British. “I didn’t see you there—”
Curt smiled, thanking his mothers’ for teaching him how to cold read people and thus able to tell that the stranger was telling the truth.
“It’s all right,” Curt said, reaching up and stopping him by grabbing his wrists gently. “I should’ve watched where I was going.”
The stranger examined Curt’s face, as if looking for something, before giving him a genuine, if somewhat relieved, smile. “I am truly sorry, Mister. . .?”
“Curt,” Curt said with a soft smile. “Just Curt.”
The stranger’s grin widened. “Nice to meet you, Just Curt,” He said, holding his hand out. “I’m Just Owen.”
Curt gripped Owen’s hand in his tightly. At least, for a little while, he could be normal.