Work Text:
And this world ain't making me scared no more
Like a cha cha cha
When Champagne all over myself I pour.
“Remind me once again why I agreed to accompany you here?” Bertrand Beaumont demanded irritably. He took a hasty step to the right to avoid being trampled by a large, whooping group of Eurovision fans draped in various European flags.
“Because tomorrow morning your ex-wife is appearing on ‘Wake up Cordonia!’ to talk about her new self-help book Riding Cowboys: How I Got Back in the Saddle.” Maxwell replied bluntly, exchanging an enthusiastic high five with a random passer-by. Tact had never been Maxwell Beaumont’s forte. Liam examined the Duke of Ramsford with carefully concealed pity. Savannah’s Walker’s decision to abandon Bertrand for both Chuck and a new career as a ‘Positivity Influencer’ had kept the Cordonian gossip pages entertained for months.
Bertrand grimaced, smoothing down his tweed jacket. “Thank you for reminding me of that fact.”
Maxwell grinned sheepishly, throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “C’mon, Bertrand, I know Eurovision has never exactly been your thing, but maybe you should try and get into the spirit of things this year?”
“Mmm.” Bertrand fell into step beside the King. “What do you make of all this, Your Majesty?”
Liam pulled his fluffy, pink bucket hat down a little lower. “It’s probably for the best if you just call me Rob. Remember, Bert, that I’m undercover.” This outing was reckless. Mara had basically begged him to attend the contest in an official capacity with a full security detail, but like Bertrand, he’d wanted to escape Cordonia for a little while.
“My brother seems to have no qualms about being recognised…” Maxwell was basically jumping up and down in an attempt to be noticed. He’d started dance-walking down the crowded Eurovision Village thoroughfare, humming a medley of Cordonia’s greatest Eurovision hits.
“Yes, well, Maxwell is Cordonia’s Eurovision commentator this year. So really he's here in a professional capacity.”
Bertrand sighed defeatedly. “I’m just relieved he isn’t our entry. He seemed rather distraught when we refused to reform th--”
He was drowned out by a loud scream in a British accent. “OH. MY. FREAKING. GOD. IT’S. MAXWELL. BLOODY. BEAUMONT!”
Maxwell bowed, beaming in delight. “It is indeed.”
“Please please please take a photo with us!”
“Of course! Anything for my fans!”
“Give me strength,” Bertrand muttered wearily. “If his head gets any larger it won’t fit in the commentator’s booth tomorrow.”
Liam shot the Duke a sympathetic smile. “This is his big moment…” Bertrand certainly had a point though. For a while, back in the heat of Auvernal’s attempted coup, Liam Rys had grown to despise Maxwell Beaumont. Once he’d actually taken the time to read The Royal Romance, his reaction had been one of abject horror. Maxwell simply didn’t seem to care that he’d misrepresented events that had caused Liam immense heartbreak and lasting trauma… not as long as the book sales were booming and movie deals were forthcoming. It had taken a long time and extensive therapy before he had been able to spend extended time around the younger Beaumont. Real forgiveness only occurred when Maxwell had publicly decried his father and voiced repeated public support for Liam’s reign. They’d never be truly close again, but at least he no longer yearned to have his childhood friend executed for treason.
Bertrand sighed, an air of resignation about his slumped shoulders. “I suspect we might be here for a while.” A remarkably long selfie queue had formed in front of Maxwell.
“Shall we go and get a drink, Bertrand?”
“Good idea Si--Rob.”
They weaved through the crowd, joining the long line for the bar. “What are you drinking, Bertrand?”
Bertrand pursed his lips, frowning in concentration. "Given the inclement weather and high humidity, I feel like a glass of Pinot Noir would be a suitable choice."
Liam chuckled. “I think it’s a choice between lager or cider.”
“Disappointment strikes anew... I’ll take the, err, Carlsberg. I presume that it is a beverage?”
***
Drinks acquired, they settled down on the grass. A band Liam didn’t recognise were performing on stage, and judging by the enthusiastic audience response they were extremely popular. He thoughtfully examined the dour Duke. “How are you, Bertrand? Really?”
Bertrand paused before answering, tentatively sniffing his lager. “It has been a difficult time, but I do believe I am starting to see the light.” He exhaled, his formidable eyebrows briefly meeting. “I am happy for her.”
“You are?” Liam asked gently.
Bertrand nodded solemnly. “Savannah came to understand that what matters to her most is fame… and now she’s found that in her own right.” He smiled wryly, pausing to sip his beer. “I believe that is commonly referred to as growth." Bertrand's eyes widened in dismay. "Good heavens, what is this terrible drink?!”
Liam chuckled. "You're being very gracious about your situation."
Bertrand set his drink aside. “Yes, well. It is Bartie that matters in all of this. He deserves to see his mother happy, and I don't believe she ever truly was as Duchess of Ramsford. She certainly despised the business of estate management.”
“How is Bartie?”
Bertrand’s shoulders slumped, unmistakable pain flashing in his eyes. “He loves life on the Walker Ranch, but I miss him terribly.”
Liam nodded sympathetically. “You’re visiting soon?”
“Indeed. I fly out to Texas next month. Savannah will be embarking on her honeymoon with Chuck.”
"I still can't quite believe that she ended up with Chuck."
Bertrand gazed wearily at the stage. "I believe that with Chuck she found the freedom she felt life as a Duchess denied her."
Liam shook his head. “I don’t think another person can ever be your freedom… Thinking that way is a shortcut to pain.”
“You’re thinking about Duchess Riley.”
It wasn’t a question. Liam took a long gulp of his own drink. “I once projected onto Riley all the things I longed for: freedom, adventure, love. I made her a beacon for all my hopes and dreams…" He sighed. "I barely took the time to understand who she really was, to comprehend what she wanted. Is it any surprise I pushed her away?”
“Circumstances were extraordinary during the social season.”
“I don’t just mean that." Liam shook his head. "I pushed her away as a friend too. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for what I did during her honeymoon.” He subconsciously rubbed his jaw and the ghost of a bruise that had only physically healed. “Drake punching me certainly threw a few things into perspective.”
Bertrand nodded. “You did after all gatecrash their honeymoon and demand their firstborn child.”
Liam grimaced. “Quite.” With the benefit of hindsight and therapy, he knew that his behaviour had been completely, well, unhinged. Appearing uninvited during his best friend’s honeymoon and suggesting they make their child, which hadn’t even been conceived, his heir, was not sane behaviour.
***
“You’re traumatised, Li…” Drake had said quietly, once his anger subsided enough for him to be able to even speak to his friend again. “You need help processing everything that happened with that bastard Anton.”
Liam’s face contorted with months of suppressed pain and rage, the tide of emotions bursting out of him in a messy, ugly flood. “I need an heir! I need to protect Cordonia!” A vein throbbed at his temple. You stole Riley, Drake. You owe me this.
Drake snorted, clearly reading his mind. “Then go and fucking marry Olivia! Just leave me and Riley out of this shit.” Something indefinable burnt in Drake’s gaze, a peculiar mix of triumph and pity. “Making her the mother of your heir isn’t going to change the fact she's *my* wife.”
It was the worst argument they’d ever had in all their years of friendship. Eventually though, Drake had wordlessly offered him some ice for his swollen jaw and sat quietly by his side while Liam researched therapists. Riley, however, was slower to forgive. How can I possibly blame her? He’d acted as if he had a right to her, as if she was his to claim, despite her gentle refusal of his proposal and her marriage to his best friend.
***
Bertrand’s concerned voice interrupted his reverie. “Are you well?”
Liam nodded, bringing himself back to reality and smiling apologetically at his serious companion. “Their baby is due any day now.”
Bertrand nodded. “Yes.” The Duke smiled wryly, placing a sympathetic hand on Liam’s shoulder. “I believe we’ve all acted rather… erratically… over the last few years. Our lives did rather descend into chaos.”
Liam chuckled. “What makes you say that, Bert? The attempted coups? The appearance of my long-lost sister? The fact we had to defeat the world’s most inept secret society?”
“All of the above.” Bertrand swirled the drink in his cup, obviously still less than impressed by the beverage. “I do hope this event doesn’t send Maxwell’s ego back into the stratosphere. I understand that he craves the spotlight, but I fear it doesn’t always bring out the best in him.”
“Let’s hope he keeps his head.”
Bertrand cleared his throat. "I really am sorry about my brother's literary antics. I should have insisted on reading The Royal Romance prior to its publication."
"None of this is your responsibility, Bertrand." Liam smiled wearily, gently waving away a bumble bee. “Eventually I came to understand that the book was a coping mechanism for Maxwell. He was also dealing with his own…”
“Unrequited love for Riley?” Bertrand suggested quietly.
“Yes.” Liam quickly stood up and brushed down his knees. “Shall we go and locate your brother?”
“I believe that would be for the best. He has a busy day tomorrow.”
It didn’t take long to locate the younger Beaumont. He was surrounded by a large, cheering crowd. Apparently he had arranged a dance off. Maxwell was aghast at the suggestion they depart. "I can't leave! I promised the victor a date with yours truly!"
Bertrand was somehow able to extract his reluctant sibling from the eager throng without resorting to a headlock. “You need to rest, Maxwell. You have a big day tomorrow. Imagine if you lost your voice during the contest.”
Maxwell’s eyes widened in horror. “That would literally be my worst nightmare.”
***
The atmosphere in the Eurovision arena was electric. Performers and crew milled around as the countdown to the contest began. Maxwell was dressed in a suit that was more sequins than fabric. Liam struggled to look at him without sunglasses.
“Ahh, there you are, Cordonia!” A smiling woman dressed in black, wearing a headset hurried over to them. “You’re running a little late.” Liam stared at her for a moment in astonishment. She was beautiful. Her long hair was piled on her head in a messy bun, and her demeanour was professional, but her eyes sparkled when they met his.
Maxwell grinned. “Sorry about that, Sabrina, but I had to give my adoring public some attention on the way.”
“We were stuck in traffic,” Bertrand explained brusquely, ignoring his brother’s pout.
“You know your way to your booth by now, right?”
Maxwell nodded. “Certainly do! My booth buddies and I will head over there now.”
“Booth buddies?” Sabrina inquired hesitantly.
Maxwell nodded. "Tonight I will be accompanied by my brother Bertrand, and our good friend, err..." He trailed off, having obviously forgotten Liam's Eurovision pseudonym.
Sabrina quirked an eyebrow. "Your good friend has no name?"
Maxwell shrugged. "He likes to keep things mysterious."
"Well... I suppose the three of you can fit inside the booth. Just don't invite anyone else in there." Sabrina smiled at Liam, holding his gaze for a moment, long enough for a fluttering sensation to soar in his chest. He blinked, a realisation washing over him. I haven’t felt this way since the night I met Riley.
“Just let me quickly snap some pics.” Maxwell strutted eagerly through the crowd, obviously expecting adoration.
“Here we go…” Bertrand muttered wearily.
The younger Beaumont’s face quickly fell. “Nobody is paying any attention to me.”
Liam smiled appeasingly. “Well… This is a busy event.”
“Ow!” Maxwell frowned. Several people had trampled on his feet as they’d sprinted over to join a growing crowd. "What’s going on over there?”
Bertrand followed his brother's gaze. “They seem to be crowding around someone. Presumably one of the acts?”
Maxwell craned his neck like a meerkat. “WHO is that?” He jumped up and down on the spot in an attempt to get a better view. “It’s not Kalush Orchestra or Daði Freyr.” He turned to gaze forlornly at his brother. "Nobody has even glanced at me since we got here."
Sabrina smiled, obviously trying to conceal her amusement at Maxwell’s dismay. “That's one of Ireland’s old acts. They were pretty popular at the time, if a little controversial.”
Maxwell's eyes widened. “Jedward?”
Sabrina chuckled. “Nope. Anyway, you really do need to take your places now."
***
The moment they finished the final technical preparations in the Cordonian commentator's booth, Maxwell dashed out. He soon reappeared with three open bottles of champagne and something stuffed in a large Eurovision-branded tote bag.
Liam glanced in puzzlement at the bag. “You went to the merch stall?”
Maxwell grinned triumphantly. “Even better. I found out what everyone was staring at earlier, and I dealt with that pretender to my crown.”
Bertrand recoiled from the bag in alarm. “Dear Lord, that isn’t someone’s severed head is it?”
Maxwell beamed, tipping the contents out onto his commentator’s desk. “Voila!” A bedraggled mess of feathers flopped out. Liam glanced in confusion at the creature. It wasn’t entirely obvious what it was meant to be, but it certainly had a strange, pink beak.
“You lost the limelight to that?” Bertrand asked incredulously.
Liam reached out gingerly to touch one of the feathers. “What is it?”
“That is Dustin the Turkey.” Maxwell’s expression darkened. “I hate him. Stupid wannabe Muppet. He was stealing my limelight!”
“Umm…” Liam frankly couldn't think of anything else to say.
Maxwell glared down at his rival. “With him gone I’ll make Eurovision love me. I’m going to be the new Måns Zelmerlöw!” Liam couldn't decide if this was a new level of bananas behaviour by Maxwell or just his idea of a normal Saturday night.
Sabrina stuck her head around the door. “Ten minutes to go. Are you ready, Cordonia?”
Maxwell shot her finger guns. “Absolutely.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that much champagne really a good idea?”
Maxwell frowned, hands on his hips. “Sabrina, do you have any idea how important it is to remain hydrated? Are you trying to desiccate my vocal cords?”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how hydration works.”
Liam smiled at her. “I promise to personally confiscate them if he becomes too rambunctious.”
Bertrand nodded solemnly. “We used to do that with blue smarties when he was a child.”
Maxwell frowned indignantly, swivelling to glare at his sibling. “Wait! That was you? Nothing hurts like betrayal!”
Liam rolled his eyes. “We’ll make sure he keeps it professional.”
Sabrina smiled, once more meeting his gaze. “Thanks, mystery booth man.”
***
“GOOD EVENING, CORDONIA! It’s your favourite Eurovision Song Contest Commentator, Maxwell Beaumont, coming to you live from Liverpool where the UK is hosting Ukraine’s party.”
Liam settled back in his chair, wondering how Sabrina would react if he asked her out. He knew basically nothing about her apart from the fact she worked for the EBU. Did she already have a partner? How would she feel about the idea of dating a King?
Maxwell was on a roll with his commentary. “Here we have the opening parade! Flying the flag for Cordonia of course is our 2023 Eurovision entry The Apple Boiz. As I’m sure you all know, their amaaazing song Screw You, Granny Smith qualified in Tuesday's semi final. And I know you can’t wait to hear their incredible rap again this evening. Yours truly personally helped them choreograph the breakdance section.”
“He’s doing well,” Bertrand whispered.
“So far so good.” No sooner had Liam spoken than three security guards burst into the booth.
The three Cordonians stared at them open-mouthed. “Err, can we help you, gentlemen?” Bertrand asked eventually.
One of the guards seized Dustin, raising the turkey triumphantly. “Maxwell Beaumont, you stand accused of kidnapping an official Eurovision delegate. You’re coming with us!”
Maxwell screamed. “NO!”
“You’ll be going away for a long time, Beaumont.” The security guards began literally wrestling the microphone from Maxwell’s hands. Bertrand and Liam watched on in astonished bewilderment.
Maxwell wailed hysterically as the microphone was eventually and successfully prised from his grasp. “Remember me, Cordonia!” Within moments he was bundled abruptly from the room.
Bertrand and Liam stared at each other in astonishment. “Should we intervene?” Liam asked quietly.
“Err…” Bertrand was clearly contemplating striding to his brother’s defence. “I suppose he did steal that bird.” The two exchanged a glance, silently admitting their frustration with Maxwell’s latest antics.
Sabrina appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide in alarm. “The first postcard is almost over! One of you is going to have to take over as commentator.”
Bertrand blinked. “Pardon me?”
Liam opened and closed his mouth, uncomfortably aware that he must resemble a guppy. “Take over…” You’re a King, Liam! You can handle this. Sabrina is counting on you! He sat up straight, clearing his throat. “Good evening, Cordonia! My apologies for that brief disruption, but I’ll be taking over the commentary on Maxwell’s behalf. My name is Rob, and I’m a member of Cordonia’s Eurovision delegation. I’m joined here by…”
“Duke Bertrand Archibald Beaumont,” Bertrand added stiffly.
“Now let’s enjoy the first act…” Liam smiled wryly, wondering how the hell this was going to play out.
***
Bertrand cleared his throat when the first song ended. “To answer a question posed by that act: Who the hell is Edgar? Fortunately for you, dear Cordonian listeners, I once wrote an extremely well-received university essay on the works of Mr Poe, so allow me to elaborate extensively on that question. Edgar Allan Poe was born in 1809 in Bos--"
Liam quickly cut him off. “Sorry, Bertrand, but I believe we’re ready for the next act.”
“Ahh, yes, Portugal. I see.” Bertrand reached for one of Maxwell’s champagne bottles, taking a long swig as Mimicat began her performance.
Fuelled by champagne and hubris, they plunged on with the commentary. Bertrand quickly resorted to googling facts. “Now it is my understanding that Sweden is the bookies favourite…” He launched into a complicated explanation of betting odds. "Think of it this way. If this were the social season, Sweden would be Countess Madeleine and Finland Duchess Olivia."
Liam leaned into the microphone. "Up next is Genovia, the only country with marriage laws as peculiar as Cordonia's."
Bertrand nodded. "At least they chose a memorable song, unlike those Auvernal fools. Nobody wanted yet another ballad about oranges. It is no surprise they failed to qualify on Thursday night."
Liam chuckled. "I'll drink to that."
By the time Finland performed, Liam and Bertrand were both singing along, presumably much to the dismay of the Cordonian viewers at home. "CHA! CHA! CHA!" Bertrand bellowed, arms thrown in the air. "Truly, a magnificent performance by Mr Käärijä."
Liam grinned, taking another gulp of champagne as the song ended. “How are you enjoying your time in Liverpool, Bertrand?”
Bertrand wiped the sweat from his brow. "It has proven most surprising, but I find myself fully embracing the home of The Beatles." He then launched into an enthusiastic, if not entirely successful, performance of Yesterday.
Once all of the acts had performed and voting began, Sabrina stuck her head around the door, a bemused smile on her face. “They want to interview you both for a quick segment. Cordonia is going wild for your commentary. You’re trending on Twitter!”
Bertrand blinked. "We are?"
She nodded. "You are. Happy to be interviewed?"
Liam nodded and quickly removed his bucket hat to smooth down his sweaty, dishevelled hair. "Absolutely!" To his alarm, he realised that Sabrina was looking at him strangely, so he quickly replaced the hat.
She blinked, then shook her head as if dismissing her thoughts as ridiculous. "Thanks, guys. I'll let the team know they can pop up for a quick chat."
***
After the competition ended and the victorious act sang their reprise, the impromptu Cordonian commentators flopped back in their seats, trying to comprehend the turn the evening's events had taken. The moment the credits began to roll and they were off air, Bertrand’s phone rang. He gazed at the caller ID with a frown, obvious trepidation on his face as he swiped to answer the call. "Ahhh, Savannah... How are you?"
Savannah's tone was so high-pitched with rage that Liam couldn't quite make out her words. It was definitely something about Bertrand ruining everything. To Liam's surprise the Duke replied calmly to his ex-wife's verbal assault. “I thought I was meant to follow my truth?”
Savannah screamed indignantly down the phone. “My catchphrase is 'live and love your truth'. You overshadowed my big day!”
“Ahem. Good vibes only, Savannah.” The Duke abruptly hung up and calmly adjusted his tie, ignoring his phone when it started to ring again.
Liam glanced at his own phone. There was a message from Hana.
Hana: I know you're pretty busy right now, but good news! Riley and Drake have a baby girl! 💖She was born after 12 hours of labour. They're all doing really well! 🥹 Baby Ella is beautiful, and Drake hasn't drunk any celebratory whisky.
Liam read the message twice, then a third time, awaiting the expected pang of heartache... but nothing happened. He read it again just to be sure, but no, he felt nothing but happiness for his friends. It must be all the champagne. Maybe it's just impossible to be sad at the Eurovision Song Contest? Once he'd typed out a congratulatory message, he turned to his companion with a smile. "You know what, Bertrand... I think we actually pulled that off."
Bertrand smiled, just a hint of smugness detectable in his expression. "I believe we did."
Sabrina stepped into the booth, surveying the pair with obvious amusement. "Everything all right in here? That was quite a performance." Her eyes lingered on Liam as she spoke.
Bertrand glanced from Sabrina to Liam, comprehension dawning on his face. He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “If you two will please excuse me, I’m off to join the conga line." He made a swift exit, the remaining bottle clutched in his hand.
Champagne and adrenaline fizzing through his veins, Liam decided to take a risk. “Sabrina, I wonder if you’d care to join me for dinner tomorrow night?”
She smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Dinner with the Cordonian King?”
Liam felt his cheeks flushing pink. "Ahhh... so you did recognise me."
She laughed "Only once you removed that hat. I kicked myself for not realising sooner."
His stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Is it a problem?"
"It's definitely a wild card..." She took a step toward him, examining him thoughtfully under the bright studio lighting. "I'm willing to risk a dinner though."
He couldn't suppress a grin. "I can't wait."
She held out her hand. “Shall we go and join the party? I think you've earned it."
He laced his fingers through hers. "What was it Belgium sang earlier? Life is too short and we sure got to celebrate?"
She smiled. "That was it."
A sudden thought struck him, temporarily disrupting his joy. "Wait... what happened to Maxwell by the way?"
Sabrina sighed, looking at him anxiously. "I'm afraid he wouldn't cooperate in the investigation so he was handed over to the authorities."
"Oh no! Anyway... let's dance!"