Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alex turns away from Henry, the words ‘I don’t think I can’ hanging between them like a cloud of toxic gas, poisoning the very space between them. He’s starting to tremble, though whether it’s because he’s soaked to the skin or because his world is imploding around him, he can’t tell.

“Fine. You know what? Fucking fine. I’ll leave.” His words are harsh, but lack any amount of venom.

“Good,” Henry replies quietly.

“I’ll leave,” Alex says. He turns back to Henry and feels something in him fracture at the pain in his face. Every instinct in him wants to reach out and hold him, to ease the agony haunting those ocean blue eyes and kiss the tears away, but he can’t. He shifts his weight, leaning in so they’re barely a foot apart now. “As soon as you tell me to leave.”

“Alex…” His name on Henry’s breath could barely even be called a whisper it’s so faint.

The sound of his name rips a hole open in Alex’s chest. He knows he’s being an ass, but he’s come to realize that sometimes the only way to get the truth out of Henry is to push him to the point where he feels cornered so he fights back, like the afternoon at the hospital when they were locked down in the supply closet. “Tell me you’re done with me. I’ll get back on the plane. That’s it. And you can live here in your tower and be miserable forever, write a whole book of sad fucking poetry about it. Whatever. Just say it.”

Henry’s crumbling. Alex can see it. The barely perceptible quivering of his chin and lower lip, the slight shimmer of tears in his eyes, the shallow breaths causing his chest and shoulders to hitch in a jagged, uneven rhythm. Just as Alex is thinking how badly he wants to hold him, he sees the shift; the way his posture stiffens, his eyes go icy, and chin stills then juts out. Alex recognizes it’s the exact moment when Prince Henry steps between them and pushes Henry Wales back into the shadows.

“I’m sorry things can’t be different, that I can’t be the man you want me to be.” His words are far from forceful, but they’re clear and unmistakable. “Please, Alex, leave.”

Alex feels like he’s been kicked in the gut, blindsided by the words he was certain Henry wouldn’t say. Maybe he’d been wrong all these months. He always knew their relationship was going to be complicated, that they’d have to fight and make sacrifices for it, but he’d presumed their feelings for one another were strong enough to make finding a way to be together a given. Maybe it had only been his feelings that made a future at each other’s side feel like a foregone conclusion. Maybe he was so enthralled with the idea of loving Henry, that he missed the fact he was the only one falling.

No! No, he’s not going to let himself get caught in that trap. Henry loves him, he knows Henry loves him. Henry just told him he loves him not five minutes ago. Henry loves him, Henry wants him. But he doesn’t want what their life together would be.

Henry loves him...

Henry loves him, but…

Henry told him to leave.

For all Alex’s flaws, something he’s always prided himself on is being a man of integrity. Even when it’s been difficult, he’s always honored his word when he said he would do something. Maybe it was his desire to be a different kind of politician, the kind who didn’t break promises made once votes had been cast, or maybe it was because he hated the idea of being the reason he saw disappointment in someone’s eyes. Whatever his motivation, he couldn’t work it out now. Now all he could do was remind himself that he was a man of his word and he’d said he would leave if Henry told him to.

He swallows hard, the maelstrom of emotions crashing through him creating a lump in his throat that feels like he might actually choke on it. He clenches his jaw so tightly he momentarily wonders if he might crack a tooth. He huffs out a half breath and shakes his head as he looks down into the space between them. Moments ago, the inches separating their bodies had felt so small; now they were an unbridgeable chasm of shadows that seemed to have swallowed him and his entire future whole.

“I’m sorry that loving me isn’t enough for you, that I’m not enough for you,” Alex says quietly. He turns and walks toward the door without looking back. He can’t look back. He can’t stand the thought of looking at Henry right now. He doesn’t know whether it would be worse to see him hurting or stoic with his chin jutting forward in that oh so Prince Henry manner he has. Either way, Alex doesn’t have the strength to see it.

He pauses at the door, his fingers shaking as they reach out and wrap around the immaculately polished brass knob. He stares at the lines and swirls in the wood, visible through the rich stain. Directly in front of his eyes, there’s a dark, circular area – evidence of an ancient knot. His eyes linger on the spot, his mind dredging up some long-ago classroom and the voice of a teacher who’s name he can’t remember explaining how knots are formed when a tree sustains an injury, like a limb being cut off, and the trunk eventually grows enough to envelop the wound. Without meaning to, he lifts his hand from the doorknob and presses his fingers to the knot, indistinguishable to the touch from the rest of the door thanks to centuries of varnish and polish. He imagines himself some distant lifetime from now being examined like an Egyptian mummy, his chest sliced cleanly in two, revealing a knot the shape of his shattered heart.

He sighs and brings his hand back to the doorknob, slightly resenting how easily it turns in his grip, as though the palace itself is on Henry’s side and is trying to usher him out. His eyes are back on the knot in the wood as he says “When I told my mom about us, she said I needed to figure out if I felt forever about you. There’s some twisted irony in the fact that you telling me to leave is what made it so clear that I do.” He’s more talking to himself and the door than Henry at this point. “Be happy, Henry. I love you.”

He pulls the door open and makes his way out of the palace, though he doesn’t remember moving through the halls or down the staircase. Everything is a blur of carefully composed glances and disjointed voices and hollow salutations as he exits, Cash falling in behind him, following him out to the car. He doesn’t notice how the earlier deluge has slowed to a steady, driving shower, the droplets not large or forceful enough to be considered a full-on rain, but coming down in great enough quantity to again plaster his hair to his head. He settles into the back of the car, not bothering to push the sodden curls off his forehead or wipe away the drops trailing down his face.

The trip back to Washington is a silent one. Alex speaks only as much as he has to when addressed by ticket agents and the flight crew. He thanks the flight attendant who greets him with a couple of small towels and a change of clothes. He strips down in the tiny bathroom, slips into the grey hoodie and track pants which have the airline’s logo discretely embroidered on them, and crams his water-logged clothes into a plastic bag. Thankfully, he and Cash are the only two passengers in the first-class cabin. He makes his way back to his seat, stows the clothes, then shuts the blind and stares at the blank, off-white plastic in front of him.

He doesn’t manage to sleep on the flight; that would have been too easy, a relief from the pain and the anxiety of what he’s heading back to. He tries to think of what he’s going to say to his mother when she asks him what happened, and even the thought of saying the words out loud triggers a fresh round of tears to come to his eyes. He silently curses as he discretely wipes them away. He’s sure Cash has seen the movement – the man is almost unnervingly observant – but has been mercifully silent since they left the palace. Alex will thank him for that at some point when he’s able to form sentences without falling to pieces.

They move through Dulles in much the same way they moved through Heathrow; Alex nods a silent farewell to the flight crew and speaks to the customs agent who welcomes him home, but says nothing beyond what’s necessary. The waiting car returns them to the White House, and he makes his way to his room, keeping his eyes down to avoid having to make conversation with anyone. He can hear June in her room, the sound of her typing away while an old episode of Golden Girls plays on her TV drifting through the common space between their doors. He slips into his room and shuts the door, locking it for the first time since the night of the state dinner, when Henry came to him at 10:54 and turned everything in his life upside down. Their kiss in the garden had set Alex’s world on fire, but that first encounter here in his room knocked his world completely off its axis.

Looking back now, Alex could admit to himself that even then, he’d been in love with Henry on some level. It was why he’d been so nervous that night. Yes, there had been a certain amount of nerves because he’d never consciously made the decision to be intimate with a man the way he had that night – the times with Liam had always been spur of the moment stuff that had just happened, he’d never gone into those nights with the intention of kissing or touching him – but the thrill of novelty hadn’t been what made him anxious as he paced his room and fidgeted with his buttons. If it had been some other guy he’d invited back to his room, he wouldn’t have stressed about how he looked or what he should say or not say. The anticipation had been because it was Henry; the man who knew how manic and weird and messy he was and still kissed him under a New Year’s moon in the Kennedy garden.

Alex stared at his bed, a strange resentment settling into his stomach as memories of kissing Henry’s lips, his throat, his chest, and so much more, flooded his mind. He settled onto the couch and, out of force of habit, grabbed his phone, unlocked it, and tapped open his messaging app. He opened Henry’s chat and stared at the series of messages. The last seven messages are his own, all read but unanswered, sent in those first two days after he woke up to Henry having vanished from the lake house. He stares at them, a timeline of his stages of grief, which admittedly, aren’t quite the same as would be recognized in any medical journal...

First came concern.
What’s happened? Are you okay? Is Bea? Did something happen to your grandmother? Why didn’t you wake me? I would have come with you. Whatever’s wrong, let me know what you need. I can be there in like, less than 12 hours. I’m here, no matter what.

Second was confusion.
I’ve been checking news sites all morning and I haven’t seen any reports about anything, so I’m guessing your grandmother’s okay? I’m really hoping you’re not checking your messages because you’re still in the air, even though you probably should have been back by now. I really wish I knew what was happening. Call me or at least message me back as soon as you can, it doesn’t matter what time. I’m worried.

Pleading was next.
Henry, please answer me. I’m really worried about you. I’m kinda freaking out here.

Anger took up the next bubble.
I don’t know what the hell your problem is. You disappear in the middle of the night and won’t even tell me why – don’t pretend you had a family emergency, we both know that’s bullshit – and now you’re completely ignoring me. Real classy, Henry. Now I remember why your contact name is Prince Dickhead.

Guilt settled in next.
I keep playing the last couple of days back in my head, trying to figure out what I did wrong. Was it too soon for me to ask you to come here? I know I asked you to say yes, but you could have said no if you didn’t want to. I thought you were having a good time; you seemed really relaxed here, but maybe I was just fooling myself. I’m sorry, Henry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.

The second to last message, the first of the two sent the second day, was his bargaining era, with, he had to admit reading it again now, had heavy callbacks to his pleading phase.
Please tell me what I did wrong... I want to make it right, just tell me how. Tell me how to fix it. Give me a chance to explain or apologize or whatever you need me to do. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. At this point, I’d even take you telling me to fuck off – at least it would be a response. Please, just say something. I swear, if you tell me to piss off and leave you alone, I will. I just want to know you’re okay. Please, Henry…

As it usually does, acceptance came last.
I wish I understood what’s happened, what I did, or what I didn’t do… but it seems like you’re pretty intent on keeping that secret to yourself.

Alex closes out of the app and locks his phone, drops it carelessly onto the floor. He hears the dull thump as it lands on the carpet, the heavy sound obnoxiously appropriate for how he’s feeling. He closes his eyes and it finally registers just how exhausted he is. He’s spent roughly 23 of the last 24 hours in some form of motion – in cars, moving through airports, on planes – and the majority of the remaining hour standing in Henry’s room coming to the realization that loving him wasn’t enough for Henry.

The revelation throws that last night at the lake house into new light. Henry must have known that Alex was on the verge of saying he loved him. That’s why he ducked under the water and took off for the house. That’s why he pretended to be asleep by the time Alex got back to the bedroom they’d been sharing. Why Henry waited until Alex fell asleep and disappeared in the night, skulking away with his Burberry bag and PPOs in tow. Henry had known Alex was in love with him, and though it wasn’t enough for him, it was just enough to drive him away.

Alex curls into as close to a ball as he can manage, the fabric of the hoodie and sweats he still wears soft against his skin, and slips into a fitful sleep.

When Alex awakes some immeasurable amount of time later, he feels dazed and disoriented, the way he had on those occasions when he’d crash after sneaking several of Liam’s Adderall and spending 3 days awake. The sensation is oddly like having food poisoning, being drunk, and being hungover all at the same time.

There’s a familiar though somehow misplaced weight on him, and he finds the duvet off his bed has been draped over him. He looks around and notices his phone is on the charging cradle on his desk. He’s never been prone to sleepwalking, so neither of these things makes sense for a solid 30 seconds. Then his mind focuses enough to notice the travel mug on the low coffee table in front of the couch and the yellow sticky note tacked to the side of it. His mother’s handwriting is blurry without his glasses, but legible.

I don’t care what time. Come find me.

It was something she’d said to him and June for as long as he could remember. She’d always told them that when they needed to talk about anything, from bullies to sex to self-doubt, if it was important, her shoulder was there regardless of the hour. He has no clue what time it is or how long he’s been asleep, but clearly he’s been out long enough that she used her presidential master key to come in and check on him.

He stares at the small, yellow square and decides he isn’t ready to face reality just yet. He rolls over so he’s facing the back of the sofa, pulls the edge of the duvet up to his chin and lays there with his eyes closed. Maybe if he's really, really lucky, he'll wake up in the bottom bunk at the lake house, and the last Hellish week will all have been a nightmare triggered by too much sun, beer, and his overactive instinct to anticipate the worst-case scenario. He knows that won't happen, but it's worth a shot.

His head hurts too much to even attempt to put together a list, so he simply lays there counting his breaths until he drifts into the blessed numbness of slumber once again.

Chapter Text

Alex draws a quick breath as he startles awake. He opens his eyes and looks up, trying to ascertain what woke him.

“Welcome back, Mr Van Winkle,” June says quietly. She’s perched on the edge of the sofa and looking down at him, her hand resting against his leg.

“What time is it?” Alex murmurs and shifts. His back's stiff from sleeping curled up on the sofa for so long, so it has to be at least morning.

“About 8:00,” she tells him. “On Thursday night.”

“What?” He wrinkles his forehead. That can’t be right; he went to London on, uh, Monday, wasn’t it? Or was it Tuesday? What day was it when he found the Thisbe note in his kimono? Fuck, why can’t he even remember what day it was?

“Afraid so. You’ve been out for pretty much 24 hours solid. But you were up for at least 36 before that, including two transatlantic flights, so it probably balances out somehow,” she says. She’s looking down at him in that very June way she has. Like there’s something on the tip of her tongue that she desperately wants to say, but she knows it’s something he’s not going to want to hear. After a few seconds, her expression shifts. “We’ve all been really worried about you. Mom threatened to fire Cash because he wouldn’t tell her what happened.”

“Fuck. She didn’t, did she?” Alex asks.

“Threaten him? Oh yeah, loudly, repeatedly, and in the Oval Office for full effect. But no, she didn’t actually fire him.”

“Fuck...” Great, now he owes Cash an apology on top of a very significant thank you. He scrubs his hand over his face and decides to get him tickets to a few of the upcoming Washington Football games. He’d also have to see if he could swing a few favors owed into Super Bowl tickets. Cash would be more than due for a vacation by February and Miami was as good of a place as any to spend a weekend.

“Do you want to talk?” June’s voice interrupts his planning.

“No,” he says, maybe a little too quickly. He sees the way she looks down and bites the right side of her bottom lip, the tell she’s had since she was a kid – which she insists she isn't a thing – that means she’s hurt, but not about to show it, so he adds, “I mean, not yet, anyway.”

“Okay.” She squeezes his leg where it’s sticking out from under the quilt before standing up. “When you’re ready, you know where I am.” She gives him a smile that’s probably meant to be comforting but just comes across sad and pitiful, then leaves, closing the door behind her.

Two of the best things about his sister are the fact that she doesn’t hold grudges, and she gives him room to breathe and work through things in his own way. She understands that sometimes he needs to run things through in his head a few times before he can talk about it. This is most definitely one of those times where he really needs to think.

He also really, really needs to take a shower.

An hour later, he’s wearing a fresh pair of sweatpants and a comfortable black t-shirt when he emerges from his room. He sees June sitting on her bed and leans against the doorframe.

“Any idea where Mom is?” he asks quietly.

“She was reading in the game room last I saw her about half an hour ago. And before you get all accusatory, no I wasn’t talking about you, I just went to say goodnight,” she tells him. “I told her you were awake when I went to check on you, that’s all.”

“Thanks Bug. You’re the best.”

“That’s true. I’ll quote you on it.”

“I’ll deny it.”

“I know you will.”

“Can we talk later?”

“You know we can,” she says, the not-quite-comforting smile back on her face.

He makes his way up to the third floor and finds his mother sitting in the game room, a whiskey on the small table beside the end of the couch she’s sitting on, and a well-worn copy of The Thorn Birds held open in front of her. Without saying anything, he crosses the room and settles onto the couch beside her. By the time he sits, she’s put her book down and shifted her posture for him to lean against her. He curls into her side, wraps his arms around her, and closes his eyes. For the briefest of moments as she wraps her arm around him, he can almost convince himself he’s a kid again, coming to her with a skinned knee rather than a broken heart.

They sit there for he doesn’t know how long – apparently a side effect of heartache is a complete inability to keep track of time – silently watching the fire in the hearth. Eventually, he starts talking, explaining everything that happened at the lake house and then in London. She lets him go at his own pace, not interrupting or pressing him when he stops to gather himself.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she says, giving him a gentle squeeze once he’s brought the story to the point of him returning to DC.

“Is it always going to hurt this bad?” he asks quietly, grimacing at how broken his voice sounds in his own ears. He knows it’s a cliché thing to ask, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Yes and no,” she says after a few thoughtful seconds. “You’ll heal bit by bit, making it a minute without it hurting, then longer and longer until one day, you’ll realize there are more minutes when it doesn’t hurt than those when it does. For the most part it’ll dull down until you barely even notice it; you’ll be able to work and laugh and smile, even care about someone else. Then there’s gonna be moments when it sneaks up outta nowhere, grabs you by the throat, and you’ll feel like you can’t breathe because it hurts so damn much. You’ll wonder why you ever let someone get close enough to rip your heart out like this. That’s the risk of loving someone; being vulnerable and open means there’s a chance we might get hurt. But the alternative is closing your heart off from everyone and that’s no way to live. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but love’s worth the risk.”

“I just wish I knew what I did,” he whispers. He wishes it didn’t sound like he’s on the verge of crying, but since he is, what does it matter?

“I don’t think it was anything you did, baby. I think it’s more that Henry feels like he can’t give you the kind of life you want.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? All I wanted was to be with him. That’s it.” He shifts away so he’s sitting up beside her now, looking at her. He realizes she looks like hell. A wave of guilt washes through him as he realizes that he and his drama are the most likely cause of why she looks like she hasn’t slept in two days.

Fuck, he’s really leaving quite the collection of casualties in his wake; Henry, Cash, June, his mom… The destroyer USS Alex Gabriel, cutting through, leaving everyone he encounters battered and bloodied and fighting to keep their head above water after he’s swept by them.

“Now, we both know that’s not true,” she counters. He looks at her, confused and - if he's being totally honest with himself - mildly annoyed at the suggestion. “You want to be out. You said it yourself; you want to be with him and not care if the neighbors see you together. Did you even think about the implications for Henry if he were to do that?”

“I thought the implication was that we’d be happy and able to spend time together without having to worry about me costing you the Oval Office,” Alex comments. “That I could share things that mean the most to me with him.”

“Alex, listen to yourself; you’re still thinking about what it would be and what it would mean for you. You’re not looking at it from Henry’s perspective,” Ellen chided him. “There’s no post-election safety net for him.”

“What does that even mean?”

“If you come out publicly, it’s a headline for a few weeks, something that resurfaces now and then when you start seeing someone new, or when your relationship or career hits some form of milestone, but that’s about it for the most part. I’m not saying it would be easy to be under the kind of public scrutiny you’d be subjected to if you decide to come out; I know you’re not naïve, you know damn well what being out has been like for Rafael.”

“Yeah, I know the media storm is going to be a shit show for a while, but we could get through it if Henry would just give us a fucking chance,” Alex insists.

“Sugar, you and Henry come from different worlds. Yours is relatively accepting and has a pretty decent range of options available to you. But you need to realize that you have it a lot better than Henry in one very important aspect; you know that no matter what, you’ve got a whole shitload of people in your corner who will always have your back. He doesn’t have that. He’s a member of a royal house; they aren’t exactly known for being big on non-traditional lifestyles. If he goes public, it's not a bomb that goes off that you duck and cover until the shrapnel passes and the dust settles; it’s Chernobyl on April 26th, 1986.”

“So basically, you’re saying loving me would destroy his life. Great.” Alex slumps against the back of the sofa. “Thanks, Ma. Always great to hear that I'm the human equivalent of a nuclear disaster.”

“Diaz, don’t you dare go twisting my words. Loving you won’t destroy his life, but coming out might. And he knows the fallout wouldn’t only settle on him, it would cling to you too; especially with your career aspirations,” she points out. She reaches across the inches between them and takes his hand. “From everything you’ve told me, I have no doubt that Henry loves you, baby. He just doesn’t see any way to be who you want him to be.”

“All I want is for him to be himself, to be honest about who he is and how he feels,” Alex says louder than is probably necessary since they’re sitting right next to each other.

“I know you do. But what you’re not recognizing is that Henry staying closeted isn’t so much about being honest as it is about protecting himself.”

“How is hiding who he is protecting himself? He spends his entire life looking over his shoulder, scared that some asshole paparazzi with a telephoto lens is going to out him. If he goes public himself, controls the narrative around the story, all that fear and need for secrecy goes away.”

“But he still loses the entire life he has right now,” she points out. “If he comes out, he’ll likely be excommunicated from the line of succession; he probably loses his title, his home, his family...”

“Some life! He spends almost every waking moment parading around in a mask, pretending to be something he’s not because it’s deemed palatable by a bunch of old, racist, elitist, hypocrites. He’s the heir to a noose, not a crown! He’s a prisoner to a way of life that’s going to destroy him, and the thought of that makes me sick to my stomach!” The frustration he’s feeling is too much; he can’t sit still any longer, so he stands up and begins pacing around the room as he continues. “Henry, the real Henry, the one almost no one gets to see, is so amazing. He’s smart and funny and sweet and thoughtful, but he’s drowning himself in fear and the expectations of a family that doesn’t give two shits about him! I mean, Bea does, she would stand by him no matter what, but she’s the only one who even knows him. Who would he be losing? The grandmother who told him not to let his ‘deviant desires’ embarrass the crown? The brother who chooses not to see what’s right in front of him because he’s too busy eyeing the throne? The mother who’s been a fucking zombie since his dad died, hiding away in her room, leaving her children to figure out how to mourn him on their own? None of them care about the man he is and they’re sacrificing him, day by day, smothering him in the name of traditions and a legacy he wants nothing to do with.”

He doesn’t know when he started crying, but there are tears on his cheeks as he takes a shaky breath. Alex feels like a dam rupturing; a few trickles rushing through the cracks, the pressure behind the barrier too much to be held back any longer. He slams both fists down onto the surface of the pool table, the felt doing little to cushion the impact against the solid slate below it. His hands begin to ache immediately, but he’s pretty sure nothing is broken. He heaves a few heavy breaths, trying to calm himself down. He’s shaking, the anger and fear and goddamned love he’s feeling all too much to rein in at this point. His head hangs forward, his shoulders hunched, and he feels like he’s been hollowed out.

His voice is quieter now, his throat tight with everything he’s been keeping locked down. “They’re all killing him; his family, everyone who works in the fucking palaces, the media, every one of them cutting away at him, death by a thousand cuts. I can see him bleeding, but he won’t let me do anything to stop it. All I can do is watch and wonder how long it’s going to take before Henry’s gone and there’s nothing left but the puppet prince they make dance for the crowds.”

He turns when he feels his mother’s hands on his back. He lets her hold him and cries on her shoulder, and for the first time he can remember in his life, he doesn’t believe her when she rubs his back and tells him everything will be alright.

Chapter Text

Alex is sitting at his desk, working on a draft of an essay when the knock comes. It’s the middle of the night on Friday – he looks at his phone – make that Saturday. The sound confuses him. No one in the family – including Nora – would bother to knock, and no staffers would be looking to talk to him at this hour of the night. He waits a few seconds and goes back to typing, but the sound breaks his concentration again.

He lurches to his feet and stalks toward his door, the miserable mood he’s been in for the nearly two weeks since he went to London the last time finally ready to boil over and unleash itself on whatever unsuspecting idiot is knocking on his door at just shy of three in the morning. He yanks the door open, keen to unbridle a whole litany of profanities on whomever is standing there, but every word dies in his throat when his eyes lock on him.

For a moment he’s certain he must have fallen asleep at his computer and be dreaming. It’s the only logical explanation for why Henry would be standing there at his bedroom door, fidgeting with his signet ring, appearing slightly crumpled, and looking back at Alex like he’s a king cobra that’s about to strike. But then, Henry’s scent hits him, the fancy cologne that can’t quite mask the fragrance of linens and grass and Alex’s stomach does a traitorous little backflip at the familiar, uniquely Henry combination of aromas.

They stand there staring at each other for long enough that it should probably be weird. Alex can’t help but notice that Henry has dark circles under eyes which are much more haunted than he’s seen in a long time. His hair is not pristinely styled into place and his clothes look like he’s been wearing them for too long; the collar of his white shirt is loose, his navy tie still in place but also pulled loose, his black jacket is unbuttoned, and the crisp creases in his slacks are relaxing, wrinkles forming from sitting for extended periods. He swallows, trying to ease the tightness that’s coiled around his throat and telling himself to quash the wave of concern that’s sprung to life in the back of his mind. He shouldn’t care if Henry looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He tells himself not to care. But damn it all to Hell, he does...

“You look like shit,” Alex tells him, hoping his voice sounds sufficiently hostile. He crosses his arms over his chest. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“I...” Henry hesitates, twisting his ring and swallowing before muttering, “I was hoping we could... talk.”

Alex snorts out half a laugh. Clearly the universe enjoys screwing with him.

“You want to talk. Now. At three in the morning, after you made it very clear that you don’t want me in your life. Why in the name of God should I listen to anything you have to say at this point, Henry?”

“There’s no reason I can give you why you should, and you’d be well within your rights to tell me to piss off and slam the door in my face, but I truly hope you won’t. I’ll leave if you tell me to, but I... I hope you’ll at least let me say what I’ve come here to tell you.”

Alex never realized until this moment what a masochist he was. He rubs his left hand over his forehead as he questions his own sanity before vaguely gesturing for Henry to come in.

Henry picks up the black briefcase Alex hadn’t noticed was leaning against his leg and steps inside. Alex shuts the door behind him and, though he has no idea why, locks it. Henry’s hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room when Alex walks over to the sofa and flops down at one end.

“Have a seat,” Alex tells him. He can already hear the edge slipping away from his words, which is annoying. He wants to be mad at Henry; he IS mad at Henry. But seeing him here is triggering a war between his heart and his head. So much of him wants to tell him he screwed up too bad this time and to leave. But more of him – most of him – wants to pull him against his chest and hold him, to find some magic words to erase the pain in his eyes, to make the world just a little less awful for him in this moment.

Henry settles carefully on the other end of the couch, leaving as much distance between them as possible and putting the briefcase on the floor near his feet.

“I’m sorry to turn up unannounced,” Henry says quietly.

Alex scoffs again and shakes his head. “For fuck’s sake, Henry, I think we’re way past formalities and platitudes at this point. Whatever you came here to say, just fucking say it.” Henry nods, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, and Alex is absolutely not thinking about how soft and warm Henry’s lips are. He’s definitely not feeling a knot form in his chest as he realizes Henry’s bottom lip looks swollen and too dark red, as though he’s been chewing on it so much that it’s raw.

“Right.” Henry looks down at his hands and Alex knows him too well not to recognize when he’s struggling for his words. He waits quietly until Henry begins to talk. “I’m not here asking for your forgiveness. I’m quite certain I’ve hurt you far too much to hope for that. Even if you could forgive me, I… I know I don’t deserve it after everything I’ve done. But I do need you to know that I am sorry, Alex. Hurting you was the last thing I meant to do, yet I managed to do so over and over. I can’t tell you how much I hate myself for what’s happened. You deserve so much better than how I’ve treated you.”

It's on the tip of Alex’s tongue to reply when Henry pauses, but he sees that strained look on his face, notices the way Henry’s hands are trembling, and he can’t bring himself to be a prick to him in the moment. Some hurt, angry, petty part of him has spent the last month wanting Henry to suffer, hoping he was feeling even a fraction of the pain he’s been experiencing. But now that he can see that suffering in the downturned set of his mouth and his red-rimmed eyes and the unmistakable tremor in his voice, Alex wants nothing more than to wipe it all away and somehow make it okay.

“You were wrong about one thing; when you said that loving you wasn’t enough for me, that you weren’t... Alex, nothing could be further from the truth. Loving you was, is, and always will be everything to me.” Henry bites his lip again. “I… I know, I’ve a pretty poor way of showing it, but it’s the truth. The love I feel for you is so profound. There’s no part of my life that you haven’t touched; everything I do, every action I take, every thought I have, it all comes back to you. Knowing that I ruined what we had, the future we could have shared, is a burden I’ll always carry. Losing you as a lover has been painful, but losing your friendship has been absolute torment.”

This time when he pauses. He reaches down and opens his briefcase. He pulls something out – a mock-up magazine, Alex realizes – and holds it, staring down at the cover for several beats. Alex has seen them before, but never outside of the offices of whichever magazine it is. He then remembers that people will bend a lot of rules when there’s a member of a royal house involved in the conversation.

“I wanted you to see this before anyone else.” He bites his bottom lip again. He draws a heavy breath and forces it out quickly, then leans over and places the mock-up face down on the table. He looks at Alex, and the sheen of tears in his eyes are on the verge of falling now. “I wish there were a way I could change what’s happened, that things could be different. I wish it hadn’t taken losing you for me to realize how selfish I’d been. I know it probably means very little, but I am so very truly sorry, Alex.”

Henry leans down to close the briefcase, and Alex pretends he doesn’t see the tears that fall as his face is angled away. He straightens then stands, briefcase now in hand. He gives Alex a quick, barely perceptible nod before moving toward the bedroom door. He stops, hand on the knob, and doesn’t look back as he speaks.

“I’m staying at the Hamilton Hotel, ironically in the Alexander suite.” Henry forces a quiet little chuckle. “If… If you want t-to talk, after you look at it, that’s where I’ll be until Sunday afternoon. If I don’t… If you don’t…” Alex is pretty sure he hears him curse under his breath. “If I’ve not heard from you by the time I leave to return to London, I’ll understand, and I won’t intrude again, I promise. I’ll also see to it that our social calendars don’t put us at the same events any more than strictly necessary.” Another quiet curse, followed by one last barely audible sentence. Alex swears it sounds like “I never should have told you to leave.” Henry then slips out of Alex’s room, and he’s gone.

The sun is rising by the time Alex picks up the magazine. He’s not sure why he was so hesitant to look at it, but it takes him a good amount of mentally hyping himself up to look at it. When he lifts it from the coffee table and drags it into his lap, he requires several seconds and a couple of deep breathing techniques before he turns it over.

It’s an issue of People, and if Alex were able to notice a single detail, he would have registered sooner it was the issue that would be on newsstands in just two days. His eyes are transfixed on the image that dominates the cover; Henry, looking stoic, but Alex can see the pain in his eyes. He’s wearing a white shirt, black jacket, and a navy-blue tie, the top of his head is superimposed over part of the People logo. Bold lettering fills the width of the bottom third of the image, effectively emblazoned across Henry’s chest.

                PRINCE HENRY:
                YES, I’M GAY.
                Exclusive Royal Interview

Alex swallows hard as he stares in shock. It’s a solid minute before he manages to flip the magazine open and locate the article. He finds a full-page black and white photo of Henry, looking casual in a button-down, sweater, and slacks, sitting alone at a small sidewalk café table, his left hand resting on the surface of the table near a ceramic mug, his signet ring visible on his little finger. It faces a half-page color shot of him looking into the distance and forcing a tight-lipped grin that does nothing to camouflage the darkness in his eyes.

Open Season
My interview with His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of Wales
By: Trysta Morningstar

It’s a typical, late-September Friday morning in Washington, DC; overcast but comfortably warm, without any real threat of rain. It’s the kind of morning that brings to mind activities like apple picking, strolling through corn mazes, and traipsing through pumpkin patches in search of the perfect gourd. I find myself spending this idyllic autumn morning, sitting at a table at a quiet, outdoor café, sharing pastries with a prince of all people.

Specifically, with His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of Wales, who looks every inch what I would have expected a prince to look like in this setting. He’s wearing a light blue shirt under a dark blue sweater – “a jumper” he politely corrects me with a warm grin and quiet, casual chuckle – and navy slacks. He sips his tea and talks about how much he appreciates the colors of the season as I prepare my notebook and voice recorder. It’s relaxed and comfortable, and we make small talk like old school friends for several minutes before getting to why we’re there.

TM:         It’s an honor to have the opportunity to speak with you, Your Royal Highness.

HRH:      Henry, please. Given what we’re here to talk about, titles feel a bit stuffy, don’t you agree?

TM:         Maybe a tad. Though I must confess, it feels a more than a little intimidating to be addressing a prince by his first name.

HRH:      Yes, well, it feels more than a little intimidating to be coming out as gay, so I suppose that puts us on rather an even footing.

TM:         I suppose it does.

And there it is, the reason why I’m having coffee and cinnamon buns with the younger prince of England on an early-autumn morning. The 23-year-old third in line to the throne, His Royal Highness, Prince Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountcristen-Windsor, just came out as gay.

TM:         I must admit, I was surprised when I was invited to sit down with you to have this particular conversation.

HRH:      Not quite the exclusive you were expecting to get, I take it.

TM:         Definitely not something I had on my World Events 2020 predictions list.

HRH:      Well, good to know I can keep you on your toes.

TM:         Without a doubt. So, why now? What makes this the moment that feels right for you to share this part of your life with the world?

HRH:      I wish I had a simple answer for that; however, you’ll have to bear with me because it’s somewhat multifaceted. I’ve known since I was very young that I was gay. Well, perhaps not that I was gay, precisely, but certainly that I felt I was different. Unsurprisingly, growing up in a family which was very much the stiff upper lip and proper sort, sexuality wasn’t a topic which was discussed, ever. I always knew that traditional roles and expectations didn’t feel like they fit in my case, or perhaps it was that I didn’t fit into them. It took me a long while to accept, of course, but I certainly recognized it. The older I got, the more I understood why I could never envision myself as a smiling husband with a glowing wife at my side.

TM:         Did any of your family recognize it?

HRH:      I believe my dad did, though we never spoke about it. Not directly at least.

TM:         But you got the impression he knew?

HRH:      Yes. My dad loved observing people. He would study the way they moved and talked and interacted; I think it was a habit he cultivated in the earliest days of his acting career, research for his craft and all that. He could sit for hours on a park bench and just people watch, utterly fascinated by the way a couple held hands or how a parent embraced a child. I remember sitting with him one afternoon when I was perhaps seven, maybe eight years old. There was a group of teens who were hanging out, talking, laughing, as young people do. On the surface, it was all very chummy. But one of them kept being targeted by the others; they would toss things at him, shove him, walk away leaving him to hurry after them, and each time they would make jokes and laugh it off as though it was all in good fun. After they’d gone, my dad looked at me and said ‘Lying with our words is easy, son, but our actions speak to a deeper truth. Never be afraid to question someone when they tell you who they are, but believe them when they show you.’

TM:         Your father sounds like he was a very wise man.

HRH:      He was, which is why I’m quite sure he knew I was gay. He was far too sharp not to have picked up on it. I’m also quite sure he didn’t care; he never treated me any different than he did either of my siblings, despite the fact that I clearly was different. Aside from dad, the only family member who knew for certain up until now is my sister. Everyone else has likely suspected, but again, being a somewhat emotionally repressed lot, discussions of such things are deemed unseemly so it’s not exactly something that comes up over afternoon tea.

TM:         So, no rainbow napkins and bunting declaring ‘I’m gay!’ to accompany an array of multicolor macarons, then?

HRH:      Heavens no!

He smiles and chuckles at the notion, but the levity of the moment is short lived. His thoughtful, stoic expression returns, and he’s quiet for several minutes. It’s easy to see him weighing his next words carefully.

HRH:      It was made very clear several years ago what was expected of me; I was to maintain appearances and ensure that the world never learned the truth. I was told in no uncertain terms that my proclivities were considered a blight on the good reputation of the house and would be neither accepted nor would any unbecoming behaviors be tolerated.

TM:         So, there’ll be repercussions from the decisions you’ve made which led us here.

HRH:      Oh yes, absolutely. But then, all decisions have repercussions. There will undoubtably be fallout from this choice I’ve made to break with tradition, but I’ve had to face consequences due to my compliance as well. I suppose the crux of it came down to figuring out whether I prefer to be damned for what I have done or for having done nothing. It’s taken me longer than it should have to understand that, and finally choose the path I feel is meant for me.

TM:         It sounds like you wish you’d come to this realization sooner.

HRH:      Were I able to step back in time and talk to my younger self, I’d certainly have some suggestions about who in my life I should listen to. Unfortunately, not even royals are capable of time travel. We all must learn and grow in our own time, at our own pace. Part of accepting that is acknowledging that we learn things about ourselves and grow as people when we’re meant to. There are things I wish my younger self had known, moments and people I wish he’d not taken for granted, but clearly it wasn’t time for him to carry the knowledge of just how important they would be.

At this point our drinks and pastries are long done, so we take his waiting car to a nearby park. As we walk along a meandering path, glimpses of the father he remembers so fondly are easy to spot in the way he regards passersby. He quietly points out traits which stand out to him; the casual closeness of one couple, contrasting it with the stiff postures and careful space maintained between another. There’s a warmth and gentleness in his voice, and a guarded smile that accompanies those fleeting hints of Arthur.

Just as easy to observe is the pointed contrast of his quintessentially proper upbringing. His rigid posture, the careful, clipped way he speaks when anyone is within earshot, the measured steps and slightly stiff carriage. He walks along the path as though he anticipates every movement might be captured by a lurking paparazzi – which is entirely possible – and he’s determined not to give them anything of interest to help sell their photos.

We settle on a bench near the river and watch a flock of ducks bobbing along on the current. It seems as though he allows his guard down a little, his posture and the set of his jaw relaxing ever so slightly. For a long while, we enjoy a comfortable silence as we appreciate the simplicity of the moment. There’s a heaviness about Prince Henry as he takes it in; a weight he bears with grace, but carries, nonetheless. Eventually, he begins speaking as he continues to watch the motion of the water and the fowl floating along on the gentle waves.

HRH:      I never fully answered your question, did I? About why I’ve chosen now to come out. I suppose part of the truth is, I’m tired; I’m tired of hiding part of myself, tired of having to pretend for the sake of appearances, tired of living in fear of being outed. I’m not ashamed of being gay, but until now, I’ve acted as though I were, for no reason other than to maintain a façade of a proper, traditional, regal image. And for what? There’ve been gay royals in the past, some out during their lifetime, some only revealed posthumously through letters and journals. Is it really such a scandal, the notion that I might love a man rather than a woman? It hardly seems it should be.

TM:         No, it really shouldn’t.

HRH:      It’s a strange reality of royal lineage that for good, bad, or indifferent, your life and your name will hold a place in history. You can look through dozens of books which document the lives of royals past, and even those who never came anywhere near the throne have pages dedicated to them. I’ve come to realize that I don’t want my place in those tomes to be an account of a life lived in secrecy and a truth come to light after I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. I want my life to mean something, to have some small, positive impact while I’m living it, not a century from now when someone’s studying and comes across my name in a history book. I’d hate to think in the annals of time, I might be reduced to no more than a page of mundaneness with a footnote about being fruity.

TM:         Your courage to stand on a global stage and say ‘This is who I am’ will absolutely be much more than a footnote. I’ve no doubt that many people will be inspired by seeing a world leader who’s out.

HRH:      I’ve never described myself as courageous, but if I can lead the way for others by being one of the first through the door, then I’m happy to bear the brunt of the slings and arrows which will come. I think being out, letting other queer individuals see me living openly and honestly, that’s a decent legacy to leave.

TM:         Being a role model for marginalized people is an incredible legacy.

HRH:     I think role model might be overstating things slightly, but I certainly hope that my story will highlight the fact that at the end of the day, no matter who you are or where you come from, we all have to make a choice to be true to ourselves. It’s a realization that came to me far too late in many ways, but I suppose better late than never, as they say. If my story can help someone, then waiting even a day longer to come out feels selfish. Maybe the person who most needs to see it only has today. Maybe it’s less about why now and more about why not now?

The ducks have swum out of view, and a shifting of the breeze causes a few fallen leaves to drift past our feet. For a moment, I can forget that I’m sitting beside a man whose family has helmed one of the largest geopolitical powerhouses in the world for centuries. For a moment, we’re not a reporter and a prince, not a storyteller and a man who hopes his story will make a difference; we’re simply two people, sitting on a bench, enjoying a quiet September morning.

We look up and listen to a chorus of honks as a few dozen geese pass overhead, flying South as part of their annual migration. We both seem to sense that the interview is drawing to a close, so we stand and begin to walk back the way we came. As we stroll, he pauses to crouch down and pick up a campaign button that’s fallen off someone’s coat or bag, bright blue and emblazoned with the name of the incumbent president. He tucks it into his pocket to discard on our way out of the park. A slow, pensive smile comes to his lips as we reach his car, and he turns to face me, one hand on the top of the open door, the other in his pocket.

HRH:      Someone very wise once told me they felt we had similar aspirations in life; that we both wanted to take what we were given and leave the world better than we found it. If even one person hears my story and it becomes a catalyst for them to live their truth, then maybe, in some way, I’ll have managed to do that. If I have, well, that’s as good a legacy as any.

People Magazine would like to express our appreciation to His Royal Highness, Prince Henry, for allowing us to bring this piece of his story to the world. The dignity, grace, and earnestness he has shared with us, and our readers, are things that we need more of in this day and age. We hope his story will encourage all of us to live more honestly, more courageously, and most importantly, to show the world who we truly are. (TM)

Alex lets the magazine rest against his legs, the layout of the interview spread out before him. There’s a few more pictures of Henry; one taken at the café, one from a distance as he and the reporter were walking, and another from where they were sitting by the water.

His eyes linger on the last photo. It’s a profile shot, Henry’s nose, so like his father’s, long and straight, his mouth downturned ever so slightly in that way it does when he’s thinking something through, his gaze fixed in the distance. The picture was taken at the perfect moment when a gust of wind ruffled his hair, the candid image coming off as artistic and raw. But Alex knows Henry’s grief too well; he’s witnessed it firsthand, heard it whispered over 3,700 miles of darkness, and seen it at just about every point in between, so he has to look away from the pain he can read so plainly in the image.

This is all too much. He’s exhausted and raw and overwhelmed – really overwhelmed. In a moment of frustration combined with a good measure of petulant self-indulgence, he flings the mock-up away from him so that it sails halfway across the room. Something falls out of it, and despite feeling like every emotion he has is spinning around in a blender, curiosity makes him stand to inspect the envelope which now lays on the floor.

He squats down, balancing on the balls of his feet, and picks it up, turning it over and seeing his name scrawled across the front. He runs his thumb over the heavy-bond paper it’s made of. Henry’s personal stationery. Alex opens the envelope and slips two neatly folded sheets from it. He unfolds them, revealing Henry’s pristine handwriting.

Alex,

If you found this letter, then you’ve likely read the article. I don’t expect you to understand my decision, but I wanted you to be aware of what was coming so you aren’t caught off-guard. I know I’ve given you far too many reasons not to trust me, but I swear to you, I will not say anything to out you. However, you know what the press is like; given our numerous appearances together since the start of the year, there may well be speculation directed at you.

I know I’ve no right to, but there is one thing I must ask of you. I ask you this knowing you likely hate me for all the mistakes I’ve made and pain I’ve caused – as well you should. I ask you this knowing it was my fear and insecurities that made it necessary, knowing it was me who broke something in you which was pure and good and perfect before I came into your life and made such a mess of things.

Still, knowing all that, I make this one request: Do not let the harm I’ve done cause you to shutter up your beautiful heart. Please, Alex, the world needs your gregarious, exuberant, passion for life and that remarkable, valiant, indomitable desire to make it a better place.

If there’s anything we shared that remains untainted – a single moment you can still look on with fondness, perhaps just one touch or kiss or glance – I beg you to let it be the key which keeps your heart open. You’ve so much love within you, Alex; don’t let my failings change that.

Someday you’ll find someone infinitely better for you than I; someone who won’t be so afraid, someone capable of matching your resplendent inner light and loving you in the same all-consuming manner that you love them. In short, you’ll find someone worthy of the incredible man you are.

Whoever they are, I hope they bring back that beaming, unguarded smile. I hope they chase away the shadows and return the light to your eyes. I hope they wipe away every tear I’ve caused you to shed. I hope they banish every doubt my abhorrent actions sewed in your mind. But mostly, I hope they find you soon, and heal the damage my graceless hands did to your wild, lovely, perfect heart.

Henry

P.S.: Jacqueline Kennedy to an unnamed teenage love…

I’ve always thought of being in love as willing to do anything for the other person — starve to buy them bread and not mind living in Siberia with them — and I’ve always thought that every minute away from them would be Hell — so looking at it that [way] I guess I’m not in love with you. I do love you though — and can love you without kissing you every time I see you and I hope you understand that.

Chapter Text

Alex is still balanced on the balls of his feet, looking down at the words Henry wrote and feeling like he can barely breathe because his chest is so tight, when he hears the soft rhythmic tapping. He absently registers the sound of knocking at his door, but he’s too lost in Henry’s words, hearing them in his elegant voice in his mind as he stares at them. Eventually, he can’t ignore the sound any longer and he straightens up, his muscles protesting.

The letter is clutched in his hand as he goes to the door, because the idea of putting it down seems preposterous. He’s had to let go of every other part of Henry, how can he possibly let go of his words? Words he wrote thinking that Alex might not even read them and if he did, would hate him too much to take to heart. He half hysterically thinks to himself that he might never put the pieces of paper down.

He opens the door and… Fuck… Could he open his bedroom door one time today without being completely confused at who he finds standing on the other side of it?

“Shaan?” Alex mutters.

“Forgive the intrusion, Mr Claremont-Diaz,” Shaan replies in that perfectly put together, always on the clock professionalism which Alex has never seen him break.

“How the hell did you even get in here?” Alex asks.

“I… have my contacts,” Shaan replies elusively.

Alex doesn’t bother to ask who those contacts are. “So much for Henry not intruding again if he doesn’t hear from me,” Alex mumbles, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“His Royal Highness didn’t send me. In fact, he has no idea that I’m here,” Shaan tells him.

“Then why are you here?”

“Permission to speak candidly, Mr Claremont-Diaz?”

“Shaan, if you call me Mr Claremont-Diaz one more time, I swear to God I’m going to have Amy stab you with a tapestry needle. Yes, please speak candidly. And you may as well come in, there’s nothing candid about talking in the hallway.”

Shaan walks in and, to Alex’s surprise, moves past the sofa. He crouches down, picks up the mock-up from the floor, then moves to meet Alex at the couch. He places the book on the coffee table, face up, and settles onto the same seat that Henry had occupied earlier, but keeps his eyes on the magazine.

Alex is looking at the cover too when Shaan’s voice interrupts the cacophony of thoughts clamoring inside his head.

“I’ve been with him since he was 12-years-old and Beatrice was 16, you know. I was 22, freshly out of training, and I was convinced I’d done something to anger the universe at having been assigned to be attendant to a pair of children. Particularly two such rambunctious ones,” Shaan says, though Alex can’t be entirely sure if he’s talking to him or to himself. “Back in those days, he was fearless and boisterous, traits which caused his mother no end of worry, particularly when he’d do something like return from riding lessons bruised and bloodied after riding too fast and falling off his horse, which happened far more often than he would ever admit. He also had a penchant for climbing trees which were remarkably unsuited to such endeavors. Did you know he fractured his left wrist twice the summer he was 14? The first time he’d fallen out of a sycamore tree in the garden. He was only out of the cast two days when he climbed the same bloody tree and fell again, landing on the same arm, of course.”

Alex grins, picturing a Henry who was just a year older than the photo from J14, skinned knees and a bright, carefree smile as he climbed.

“When Arthur succumbed to the cancer, it… changed so much in Henry. In some ways, he lost his entire family the night his father passed. Catherine was all but catatonic for months, Philip had never been close to Beatrice or Henry, but he shifted all his attention to their grandmother. Beatrice began acting out, sneaking away from the palace and partying too much. Henry was hurting in ways no 18-year-old should have to face, especially without anyone there to support them. He was alone with his grief far too much, I think.”

Alex remembers the night he and Henry talked on the phone until he had to plug his in so the battery wouldn’t die. He recalls the strain he’d heard in his voice as he told him about Bea’s drug use and his mom hiding herself away.

“After his father’s passing Henry basically went on autopilot. He focused on his studies, went where he was told to go, shook the hands he was told to shake, smiled for the cameras, had the occasional discrete physical liaison, but in so many ways, he was just as cloistered as his mother. While she elected to hide from the pain in her quarters, he’s hidden in plain sight; walking about and doing everything he’s supposed to do, but disconnected from everyone and everything.” Shaan looks up at Alex for the first time since they sat. “Until the weekend you returned to London after Philip’s wedding. There was a spark that came back to him. And then when you two began texting and conversing, flickers of himself began returning. The flight home after the state dinner in January, I remember seeing him smile for just a moment when he thought no one was looking. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen on his face in nearly five years.”

“I knew his dad’s death had hit him hard, but…” Alex lets his voice trail off. He’s not sure what to say.

“It was more than just losing his father. Arthur passing and Catherine withdrawing as she did left no buffer against his grandmother and her homophobia wrapped neatly in the family standard. She’d never been particularly kind to him, she’d seen the signs since he was quite young, but once his parents weren’t there to run interference, she wasted no time impressing upon him that his deviant lifestyle meant he was damaged, unworthy, undeserving of love from anyone.” Shaan looks back down at the cover photo of Henry as he continues. “He was grieving and vulnerable, and on some level, he believed her; he’d lost his father, basically lost his mother, nearly lost his sister, lost what little relationship he’d had with his brother. Everyone who mattered the most in his life seemed to be leaving him. She convinced him that he was the problem because he wasn’t normal.”

“That fucking miserable, manipulative, old bitch,” Alex says quietly before he can stop himself. He freezes and wonders if he’s just crossed some kind of line and should anticipate a visit from the toilet assassins.

“Best not let anyone else hear you express that sentiment, accurate though it is.” Shaan’s mouth quirks up in a half smile.

They sit in an odd silence for several minutes, Alex processing everything Shaan has told him.

“He loves you, Alexander. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. I realize I don’t know you as well, but I’m quite certain you love him too.”

“I do,” Alex says quietly, nodding. “I thought it was as simple as that, but obviously it’s not. Not for him, anyway. Henry’s the one who said he didn’t want a life with me.”

“Because he’s afraid to want it.” Shaan looks at Alex again. “He’s lost everyone in his life who he’s ever truly loved. In his mind, the longer he holds onto you, the more it’s going to hurt when he inevitably loses you. He believes he’s so damaged that no one could ever want to stay with him. That’s what she’s drilled into him.”

“Then why come out now? Being outed was what he said he was afraid of when it came to him and I being together. Why push me away and then put himself through what’s about to come at him from every angle?”

“Because the lies and secrecy have destroyed what mattered most to him; his relationship with you. Losing you, it… broke something in him. When you have nothing left to lose, setting off a scorched earth policy doesn’t frighten you, because you don’t care about what will get burned, even if you know the fire will consume you too. I’m sure you can imagine what his grandmother’s response to this will be.” Shaan gestures toward the magazine.

“Is exile still a thing the Crown does?”

“I know you think you’re joking, but yes, it is. He wants to come out, he’s wanted to for some time. He’s prepared to face the fallout from the article the way he faces everything; alone.” Shaan stands and reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, pulling something out. He holds the thin piece of plastic toward Alex. “We get only so many second chances in life, even fewer third chances. Sometimes we have to hold on twice as hard when the ones we love are pushing us away. For our own sake as much as theirs.”

Alex takes the card from Shaan.

“The Alexander Suite is on the fourteenth floor,” Shaan tells him as he moves to the door.

“Aren’t you violating, like, a dozen protocols and NDAs by telling me all this?” Alex asks as he looks down at the keycard.

“At least,” Shaan agrees.

“Why? Why come here without Henry knowing? Why risk your job by breaking your oath to protect the privacy and reputation of the Crown?”

Shaan offers a quick shrug. “Because it’s the right thing to do. I work for the Crown, but my loyalty is to Henry. I can see how much you love him, Alexander, but you’re the only one who can make him see it.” He then gives Alex a little half bow, and leaves.

Alex checks his reflection in the large mirror that makes up the back wall of the elevator car. His hair is unruly, but it’s mostly dry from his hasty shower. He brushes a few specks of lint off the shoulder of his suit jacket and straightens it more out of something to do with his hands than because it actually needs it. His jacket and the t-shirt underneath are both black and the faded blue jeans he’s wearing are probably not up to snuff for a place like the Hamilton, but he doesn’t care. He’s not there for a fashion show.

The door slides open and he steps out. The top floor is divided into only two suites. Alex moves to the door with Alexander written in a scrawling font on a brass plaque beside it and experiences a very surreal moment. Standing at the door of the suite named after the president that he himself is named after feels far too meta for him to process on the single digit number of hours of sleep he’s had in the last three days. He hesitates, unsure if he should knock, but he has the keycard Shaan gave him, so what the Hell.

He swipes the key and opens the door. He steps inside and immediately spots Henry. He’s on the balcony, a crumpled silhouette against the colors of the sunset; he’s facing away from the room, his posture hunched and looking every bit as defeated as Alex has been feeling for weeks.

A torrent of words rush through Alex’s mind at the sight of him, some their own and some belonging to others yet speaking to both of them. A barrage of quotes, facts, lyrics, and theories shared and debated for hours on end. The insults and jokes and confessions that carried them from who they were to who they’ve become. A pulsing thrum of whispered endearments and breathless profanities uttered in the heat of passion. Even those wretched words spat out in anger and fear, the brutal, bitter ones that cast him out of Kensington, all come back to him. Through the melee of memories and the emotions that flood him with each one, there are only three words that keep coming back and overwriting all the others; I love him…

He crosses the room and steps out onto the balcony. As he’s closing the last few feet of distance, Henry straightens and turns at the sound of his footsteps. Without hesitation, Alex wraps him in a tight hug. He tilts his head up so that his lips are brushing against Henry’s earlobe as he speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper and rushing out of him without conscious thought. “There is no one in this world better for me than you. You’re it, baby. You’re my forever.” He smiles when he feels Henry’s arms wrap around him seconds later.

They hold each other for several minutes, neither capable of speaking while there’s so much emotion in the fierce embrace. It’s been too long since they’ve been in one another’s arms, and somehow Alex feels they both know it isn’t something they’ll ever take for granted again. He feels Henry’s hand on the back of his head, fingers twining into his hair and gripping it as though he’s holding on for dear life. His own hands are spaced along Henry’s torso, one at his shoulders, the other at his waist, and both pulling Henry’s body flush to his own, as though he can somehow make up for the weeks of distance if he can just get them close enough. Alex’s face is nestled into that perfect space beside his neck, his chin resting on his shoulder and the side of his head pressed against Henry’s cheek.

His eyes are closed and he’s drinking Henry in, reveling in that impossibly unique smell that’s linen and grass and cologne and… The realization hits him like a wave, crashing and crushing him, carrying him towards something he should have been able to reach on his own.

Home… Henry smells like home… It’s not the scent of any place he’s ever lived – not his mother’s house in Austin or his father’s in California, certainly not the White House, not even the lake house – but the reality is absolute and crystal clear. Standing here – wrapped in Henry’s arms, bodies impossibly close, clutching to one another, hurting and crying and healing simply by being together – is where he belongs in a way he never has. Because Henry is his home.

Alex lets a little breath of air out that carries a sound that’s something between a chuckle and a sob which he might be embarrassed about if it were anyone other than Henry holding him. He finally leans back slightly, just enough to be able to look up into Henry’s eyes. “I love you,” he says as he runs a hand through his hair then pulls his mouth down to his own, kissing him gently. When their lips part, he presses his forehead against Henry’s and whispers, “For the record, I’m still fucking pissed off, but we'll figure it out.”

“As you should be,” Henry answers.

Alex steps back and takes Henry’s hand in his own. He makes a point of not smiling at the slight thrill that courses through him as he registers that Henry hasn’t pulled away; they’ve hugged and kissed and he’s taken his hand on a balcony where they could possibly be seen, and Henry has let him. He understands; there’s no need to hide anymore, the truth is less than 48 hours from being out there.

They move back into the suite and Alex leads them to the sofa. He sits and pulls Henry down beside him. The energy between them is a strange combination of awkward and nervous, but still somehow comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do it,” Alex tells him. There’s no need to specify that he’s talking about the article. They both know there’s nothing else he could be talking about right now.

“Yes, I did. I should have done it ages ago, I was just too afraid,” Henry tells him. “I thought that maybe if I played by the rules that had been set out, kept who I was in the shadows as I’d been told to and just put on a show for the cameras from time to time, I could be happy with that half life. It never occurred to me how much my compliance would cost me. But then I’d never factored you into the equation of my life. The fake dates for the sake of the cameras, the planted speculations about secret liaisons, the notion of an arranged marriage for appearances, it all used to be tolerable but now... I... I simply can’t pretend anymore, not now that those lies imply I could ever choose to be with someone other than you.”

“Henry, I...” Alex begins, but Henry interrupts him.

“I know you’re not coming out. If anyone asks about us, I’ll insist that we’re just good friends, nothing more. That lie I can maintain. I won’t out you, Alex. I know how important the election is and I won’t do anything to jeopardize yo...”

Alex silences him with a quick kiss. “Oh my God, can you shut up for two seconds?” Alex says with a roll of his eyes and a lopsided grin. Henry looks back at him sheepishly, but he’s stopped talking. “I was trying to say, before I was so rudely interrupted,” he cocks one eyebrow up, “that I didn’t come over here sooner because I spent most of the day in meetings with my mom and her staff.”

Henry opens his mouth to say something, but Alex lifts his hand and presses his fingers to his lips.

“I wasn’t finished. I was meeting with her staff, because I’m going to do a companion interview with People to accompany yours.”

“What?” Henry mutters against Alex’s fingers. He reaches up and takes his hand, pulling it down into his lap. “No, Alex… you absolutely do not have to do this.”

“I know I don’t. I want to, Henry. We both know that as soon as the article is released, there will be a mountain of speculation about us. I don’t want you to insist we’re just good friends. I don’t want you to lie about us. And I don’t want to lie about us either. The fake dates and planted rumors aren’t something I can tolerate anymore, either. I want the world to know that I love you. Even if you are an obtuse fucking asshole sometimes.” He smiles and squeezes Henry’s hand.

“But the election...”

“I know. I talked to my mom a lot today. Like a lot. Probably more than she and I have talked in the last four years. She’s got our back on this, babe. She knows this is real for both of us and she’s ready to go toe-to-toe with anyone who is stupid enough to imply that us being together has anything to do with her ability to lead for the next four years,” Alex says. He smirks at Henry. “So, what do you think, you willing to share that exclusive cover?”

“You really mean it, don’t you?” Henry asks. The expression on his face is a mix of bewilderment and trepidation that feels to Alex like someone has kicked him square in the ribs. He wants to get on a plane right now, fly to London, and have a very long string of highly inappropriate words with Her Majesty the fucking Queen.

“The reporter you spoke to is at the White House right now ready to interview me. She even offered to do a sit down with both of us, if you want that.”

“Of course I want that; there’s nothing I want more than to tell the world how much I love you. But there’s no un-ringing this bell, Alex. If you come out, you could be sending your political career up in flames before it’s even begun. I know how much running for office someday means to you. I can’t just let you throw that all away for me.”

“Hey, my career goals don’t mean shit compared to you. Yes, I want to make a difference in the world, but I will sell pencils out of a tin cup on the sidewalk if it means I get to be with you at the end of the day. There are lots of ways to leave a legacy beyond having my name recorded in a congressional roster. Besides, I can’t see the future; maybe by the time I’m ready to throw my hat in the ring a candidate’s sexuality won’t even be a talking point. Maybe the way we change the world is simply by being honest with it about who we are.” Alex takes both of Henry’s hands in his own. “It’s going to be messy and vicious and there will be a barrage of bullshit, but I’m not afraid of any of it, so long as I get to weather the storm with you.”

Henry stares into his eyes and Alex sees how much he wants to believe him, but there’s still something in those beautiful, blue eyes that’s afraid. Shaan’s words from that morning come back to him. ‘He believes he’s so damaged that no one could ever want to stay with him. That’s what she’s drilled into him.’ He makes a mental note to tell Her Majesty to go fuck herself the next time he sees her, threat of toilet assassins be damned.

“If you’re not ready for the world to know about us, that’s fine, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve nearly lost you twice in the last month, and I am never letting that happen again. It took me a while to get my head out of my ass and realize that you pushing me away was as much about protecting me as it was about protecting yourself. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. We’ve both made mistakes, but I want to make this work. I want to make us work. I’m never going to love anyone else in the world the way I love you, Henry. I will tell you that every single day if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

“I know we still have a lot to talk through, and you’re still very justifiably angry with me, but I will spend the rest of my life finding ways to make amends for hurting you. You’re my forever too, Alex. You always have been.” Henry brings one of his hands up to rest against the side of Alex’s neck, brushing his thumb along the line of his jaw. “I do want the world to know. I’ve wanted them to know all along.”

“Well then, let’s go make some history,” Alex says simply. At this, Henry smiles and actually let’s a little laugh escape him. Alex kisses him again, and it’s soft and brief and full of promises that neither of them can put into words in the moment. They have a lot to figure out, but they have all the time in the world to do so.

Chapter Text

Monday morning finds Alex waking up in Henry’s bed for the first time since the summer. They haven’t slept much; between spending hours talking through the shit show their relationship has been since the lake house, their mutual tendencies towards insomnia, and the anticipation of what the day has in store, there was enough stress and nervous energy between them to power a small city. Still, they both managed to drift off and get a couple of hours before Shaan is knocking at the door.

Henry’s curled against Alex’s chest, his cheek pressed into the black cotton t-shirt Alex is wearing. Alex wakes first and after a few seconds to recalibrate and register what the sound is, he brushes his hand down Henry’s cheek and onto his shoulder.

“Baby, time to wake up, Shaan’s at the door,” Alex says, shaking him gently.

Henry stirs. “Come in,” he calls loudly enough that the knocking stops and the door opens. He’s sitting up and stretching when Shaan crosses the sitting room.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness. Good morning, Mr Claremont-Diaz,” Shaan says as he settles a breakfast tray on the foot of the bed.

“I swear I’m going to send Amy after you if you don’t cut that Mr Claremont-Diaz shit out, Shaan,” Alex remarks, stretching his arms above his head. He smiles as the scent of coffee and Earl Grey tea reaches him.

“My apologies, Alexander, force of habit.” Shaan smiles at him as he hands each of them a copy of People magazine. He looks at Henry as he adds “Her Majesty requests your immediate presence at Buckingham for… a conversation.”

“Oh, I bet she does,” Henry mutters as he takes the magazine. “Thank you, Shaan. We’ll be down shortly.”

Shaan nods to them both then leaves. Alex hands Henry his tea, then grabs his coffee. He takes a sip and sighs happily; one sugar with cinnamon. Clearly Henry’s told the kitchen staff how Alex likes it.

They ignore the magazines, which Alex can’t help but notice they’ve both put face down on the bed - the back cover is occupied by a Fendi clothing ad with an actor Alex recognizes from a streaming service movie that's been going viral, sporting an oversized grey turtleneck. As they sip their drinks and pick at the pastries that were sent up, neither of them has much of an appetite, but they both know they need sustenance to get through what they’re about to walk into. Eventually, when Henry’s tea is half gone and Alex’s coffee cup is empty, Alex picks up the copy of People that Shaan handed him. He flips it over and lets it land on the comforter between them.

Looking at the magazine is oddly surreal. The mock-up Henry brought to the White House on Saturday had felt like no more than an idea; just a concept, a possibility rather than a certainty. Seeing the actual magazine sitting before them now it is very, very real. Everything that’s sitting on the bed before them right now is also on millions of news stands and in mailboxes, on café counters and tucked into backpacks and briefcases and purses all over the world right this very minute. Zahra will pass racks full of the issue on her way to work, June will have a copy tucked into her weekly tabloid haul, his father’s office in California will have it on the small table in the glorified alcove they call a waiting room.

An exclusive full-page cover, three articles, a couple dozen pictures, the acknowledgements and quotes and revelations... All of it is out there for everyone to see, in glossy black and white print, with full color photos, and vibrant headlines. There’s no turning back now; they’re out. The entire world knows beyond a shadow of a doubt the things they've both struggled to keep hidden...

1. Henry is gay.
2. Alex is bisexual.
3. They're together.
4. They're completely, profoundly, unrepentantly in love.

Their own faces look up at them. In something of a role reversal, the image that was chosen is one in which Henry has a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, while Alex’s expression is more neutral. They’re leaning into each other, Alex’s shoulder tucked behind Henry, their heads tilted slightly to rest against each other, both staring into the camera.

Alex can’t help but smile at the caption which now occupies the bottom third of the page, having replaced the stark “Yes, I’m gay” on the original cover.

LOVE WITHOUT BORDERS
HRH Prince Henry and FSOTUS
Exclusive Interview

“They chose a good photo. You look exquisitely handsome,” Henry says as he nudges his shoulder against Alex’s.

“No one’s going to be looking at me with you right there,” Alex counters. He opens the magazine and finds the page where their joint interview begins. There’s a full-page color photo of them, Henry sitting in a sturdy chair in the Oval Office, Alex standing behind him, one hand on Henry’s shoulder, which Henry’s reaching up to hold, their fingers casually interlaced. The facing page has a picture of them Alex didn’t realize had been taken; the left half of the page showing them standing near the window, facing each other, Alex's right hand is holding Henry's left, Henry's right hand is caressing Alex's cheek, and they are very clearly lost in their own little world. He knows when the shot was captured, recognizing the moment they’d taken to themselves after they’d finished speaking to the reporter.

Sweeter Than Fiction
His Royal Highness, Prince Henry and First Son of the US, Alex Claremont-Diaz share their story in their own words.
By: Trysta Morningstar

There are moments that you dream of as a reporter; covering an historical event, reporting on something that touches the heart of a nation, or even breaking a story that will have a meaningful impact on the world. Like most of my colleagues, I have hoped to experience these milestones, certain I’d be lucky if just one of them found their way onto my desk. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would have the inspiring opportunity to share a story which would combine all three.

When I spoke with His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of Wales yesterday, I knew that his story was going to touch the hearts of many (see page 57 for the full interview with HRH Prince Henry). Little did I know, I would spend the next evening talking to First Son of the United States, Alexander Claremont-Diaz for a second unprecedented interview (my chat with FSOTUS can be found on page 84). It was impossible to listen to him speak and not realize the impact he will have on the world, both today and in years to come.

Now mere hours later, I find myself in the Oval Office with both the Prince of Wales and the FSOTUS. On its own, that would feel surreal; but then the President of the United States very graciously stepped out so we can use her office to speak privately, and surreal no longer seems adequate.

TM:        First off, thank you both for being willing to sit down with me this evening, I know it’s been a rather long day.

HRH:      It’s us who should be thanking you. Both yourself and your publisher have been incredibly accommodating in allowing us the opportunity to share our story at the expense of your deadline.

TM:        In my experience, when the story being told is so compelling, deadlines are more of a suggestion than a hard and fast rule.

ACD:      If only a few of my professors had taken that approach; I could have saved myself so many all-nighters.

A surprisingly comfortable chorus of gentle laughter fills the room, and the three of us relax as we settle into our seats. Myself, sitting in an antique chair where the likes of Kennedy, Clinton, Bush, and Obama have sat, positioned across a low table from a wide, off-white chesterfield. Settled on its brocade cushions, Alex leans casually against the back of the sofa, his knee brushing against Prince Henry’s. His Royal Highness is situated at the end of the couch, one arm resting across the back of Alex’s shoulders.

TM:        You’ve both been incredibly generous in sharing your individual stories with myself and my readers, but of course, everyone loves a love story. So, the question must be asked: Was it love at first cake fight?

ACD:      Oh, absolutely not. I still thought he was utterly insufferable at that point.

HRH:      Sadly, I was already quite smitten by then, though I’m starting to wonder why, precisely.

They exchange looks that might be considered withering were it not for the wide smiles on both faces.

TM:        So it took some time for you to build that connection then?

ACD:      Yeah. Throughout the fall we started getting to really know each other and then things shifted for us at New Year's.

HRH:      Many people know we originally met several years ago at the summer Olympics in Rio. It was all quite Shakespearean, actually; love at first sight on my part while he absolutely loathed me. But yes, this past New Year's was rather a pivotal moment in our relationship.

ACD:      I mean, I feel like "loathed" might be slightly overstating it... We had a solid three years of misunderstandings, resentment, and a simmering animosity going, then came his brother’s wedding.

TM:        I will absolutely be fired if I don’t ask; how did the cake get knocked down?

ACD:      I’m pretty sure I tripped over my own feet, bumped into the table, and then grabbed him to try and stop myself from completely wiping out. An obviously unsuccessful effort on my part. But it’s all a blur of bourbon and buttercream at this point.

HRH:      Of course, if you’re going to utterly derail a wedding reception, it was a top tier way to do so.

ACD:      Really? A cake pun? That's what we're doing here? Clearly, I’ve been a horrible influence on you.

HRH:      That is absolutely true.

ACD:      Anyway, after the whole cake situation, we somewhat reluctantly started spending more time together in an attempt to mend fences. We came to realize pretty quickly that we had a lot in common and grew to be friends over the next couple of months. Then Henry came to the Young America New Year's Eve Gala and we had a conversation that I think we'd needed to have for a while which led to a New Year's kiss, and, well, the rest, as they say, is history.

HRH:      Living the type of lives that we do, it’s incredibly rare that you encounter people who understand certain aspects of your life. We obviously have very different experiences, but they complement each other in many ways; we found a lot of common ground once we stopped antagonizing each other.

ACD:      To be fair, it was mostly me antagonizing him.

HRH:      I did not say that.

ACD:      Oh, I own it. It’s all good.

TM:        Well, whomever the instigator was, you've clearly developed a great dynamic and feed well off each other's energy.

HRH:      For the most part. We’ve had to learn about each other from half a world away. Like any couple, we have disagreements and misunderstandings and flat-out fights. We’re continuing to learn about one another every day, including how to communicate better.

ACD:      Yeah, we definitely know how to push one another’s buttons, and we both weaponize that knowledge from time to time. At the end of the day, it really comes down to looking at him and knowing I love him, remembering that the love is stronger than the frustration or the anger or fear, or whatever other static is going on between us.

HRH:      Our relationship is far from perfect; to be honest, we're in the middle of working through something right now. However, we’re both dedicated to putting in the effort to learn and grow, both as individuals and as a couple to make things right. We aren't perfect, we never will be, but we are committed to making this the perfect relationship for us.

ACD:      Exactly. This isn’t some dime store romance where the handsome prince came in, swept me off my feet, and everything is singing birds and picturesque sunsets evermore. It’s real and it’s messy and raw and sometimes we do stupid things that hurt each other. We screw up, we get mad, and we tell each other off. But then we also put our egos in check and apologize to each other when we realize we’ve screwed up.

TM:        I think if more couples did that, accepted that the idea of perfect isn't realistic, the world would be in much better shape.

ACD:      For sure. Word of advice though; try and find someone who’s at least in a similar time zone. Sitting through an intercontinental flight when you're seething about something is horrible. Even when things are awesome, trying to figure out what time it is where they are while you’re half-awake sucks. Time zone math is literally the worst, but he’s worth the missed sleep.

HRH:      We often end up exchanging text messages and phone calls at the most ungodly hours of the day and night. However, as Alex observed, it was worth it.

TM:        That must have been incredibly challenging. Any plans to change that situation?

HRH:      We’ve not had any official discussions on the matter, but I feel quite confident in saying we’ll likely be spending significantly more days watching the same sunrises moving forward.

ACD:      Yeah, it’ll definitely be nice to be able to wake up on the same side of the planet for more than a day here and there. And to be able to be together without feeling like we constantly have to look over our shoulders.

TM:        That alone must have put a significant degree of strain on your relationship.

ACD:      It was definitely not a highlight.

HRH:      Alex and I aren’t naïve, we both know that as public figures, there will always be a certain measure of interest in our relationship. However, there’s an incredible pressure that’s being lifted now that we’re going public.

ACD:      Exactly. I mean, we’ve only been together since the beginning of this year, and I’m sure there are folks who would say that we should have gone public months ago, but we weren’t there yet. We were still figuring this out for ourselves, and we weren’t ready for the public scrutiny that comes with being official in terms of the world knowing. If one of us were in the public eye and the other were an average person, it might have been different. With both of us being public figures, we know realistically, the amount of privacy we'll be afforded is minimal.

HRH:      Celebrity is truly a double-edged sword. Our stations in life allow us incredible opportunity to do good for others, to hopefully affect change which will positively impact people whom we otherwise wouldn’t be able to reach. However, those opportunities come at a personal price which, at times can be quite steep.

ACD:      We both appreciate the positions we’re in and we aren't ungrateful for the lives we get to live. Still, there are moments when it would be nice to be able to do things like anonymously go to a museum or walk down a street without causing a commotion. When it comes down to it though, if it weren’t for who we are and the roles we’re in, we probably would never have met. If a life in the public spotlight is the price of having found my way to Henry, then it was worth it.

HRH:      It's been a challenging journey getting here, navigating external factors and our own concerns about going public. We've made mistakes which almost cost us our relationship, but I think on some level that's all contributed to making us stronger in our commitment to each other. We've come so close to the edge of oblivion that it's given us a deeper appreciation for being together.

At this point, Alex and Prince Henry share a quiet moment of affection, and it’s impossible not to feel as though I’m on the vanguard of a new era. Sitting here in the Oval Office, watching as the Prince of Wales and the First Son of the US gaze fondly into each other’s eyes and exchange terms of endearment, I’m witness to so much more than simply two people who are very obviously in love. The choice they’ve made to tell their story in their own words will be a beacon of inspiration to millions across the globe, and the light which burns between them is brilliant and mesmerizing.

TM:        Do you think you’ll choose a quieter life at some point? Something which lets you step back from that public spotlight.

ACD:      I mean, eventually. I’ll be spending the next few years splitting my time between law school, working with Henry to help him with some of his philanthropic projects, and hopefully supporting my mom through her second term. So, best case scenario, things are going to remain chaotic for the next little while. We’ll find out precisely how chaotic in about five weeks.

TM:        Law school? So, you really are following the family legacy then.

ACD:      We’ll see. I’ve always wanted to find a way to do the most good I can for people with what I’ve been given in life. I feel like going into the legal field will give me a chance to at least try and change some of the things in our system which are imperfect. As for following the family footsteps, who knows? Maybe someday my name will be on a ballot, but I have a lot of personal goals before that is even a consideration.

TM:        It sounds like you’re not planning to go into corporate law, then?

ACD:      No, I’ll be focusing on human rights and ethics.

HRH:      Based on how much you enjoy arguing, you’ll be a brilliant barrister.

ACD:      First, we call them lawyers here, darling. Second, I only enjoy arguing with you because someone’s gotta do it. That royal ego needs to be put in check from time to time.

HRH:      That’s fair.

TM:        Beyond falling in love with someone in your own time zone, what is one piece of wisdom you each would hope someone might take away from your story?

ACD:      Ouch, lobbing the big think questions at us this late? Okay, I see how it is.

TM:        What can I say? The leniency on my deadline did come at the price of promising to ask a few certain questions.

HRH:      I think, for myself, if I had to distill all that’s happened and all we’ve been through into one lesson I’ve personally learned, it would come to recognizing that love is always worth the risk. I realize that sounds incredibly cliché, but it happens to be the truth.

ACD:      Well, we both sound cliché then, because I was going to say love is worth fighting for, but now that you said your thing, I sound like I’m just copycatting you. So... I think for me it comes down to having the conviction to live honestly, in all aspects of your life. Whether it’s in terms of the persona you present to the world or the person you have to face in the mirror at the end of the day, make sure they’re someone genuine who you can be proud of. That probably sounds pretty trite, but if I hadn’t chosen to be honest about who I am, both with myself and with the world, I wouldn’t be with Henry. That truly would have been a tragedy. Henry remarked earlier that our start was somewhat Shakespearean; no disrespect to the Immortal Bard, but I’m grateful that we departed from that trajectory. I realize tragedies allow for more drama and a bigger theatrical impact, but frankly, I’ll take the messy, complicated, happily ever after with my Prince Charming any day.

HRH:      So, what I'm hearing is that you've learned to appreciate a happy ending.

ACD:      I know exactly what you're getting at and you're still wrong; Empire will always be better than Return of the Jedi. Your assertion that Ewoks being iconic makes Jedi superior is still absolutely ridiculous. Besides, our story's only just begun; we're nowhere near writing the ending yet.

They exchange a look which is so profoundly loving, it feels like I've intruded on them. They excuse themselves, taking a moment to step to the far side of the room and speak quietly near one of the wide windows which look out over the sprawling lawn beyond. It’s dark outside the glass, and the light within the room casts them in a warm, golden glow. Framed as they are by the blackness, they stand illuminated, a beckoning signal of hope.

Their story is one that will go down in history; a tale of not only love, but of defiance against a culture which would condemn them, and a determined resilience to stand up for not just themselves, but for all people who are marginalized for simply being who they are. Two handsome, rebel leaders, ready to take on the universe, side by side.

As I collect the tools of my trade, it’s easy to envision them standing in this same office years from now; a little older, wiser, distinguished, sporting different titles, but their presence steadfast and inspiring. I’m confident the lessons they’ve shared with us today will remain as pertinent in that - or any other - future as they presently are: Fall for someone in your own time zone (or don’t, time zone math isn’t really that bad). Embrace the imperfections that make things perfect. Take the risk on love. Live honestly. Love genuinely. Choose the messily ever after. (TM)

“Damn she’s good,” Alex mutters as he finishes reading the article.

“Quite. She managed to make us both sound remarkably eloquent, which is impressive considering we were both running on little more than caffeine and adrenaline at that point,” Henry agrees. “I’m positive she had to edit out at least half a page of my ‘um’s and ‘uh’s.”

They both look up at the knock on the door. It opens a few inches and David bolts in.

“Are you two decent?” Bea’s voice calls from the door.

“Not by a long shot, but we’re both wearing pants if that’s what you’re worried about,” Alex calls back as David hops up on the bed, tail wagging eagerly. Henry scratches his ears and kisses the top of his head.

“I’ve missed you and that bloody sense of humor,” she tells Alex as she enters the room and comes to join them on the bed. She hugs Alex before folding herself onto the bed between their legs. She sits cross legged and picks up one of the copies of People, settling it onto the pink flannel pajama pants covering her legs. She takes one of their hands in each of hers. “I am so incredibly proud of you both.”

“Don’t let Gran hear you say that; she’ll probably exile you.”

She huffs out an unconcerned little puff of breath. “She’s been looking for an excuse to do that since the whole Powder Princess thing first started,” she says with a dismissive hand gesture. Mr Wobbles appears at the foot of the bed, nearly toppling the breakfast tray as he jumps up, and goes directly to her. He pushes his way into her lap and nudges his head against her wrist until he jostles her hand out of Henry's. “Oh, stop being such a drama queen. Just because David ditched you to come see the boys.”

“Oh, you’re one of the boys now,” Henry says with a teasing look at Alex.

“At least she didn’t lump me in with Mr Wobbles as one of the drama queens.” Alex laughs.

“Speaking of dramatic queens, has Gran sent for you?”

“Oh yes, Shaan let me know she's eager to have a conversation. I’m due at Buckingham forthwith.”

“We’re due at Buckingham,” Alex corrects him. “We’re in this together, remember? I’m not letting you go there to have her drag you over the coals alone, especially when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Alex, believe me when I say I desperately want you there, but I really don’t want to expose you to what this is going to be.”

“Henry, I’ve been dealing with Zahra since I was five. Your grandmother does not scare me,” Alex insists.

David hops over Henry’s leg to demand head scratches from Alex now.

“Hey buddy, finally ready for the good ear scratches, huh?” Alex says to him, rubbing his ear as David leans his head against his hand. Mr Wobbles swats at David’s wagging tail and the beagle turns to begin playfully fighting with him. Mr Wobbles is still in Bea’s lap but shifts to start batting at David’s nose. Alex is smiling at the way Bea and Henry are laughing and encouraging them. His heart races as a thought slots itself into place in his mind; Henry and Bea are his family now. Just as much as June and all three of their parents and even Nora, in every way that matters, they’re his.

“Are you alright?” Bea asks, looking at him thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’m good. I was just thinking how lucky I am. I never expected falling for someone to come with a bonus sister,” he says as he nudges her leg with his foot from under the covers.

“I think I might actually be the one who made out best on the arrangement. You, June, and Nora are basically a package deal and I’ve always wanted sisters. Growing up with Henry and Philip was dreadfully boring.”

“Excuse me, rude and inaccurate. Philip’s a bit of a tosser, but I am not boring,” Henry counters, pinching her leg. Mr Wobbles swipes at his hand and directs a brief hiss at him. “You bastard!” Henry shouts indignantly.

They slip into a comfortable silence as they watch David and Mr Wobbles continue to spar until a rambunctious nip sends Mr Wobbles dashing away, off the bed and out of the room, with David running after him.

“I’m going with you boys to Buckingham,” Bea says a moment later. All three of them know they can’t put it off much longer.

“You don’t have to, you know what she’s going to be like,” Henry tells her. “Neither of you has to go.”

“I know I don’t, but I’m going to. You two deserve to have someone in your corner, and I adore you both too much to let you go up against her without support. And everyone in this room knows bloody well Alex isn’t about to let you go without him, so you’re just going to have to accept that you’re not facing this alone, Henry.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be now, is it? Two against one?” Henry shifts his glance from her to Alex.

“I mean, we could always call Philip over to see if he’d take your side,” Alex suggests.

“Now that was uncalled for,” Henry replies and shoves a pillow toward him.

“I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t dawdle too long, she’s already going to be in a right state that you didn’t jump out of bed and race directly over there as soon as you heard she wanted to see you,” Bea tells him. She leans forward to hug him, then gives Alex another quick embrace before she’s lithely moving off the bed and disappearing out of the rooms.

“She’s right, we can’t delay much longer.” Henry looks down at the magazine.

“Do you regret it?” Alex asks him.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Neither do I. Sitting down with your grandmother’s going to suck. But I would face off against her every day if that’s what I had to do to be with you.” Henry looks up at him now. “I love you. There is nothing that your grandmother or anyone else can say or do that will ever change that fact.”

“I love you, too.” Henry’s voice is quiet, but steady. “I should shower.”

“I should join you. In the interest of saving water and time, of course.”

“So environmentally conscious,” Henry teases.

“What can I say? I have very fond memories of attending a certain rainforest conservation conference in Paris this past spring. It made a lasting impression. As did your knees on the bedsheets after you crawled through that spilled red wine, if I remember correctly.” Alex’s salacious grin widens into a beaming smile at the flush of color that floods Henry’s cheeks.

“You’re an absolute menace,” Henry mutters as he rolls his eyes. “Come on then, let’s see if a good scrubbing will do anything to clean up that dirty mind of yours.”

They make their way to the bathroom, a trail of the few garments they were wearing littering their path, and slip into the shower, letting the steaming water and scalding kisses push what they’re about to face at Buckingham to the back of their minds. For the moment, it’s just the two of them, the sensation of the water pelting against their bare skin, and the shared knowledge that neither of them has to face the future alone.

Chapter Text

Alex tucks his right hand into Henry’s left. They’re sitting in the back seat of the Land Rover, Bea on Henry’s other side, as it winds its way to Buckingham. They’ve been instructed to use an alternate route to arrive by one of the rear entrances so as not to draw attention to themselves. Alex feels his jaw clench as he can’t help but observe that the Crown is already trying to sweep them under the rug.

They arrive, are ushered in, and taken to a large room that Alex doesn’t recognize. Shaan takes up a position in the corner near one of the huge windows. The heavy curtains are drawn, so there’s minimal light coming in from the outside world and the faint blue glow of his cell phone screen gives his rich complexion a strange, sickly tone in the muted shadows. Alex can’t help but think that he feels how Shaan currently looks; stressed, annoyed, and desperate to be anywhere but here.

Like everything else in the palace, the room is old, ornate, opulent, and cold. The artwork and tapestries which adorn the walls are beautiful, there’s no question about that, but there’s no personality, no heart. It’s all for show with no actual meaning to any of it. He’s tempted to suggest they leave rather than wait for Henry and Bea’s grandmother to grace them with her presence, however, he knows this is something that Henry needs to do, something he has to face, and there is no way in Hell that Alex is going to let him face it without him.

Henry is pacing, fidgeting with his signet ring the way he does when he’s uneasy, moving from painting to painting, staring at each one. Alex has the distinct impression that he’s trying to memorize them, as though he anticipates this will be the last time he sees them. A pang of guilt sparks in his chest as his mom’s words drift back to him. ‘If he comes out, he’ll likely be excommunicated from the line of succession; he probably loses his title, his home, his family...’ He’d known she was right even though he’d been too stubborn to admit it then.

The magnitude of just what Henry’s done settles like a weight in Alex’s stomach and he resolves then and there to make sure that no matter what happens today, Henry knows without a doubt that he will never be alone. Alex knows that their lives will be complicated and demanding, but he swears to himself he won’t ever get caught up in the minutiae to the point where Henry questions if he made the right choice. He knows Henry coming out was about him wanting to be his true self in public, but now that they’ve decided to fight for each other and find a way to make it work, there’s no way he’ll let Henry feel like any of the sacrifice he made for him was a mistake.

Alex looks at Bea and sees that she’s watching Henry as well. He wonders what she’s thinking; is she glad that he’s finally standing up for himself? Is she worried that their grandmother is going to break him and send him so deep into one of the dark episodes they’ve both witnessed too often that he might never recover? Does she think he’s lost his mind and is making the worst mistake of his life? Does she blame Alex for being the root of all this? Does she secretly hate him for what Henry’s going through, what he’s about to go through?

He's so lost in his thoughts that he hasn’t registered that Bea has noticed the way he’s looking at her. She must be able to read the panic and anxiety on his face, because before he can recover from the catastrophizing spiral he’s fallen into, she’s moved to stand in front of him and takes his hands. This effectively draws him out of his head and back into the room.

“Thank you,” she says so softly that he doubts Henry – who has wandered to the far end of the room and is probably a good hundred feet away – would have been able to hear her if he were right beside them.

“For what?” Alex asks.

“For loving my brother. For being here for him. For having faith and not giving up on him. For being brave enough to tell the world you love him. All of the above. You saved him, and I will love you until my last breath for that,” she tells him with a smile that’s warm and reminds him of a photo he saw of their parents in the music room. Her lips quirk up to one side the same way their dad’s did, but her eyes crinkle at the corners like their mom’s. She squeezes one of his hands as she brings her other to press it against his cheek. “I am so grateful that you came into our lives, Alex. Like it or not, you’re family now.”

“I think of you as family too.” Alex smirks. “Just don’t ask me what my opinion of Philip is.”

“Done.” She pulls him into a quick hug and gives him a knowing grin when she leans back. “It’s all going to work out. You’ll see.”

“See what?” Henry asks as he makes his way back to them.

“That living with you is highly overrated and he doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into,” she teases with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Henry pinches her wrist and they’re both smiling and laughing quietly when the door opens. All three of them turn to see a group of attendants make their way into the room. Henry’s eyes flick to Shaan for a moment before moving back to the door.

Alex makes a point of not reacting when he feels Henry’s hand nudge into his, his fingers lacing between his own. It’s the first time he can think of that Henry has reached for him when there have been other people in the room. As much as he wants to revel in it, he knows it’s because Henry’s worried and is looking for Alex’s strength in the moment. He’s not about to let him down, so he gently squeezes his hand and whispers “We’ve got this”.

They’re all looking at the door when the Queen makes her way in. Alex feels Henry tense up beside him and gently strokes his thumb against the side of his index finger. He peeks sideways and seeing the anxiety in Henry’s face and the way he’s looking down, almost cowering, makes him want to grab the gilded ashtray off the table beside him and throw it at her Majesty. Queen Mary settles herself in an elaborate chair near the center of the room which faces a small sofa.

Henry moves toward it and Alex walks beside him without hesitation. They sit, though perch would probably be a more accurate word in Henry’s case. He’s sitting ramrod straight, positioned on the edge of the seat, eyes still cast downward, glancing up periodically or looking sideways at Alex. Their hands are still joined, and Alex can feel the slight tremble coming from Henry. He nods subtly at him during one of these looks.

“Mr Claremont-Diaz, I don’t recall requesting your presence for this conversation,” the Queen remarks cooly.

“Alex is as much a part of this matter as I am,” Henry responds, his voice measured and clipped. It’s not quite his press voice, Alex thinks, but it’s certainly not his normal one either.

“Yes, Mr Claremont-Diaz does seem to be the crux of the problem at hand.”

‘Keep your cool…’ Alex reminds himself. She’s a hateful, homophobic, old bitch, but she’s still Henry’s grandmother and a foreign head of state whom his mother has to deal with. He clenches his jaw and keeps his expression carefully neutral. Or at least, as neutral as he can manage.

“Gran, I didn’t come out because of Alex. I’ve wanted to live openly for years,” Henry says. “All I did was finally be honest about who I am.”

“What you’ve done is disgrace this family by boasting to the press about your deviant behaviors,” she snaps. “The legacy of this house is irreparably tarnished by this whole sordid fiasco.”

Alex is clamping his jaw so tightly shut to stop from responding there’s a good chance he’ll crack a tooth. The hand that’s not holding Henry’s is balled into a tight fist, and he can feel the edge of his nails biting into the palm.

“That was never my intent, Gran.” Henry opens his mouth to say more, but she cuts him off.

“Your intent is irrelevant. Your recklessness and abject lack of concern for decorum has created this debacle, which others will now have to deal with. Your wanton selfishness and disregard for the legacy your ancestors have built must bear consequences.” She glares at their joined hands. “A letter of apology to the subjects of the Crown has been drafted. It states your contrition for your despicable brazenness and your lack of consideration for the shame your actions would bring to all people under our rule. It implores their forgiveness and assures that you will be moving forward by seeking the help you require to rid yourself of these misguided inclinations. You will sign it and you will abide by it.”

“What?” Henry whispers.

“You will terminate this distasteful entanglement with Mr Claremont-Diaz and attend the therapy you so clearly require to relieve you of the notion that your proclivities are anything less than perverse.”

Alex isn’t sure which of them is shaking harder, but between himself and Henry, the couch is practically vibrating. He’s glaring at the Queen and wondering how it’s humanly possible that people as kind and good as Bea and Henry can share even a shred of this hideous old crone’s DNA.

“No, I won’t,” Henry says after a few stunned seconds.

“It was not a request, Henry. You will sign the letter. You will end this disgusting affair. You will go to treatment for your illness. None of this is up for debate. You will do as you are told, for once.”

Apparently, Alex’s self-restraint has not only hit its limit but shattered all together and his brain-mouth filter has broken with it. “Being gay isn’t an illness! There is nothing wrong with Henry other than the fact that he comes from a long line of hate-filled, ignorant, genocidal assholes! Despite your best efforts, he’s a kind, compassionate, wonderful person. You don’t deserve to be in the same room as him, and you have no right to spout the absolute fucking bullshit that just came out of your mouth at him.”

It's as though the air has been sucked out of the room, because no one seems to be breathing in the wake of Alex’s outburst. He and the Queen are glaring at each other, everyone else in the room frozen in trepidation. Some part of Alex realizes he’s gone so far beyond crossing a line that he might have just set an actual war into motion, but he doesn’t care. If he has to wage a war for Henry, he will. He half-hysterically wonders; if his mom exiles him the same way Henry thinks the Queen will, where can they move that’s not part of the commonwealth or the US? Maybe the Maldives, or Malta? He wouldn’t mind moving to Italy. He thinks Henry would like Greece, though it might be a touch on the warm side for him. Maybe they should move to Brazil and find a nice little place in Rio for the sentimental value…

“Do you kiss your mother with that filthy mouth?” The Queen continues to glare at him for several more seconds. “Since you clearly cannot conduct yourself appropriately or keep a civil tongue in your head, you can see yourself out, Mr Claremont-Diaz. You are no longer welcome here.”

Alex stands and has to admit to himself, he’s slightly surprised when Henry rises at the same time.

“You have not been dismissed, Henry.”

“If Alex is leaving, I’m leaving.”

Alex looks at Henry, his lips curving into a small smile. Henry’s chin is jutting out and his eyes are locked on his grandmother now. He’s still trembling slightly, but there’s a steadiness that’s settled into him which wasn’t there moments ago.

“Our business is not concluded.”

“Actually, I rather think it is. I’ve nearly lost Alex too many times because of you, and your rules, and your disgust at who I am. I will not make that mistake again.”

“Your duty is to your country, to your Crown. You will not shirk your responsibilities for some frivolous infatuation. Are you truly so stupid that you would sacrifice everything for some vile fling?”

“I realize that being with someone for love is a foreign concept to you, but what Alex and I have found has never been a fling. This has always been so very, very much more. We love one another and that is worth more to me than all the thrones and palaces in the world combined.”

“You have a duty, Henry!” There’s a flush of color that’s come into her cheeks at Henry’s defiance. The room has taken on that eerie quiet again, and Alex has a feeling it’s been a long time since anyone has seen her lose her temper to the point of shouting.

Henry breaks the spell cast over the room by saying “You’re right, I do have a duty. I have a duty to myself, and it’s one I’ve neglected my entire life.” His voice is clear as he adds, “I also have a duty to Alex, and the love we share. I will stand by him, no matter the circumstance.”

The Queen’s voice is lethally cold now. “Consider what you’re saying very carefully. Choices have consequences.”

“They do, and it’s high time I make the right one. If you’re making me choose between Alex and the Crown, I will not choose the Crown.”

“So be it. But remember this: When he tires of your childishness and neuroses and leaves you, as you know he will, when you find yourself alone because your repugnant affair has run its course, do not think you can return to this house. There is no second chance if you elect to turn your back on your family in this way.”

Henry cycles a deep breath, straightening his posture, his voice now shifting into the polished, precise tones Alex remembers hearing at Philip’s wedding and in the interview with This Morning.

“In that case, your Majesty, consider this my informal notice of abdication. I’ll expect the official documentation from your representatives. I shall make arrangements to have my personal belongings vacated from Kensington.”

Alex wants to clap he’s so proud of Henry, but he realizes that might be pushing things. He’s moving toward the door, Henry leading him out of the room, and he sees the barely concealed glee in Bea’s eyes as she watches her brother.

Alex is halfway out the door behind Henry when his inner chaos demon seems to take control of things. He pauses and looks back at the Queen. If he's going to go down in flames, it may as well be a full blown blaze of glory. “For the record, your Majesty; yes, I do kiss my mother with this filthy mouth. I also suck your grandson’s dick with it.” He steps out into the hall, the image of the Queen’s face scrunched up in shock and disgust at his words indelibly etched onto his memory, and steps up to Henry’s side, keeping pace with his long and somewhat hurried strides back down the corridor they entered through earlier.

“Did you actually just tell my grandmother that you suck my dick with that filthy mouth of yours?” Henry asks without looking at him or breaking pace.

“I have no idea, I think I just had some kind of stroke or something,” Alex replies. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” Henry agrees.

They don’t speak again until they’re settled into the back of the Land Rover. As soon as the doors are closed behind them, several things happen at once. First, Henry grabs Alex’s face and kisses him fiercely. Second, Henry shifts so that he’s straddling Alex’s lap. Third, Alex vaguely registers the sound of the driver’s door closing and the sensation of the vehicle starting to move.

“I can’t believe you stood up to her like that for me,” Henry mutters between kisses.

Alex puts his hands on either side of Henry’s neck and pushes him back just enough so they’re looking at each other. He runs one of his hands through Henry’s hair, a thrill coursing through his chest the way it always does when he gets to touch it after wanting and wondering for so many years. “As someone very wise once said, ‘I will stand by him, no matter the circumstance’.” He smiles at the flush of color that comes to Henry’s cheeks hearing his words echoed back to him. “You’re not the only one with a duty to the love we share, you know.” He brushes his knuckles down Henry's cheek. "For the record, your grandmother was wrong. I'm not going anywhere. Don't forget; you're my forever." His heart gives a painful little twist at the look that flashes in Henry's eyes at the words and suddenly, Alex wishes he'd said a lot more to her Majesty while he had the chance. He hates that he knows Henry believed her suggestion that Alex would leave him eventually. Well, he'll just have to spend the rest of their lives proving her wrong.

They make out the rest of the way back to Kensington, Henry still sitting on Alex’s lap and neither of them paying any attention to their surroundings. None of it matters at this point. The exclusive interviews and political implications of the fact that he literally just told off the Queen of England and questions of where to call home are all thoughts for later. Right now, they’re kissing and murmuring I love you into each other’s mouths, and that’s all that either of them cares about. The rest of the world can take care of itself for the moment, they have duties of their own to attend to.

Chapter Text

Henry and Alex are in the music room, relaxing on the sofa in jeans and hoodies, when Bea returns to Kensington less than an hour after they get back. She’s positively giddy as she breezes in, spots them on the sofa, and joins them. She sits on Henry’s lap and swings her legs up so they’re laying on top of Alex’s and he can’t help but think how much she reminds him of Nora in the moment.

“You two are absolute bloody rock stars, you know that, don’t you?” she asks as she wraps Henry in a tight hug.

“I somehow think Gran would disagree,” Henry challenges.

“Gran is a miserable old bat and we’ve both known that for years. It just took Alex breaking the seal for anyone else to have the nerve to say it out loud,” Bea replies, waving him off. She then turns her attention to Alex. “You were fucking brilliant back there.”

“I’m sure my mother is going to have a very different perspective,” Alex muses. “And there is a distinct chance that Zahra is actually going to have me murdered.”

“I wouldn’t be too concerned about Ms Bankston. She’s never been particularly fond of her Majesty,” Shaan’s voice comes from the door. The three of them look at him and see he’s actually smiling. “Please, forgive the intrusion, Your Royal Highnesses, Alexander.”

“Shaan, you're never intruding,” Bea tells him.

“I’ve abdicated, Shaan, I’m just Henry now.”

“No paperwork has been signed, therefore you continue to retain your station, Your Highness.”

“I’m going to miss you, Shaan.” Henry looks back at Bea now. “You be nice to him once I’ve left.”

“About that,” Shaan says slowly as he enters the music room. He holds a black, leather portfolio out to Henry.

“What’s this?” Henry asks as he takes it.

“My résumé. I realize things are in early stages, but I’m hoping I will be considered should you be looking for a personal assistant.”

“I don’t understand,” Henry says.

“Oh! You boys missed that part. Once Gran picked her chin up off her shoes, Shaan marched straight up to her, handed her his resignation, wished her the best of luck replacing him, and walked out. I swear I thought she was going to swallow her own teeth the way she was gnashing them. This is without a doubt the best day of my life.”

“Oh my God, Shaan, you don’t have to do this,” Henry tells him.

“I’m not doing anything I don’t wish to do, Your Highness. Leaving the service of the Crown is something I’ve been contemplating for quite some time.” Shaan told him.

“Would this have anything to do with your lady love?” Bea asked coyly.

Shaan’s smile shifts to something Alex can only describe as shy. “Perhaps.”

Bea squeals. “Oh Shaan! I’m so happy for you!” She sighs then. “The only downside is that means you’ll both be leaving, and I’ll be here alone with Philip and Gran.” She wrinkles her nose.

“Why? There’s nothing that says you have to stay,” Alex challenges.

“Tempting as the thought is, imagine the trouble that’ll sprout up without someone here to keep them in check. Besides, I have projects on the go here.”

“Bea, Alex is right. You’ve no obligation to stay here if you don’t want to.” Henry tells her.

“I know. But this is where I belong. I’m happy here, believe it or not. Granted I’ll be a touch more melancholy with you gone, but last I checked, there are a fair few flights each day that hop the pond,” Bea remarks. She touches his cheek gently. “You were never meant for this place, Henry. Do you remember when we would go walking on the grounds with Dad? He’d say how this whole damn country was too gray for you, and he was right. You need to be somewhere with wide blue skies, where you can be free of all this.”

“I hate leaving you,” he says quietly.

“And I hate what staying here has done to you already. Between FaceTime and transatlantic flights, I’ll never be far from you,” she smiles.

“I’m still going to miss you.”

“Of course you will, you’re my baby brother,” she teases.

“Do not start…” he rolls his eyes and pinches her arm. “Besides, if you consider Alex family, that makes him the baby now since he’s more than a year younger than I am.”

“Okay, first only by like three weeks, so calm down. Second, I was literally sitting here saying nothing, how did I get brought into this?” Alex asks playfully.

"Family is fair game," Bea teases him with a wink. “At any rate, I’m off. I have a meeting about a new project I’m setting up. Will you two still be here when I get back?”

“Unless Gran has the guards come escort us off the property,” Henry shrugs.

“She wouldn’t dare. The optics on the situation will be delicate as is. Were she to have you evicted, suffice it to say, it wouldn’t be a good look for the Crown,” Shaan tells him.

“You say that like the circumstances would ever see the light of day if she did kick me out,” Henry comments.

“It’s remarkable how resourceful reporters can be in this day and age,” Shaan says evasively. Alex has a distinct impression that Shaan wouldn’t be above “accidentally” letting something slip, should the Crown try and pull anything. That settles it, Shaan is officially one of Alex’s favorite people. “I’ll meet you at the car, Your Highness,” he adds to Bea before stepping out of the room.

“Right. We’ll have dinner tonight, the three of us. Pizza, chicken wings, and beer; a grand American buffet to celebrate your lovely American boyfriend.” Alex and Henry still at her words and she looks back and forth between them. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Henry says.

“That’s the first time anyone’s called me his boyfriend,” Alex adds, a grin curving his lips.

“Well, you’d both best get used to hearing it because the whole world knows you’re dating so you’re going to be getting referred to as one another’s boyfriend quite a lot. Unless of course you’re planning on upping the ante and changing that title to fiancé.”

“Bea! Can we be boyfriends for all of five minutes before you’re trying to arrange our engagement?” Henry rolls his eyes at her and shakes his head.

“Of course, my Little Hen. Though, you two have been together since the beginning of the year, so I feel like I can start plotting with Nora and June anytime now,” she quips and gives him a mischievous wink. She hugs each of them, then leaves.

“Wow. Are Monday’s always this eventful around here, Little Hen?” Alex asks as he shifts to tuck himself against Henry’s side.

“Don’t you dare start with that Little Hen stuff,” Henry mutters and pokes him in the ribs. “And it only seems to be like this when you’re here to stir things up. Chaos seems to follow you,” Henry teases.

They laugh then lapse into a comfortable silence, Alex nestled into Henry’s side, one of his arms draped across him. The nearly sleepless night is catching up with both of them. With the threat of meeting with the Queen no longer looming, it’s not long before they both drift asleep on the couch, safe and comfortable in one another’s embrace.

They wake in early afternoon and Henry begins making arrangements to have his personal items packed and shipped to the States. They don’t know where he’s going to live yet – he’ll stay at the residence with Alex until he finds a place of his own – but for now he secures a storage facility where his belongings can be held until that’s sorted.

Bea makes good on her promise of pizza and wings for dinner, and Alex has to admit, their resident chef makes a damn good American style pizza. Alex and Henry sip beers while she opts for soda with lime, and they laugh and talk and share long, quiet moments. They all know that the evening can’t last, but none of them are willing to make the observation and break the spell of the euphoria that’s floating between them. Eventually Bea bids them good night and again, Alex and Henry are cuddled together on the sofa of the music room, staring into a dwindling fire and soaking in the freedom of not having to worry about anyone walking in on them.

It's nearly 1:00 when Henry seems to have a revelation.

“Up for a bit of adventure, love?”

“Always. What do you have in mind?”

“Actually, I think I’d like to keep it a bit of a surprise. Stay here, I’ve got to make a quick phone call. I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever you say, Little Hen,” Alex chides.

“What am I going to do with you?” Henry asks, rolling his eyes.

“I have a list of suggestions,” Alex quips with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “It’s quite extensive, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. You and your lists,” Henry kisses him briefly before slipping out of the room.

Alex is staring into the fireplace when Mr Wobbles hops up beside him.

“Hello.” He scratches the cat behind his ear and a loud purring fills the space between them. “Don’t you tell David I gave you ear rubs without him getting any,” Alex says in an almost conspiratorial voice. Mr Wobbles gives a little meow before sinking down onto the cushion beside him, leaning his head heavily into Alex’s hand.

“Right, all set.” Henry walks back in and smiles down at Alex. “I do believe you’ve made a friend.”

“He says he likes me better because you’re mean to him and won’t let him have any of your Jaffa Cakes,” Alex teases.

“Chocolate is no better for cats than it is for dogs. I’m trying to prevent him from poisoning himself,” Henry reaches down and scratches Mr Wobbles’ other ear. “Oh, now you’re being nice to me because Alex is here, huh? Furry traitor.” He smiles at Alex and kisses him gently. “Ready?”

“Not quite,” Alex says. He puts his hand on the back of Henry’s head and pulls his mouth back to his, kissing him deep and slow until his head is spinning, and he has to remind himself that they can pace themselves because they don’t have to hide anymore. He slides his hand down to Henry’s cheek and smiles up at him as he draws his head back. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

They slip out of the palace without any PPOs in-tow and make their way along blissfully empty streets. Alex nearly trips over his own feet when Henry slips his hand into his own and twines their fingers together. It’s the middle of the night and the streets are deserted, but still, it’s the first time he’s held his hand when they’re not hidden away behind closed doors. Alex is positive that his heart is actually going to break through his ribcage it’s beating so fast.

They walk for nearly half an hour, and it’s glorious. They’re not keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen or rushing to get out of view faster, they’re just two people in love, out for a walk, talking quietly and taking in the peaceful ambiance of the night. Alex insists on stopping and having Henry take his picture leaning against it when they come across a sign that reads PRINCE CONSORT ROAD. They laugh and smile, and Henry pins him back against the mist-dampened wall beside the sign and kisses him so gently that Alex falls in love with him all over again.

Eventually, Henry leads them to a gate in a quiet alleyway. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks it, letting Alex slip through before securing it behind them. They make their way across a courtyard and to the building looming in the London night before them and again, Alex almost stumbles when he realizes where they are.

“This is the Victoria and Albert Museum,” he mutters quietly as he follows Henry through a side door.

“Yeah. Funny thing; if you’ve got a title and ask nicely enough, turns out people will let you have keys to just about anything.” Henry smiles at him.

“You come here a lot?”

“Not a lot, but often enough that most of the higher up security guards know and indulge my whims to come by when I can enjoy the artwork without an audience or security team,” Henry admits. “My parents would bring us here when we were young. They wanted us to have an appreciation for art in all its forms. Back then, we’d come early in the morning, before our classes. Personally, I prefer coming here at night like this. Standing here in the shadows of these masterpieces, when everything is so quiet, it almost feels like I’m part of their world,” Henry says and points up at one of the marble sculptures.

Alex glances at the statue, then brings his eyes back to Henry. The expression on his face as he looks up at it is so fucking beautiful, it puts every piece in the building to shame. Taking in the lines and shapes, the smooth skin and almost painfully open expression, Alex doesn’t understand how he could have ever for a second let his anger and jealousy cloud his judgement to the point of seeing Henry as anything shy of perfect. A gruff voice breaks the spell of the moment, causing both Alex and Henry to look to its source.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” an elderly man in a uniform says as he approaches them.

“Good evening, Gavin,” Henry replies. Alex hears a genuine warmth in his voice as he smiles at the man. To Alex’s surprise, Henry reaches for his hand and tugs him gently forward. “I’d like to introduce my boyfriend, Alexander Claremont-Diaz. Darling, this is Gavin Rollins, head of security here at the V&A.”

Alex tries not to swoon too hard over the fact that Henry just introduced him as his boyfriend and called him ‘Darling’ in front of someone within the span of three seconds. He reaches out to shake Gavin’s hand.

“It’s an absolute honor to meet you, Mr Claremont-Diaz, truly,” Gavin says as he clasps Alex’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Gavin. Please, call me Alex.”

“No sir, that just won’t do. It wouldn’t be at all fitting for me to address His Highness’ boyfriend so informally. I might be old, but I’ve still got my pride and my manners,” Gavin returns.

“Well, I’m not to be His Highness much longer, so perhaps for tonight we can eschew decorum. Speaking of which,” Henry holds the keys out to Gavin, “I believe it’s best I return these.”

“Why?” Gavin inquires.

“I trust your discretion, Gavin, so I should tell you I’ll be abdicating shortly. My lifestyle is unsuited to staying on with the family. I’ll be surrendering my title and moving to America. It won’t be without its challenges, but Alex and I can be together there, with people around who support us.” He shrugs as he adds “Hardly seems right for me to keep these. I must confess, I’ll miss our late-night chats.”

“You hang onto them, Your Highness. Title or no, you and Mr Claremont-Diaz will always be welcome at the V&A.”

“Gavin, I…” Henry begins, but Gavin cuts him off.

“Permission to speak plainly, Your Highness?” He waits until Henry nods. “I’ve worked here for nearly sixty years, started when I was younger than you are now. I’ve never seen anyone pass through here who appreciates this place half as much as you, and that includes your parents. No one deserves to be here more than you. Besides, you’re our prince, you always will be, abdication be damned.”

“As is Philip,” Henry pointed out.

“Philip has the regard of the people, but it’s you and Beatrice who have their hearts. They accept Philip, because they know one day, he’ll be King, however they love you and your sister as though you were their own children; because they see the kindness and goodness in you both.” He takes a breath. “If the Firm is so foolish that they would push you away for who you love, you’re better off without them.”

“That’s very kind of you, Gavin,” Henry says quietly. “It still doesn’t mean me hanging onto these is appropriate.”

“The old girl isn’t going anywhere. She’ll be here waiting when you come back for visits,” Gavin shrugs. “Maybe one day you’ll even bring your own children to show them the beauty here, just as Arthur and Catherine did. Wouldn’t that be something?” Gavin mused. “Just remember to give a call so we keep the lights on for you.”

Alex can see that Henry’s somewhat overcome by the man’s kindness, so he steps in.

“Thank you, Gavin. For being so welcoming and for everything.”

Gavin reaches for Alex’s hand again, but this time when he takes it, he holds it in both of his, squeezing it tightly. He looks at him with an expression that’s so earnest, there’s no doubt in Alex’s mind that Gavin means every word that follows. “You have Henry’s heart, that means you have the hearts of the people, as well. I hope, despite the politics, that in time you’ll come to see England as a second home and love Her as we do. Give us a chance, Alexander; we’re not all mired in the bigotry of the past.”

It's Alex’s turn to get caught up in emotion now. He slips his left hand free of Henry’s to rest it atop Gavin’s. He nods and smiles warmly at him. “How could I not love a country that helped shape Henry into the man he is? The people will always have Henry’s heart, and so they have mine as well. We’re kind of a package deal now.”

“Lucky for us.” Gavin claps him on the shoulder then gives him a crooked smile and a wink. “Now, I’m off to my rounds. I’ll leave Renaissance City to you gentlemen. I trust you know the way, Your Highness.”

“Yes, Gavin. Thank you.” Henry nods at him as he tucks the keys back into his pocket. He smiles at Alex when he slips his hand back into his. “Shall we, love?”

“Lead the way, baby.”

They walk through the halls until they reach the one Henry’s most eager to show Alex. Henry’s voice is soft and low as he tells Alex about visits here with his parents and points out his favorite pieces. For Alex’s part, he tries to pay attention to the words and statues, but he can’t stop thinking that the true masterpiece in the room is the one holding his hand.

Henry’s talking about the archives and how he can spend hours in there soaking up ancient knowledge when Alex can’t contain himself any longer. He stops in his tracks, yanks Henry’s hand so he pivots around mid-step, and pushes himself up onto the balls of his feet as he pulls Henry’s head down with his free hand. He kisses him, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Hello… What was that for?” Henry asks, his lips pulled up into a smile as he tilts his forehead against Alex’s.

“I just, really fucking love you,” Alex answers softly. The words are true, but it’s so much more than that, more than he knows how to articulate. He’s always thought of himself as being relatively well-spoken, but Henry makes him wish he knew more languages. He’s certain that there has to be some amalgamation of words in some combination of tongues capable of more accurately capturing just how completely he loves him to his very core.

They spend hours among these monuments of creative beauty standing against time, drifting like wraiths in the shadows, Henry admiring the artistry of the masters, Alex admiring the poetry that is Henry. When they make their way to a chapel nestled into the furthest recesses of the hall, Henry tells Alex about a daydream he'd had in his youth; bringing someone he loved here to dance in the midst of all this history and knowledge that meant so much to him.

As Henry speaks, staring up at the carvings and reminiscing about pubescent fantasies, Alex slips his phone from his pocket and pulls up his music app. He starts to tap Elton John’s Your Song into the search bar, remembering when Henry played it for him after they’d snuck away from Wimbledon, but something stops him. That song is part of their past, beautiful and meaningful in its own right, for sure. But it’s also connected to a sense of fear and secrecy that loomed over every rendez-vous; stolen moments in filthy bathrooms and sketchy storage closets and taking separate elevators in foreign hotels because they couldn’t dare love each other in plain sight. He doesn’t want any trace of that to taint this place for Henry; it’s too sacred. Henry’s dream is too important for Alex to allow the way things started to corrupt it, even by proxy.

He clears the search and stares down at the screen for a moment before grinning, his fingers quickly pulling up a song. He settles his phone on the edge of a railing, then taps the play button. The speaker on his phone isn’t particularly powerful, but in the stillness of the empty museum, it’s enough.

Wise men say…

Henry’s facing away from him and stills at the sound.

Only fools rush in…

Alex moves closer as Henry turns to look back at him, a small, surprised smile on his lips and a glistening of tears shining in the low light.

But I can’t help…

He reaches out for Henry’s hand, letting him take it and pull him close.

Falling in love with you…

Alex rests his hands against the sides of Henry’s neck as Henry’s hands settle on his waist, pulling their bodies so close together that they can scarcely shuffle their feet to turn in a slow circle as the gentle chords fill the chapel, but they manage it. As they sway with the rhythm of the song, Alex shifts, one arm wrapping around the back of Henry’s shoulders, his other hand grazing slowly through those beautiful, blond locks that he never seems to get enough of touching after wanting that feeling for so long.

As the song drifts to its end, Henry moves one hand to the back of Alex’s head and kisses him. It’s slow and deep and gentle, and every bit as sacred as the place of worship they’re standing in. Even more so, Alex thinks. Here they are, surrounded by centuries of antiquity, writing the history of a new era with every touch and each beat of their two hearts. If that’s not sacred, nothing is.