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Prince Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor and Lady Martha Fitzroy’s engagement celebration is dreadfully boring.
Alex knew it would be since the moment Zahra showed up at his bedroom door with the official invitation, which was grey and white and far too hyphenated. But even that didn’t prepare him for this.
The ballroom of the Windsor’s impressively pretentious castle holds a cast of representatives, order members, and diplomats, all who drone in monotone voices about their business ventures or their available daughters. Alex has chosen to medicate the repetitive conversations with constant refills of his champagne flute. Seriously, there’s enough bubbly here to serve all of England.
It doesn’t help that the Royal Family has been standing off to the side looking over the chattering crowd with their usual air of superiority. Alex can’t help but send a few pointed glares at Prince Henry, though the prince seems too focused on looking down his nose to notice.
In almost a decade, the prince hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still just as rude as that first meeting, when he stomped out all hope of a civil friendship between the two. If there’s anything worse than listening to Amy yell at him for sneaking out alone again, it’s flying all the way out to England just to stand in a room full of chatterbots while the Royal Family strut around like peacocks.
Even now, Alex can see him over the shoulder of a lieutenant he vaguely recognizes from last year’s Garden Party. Henry holds a brochure a little too close to his perfectly straight nose, and his squinting eyes ruin his incessant poise. (It doesn’t, but Alex likes to pretend.)
Alex is going to go insane today. He can feel it through the bubbles of champagne in his veins, through the drilling of this lieutenant’s voice in his head, through the dumb, scrunched up squinting of Henry’s expression as he scans the brochure.
“-And she’s proficient in ballet as well. She recently danced as Coppélia - I’m sure you’re familiar-” the lieutenant continues after another sip of his champagne, despite the slur in his voice.
It shouldn’t piss Alex off so much. Let a prince do what a prince wants to do, and all that. But Henry’s skin crinkles at the edge of his eyes and he pulls the paper even closer to his face. For the love of god, read the fucking paper and move on, Henry.
“-Even Clive Barnes commented-”
“It’s like he can’t read,” Alex says out loud, and the lieutenant’s sentence stops. Good, Alex can’t pretend to be interested in his boring daughter anymore.
The lieutenant follows Alex’s gaze to Henry - the guy is still reading this fucking paper - and his eyebrows retreat into his toupe. “I’m sorry, did you say Prince Henry can’t read?”
Henry finally, finally, puts the paper down on a table with far too many overlapping lace coverings. He blinks a few times and turns back to the crowd with his usual pompous expression plastered over his boring pompous face. While his brother exchanges pleasantries with some governor by his side, Henry’s eyes sweep over the crowd, and just for a moment, they land on Alex. He looks away before Alex can even school his face into the appropriate glare.
“Something like that,” Alex grumbles. “Oh, there’s Larry, I have to say hi.” Before the lieutenant has the chance to turn back around, Alex speeds away into the crowd. Who knows, there’s probably someone named Larry in this room.
He sends one glance back at the lieutenant, only to see him already entwined in a new conversation, heads bowed together and speaking in low tones.
The celebration continues in Alex’s attempts - and fails - to escape tedious conversations and a dull speech from the happy royal couple. Henry steps up after to deliver some even duller words to the crowd. From the back of the room, Alex catches a few exchanged whispers in the crowd, to his minute surprise. Usually, everyone eats up whatever the royal family has to say.
It’s not until later in the night that he understands. He never finds a Larry, but he does find a June, who sidles up to his side. The mischievous glint in her eyes is enough for him to gracefully cut his conversation with a French ambassador short.
“I need to talk to you,” she hisses into his ear.
She practically drags him to the far wall, exchanging a few short greetings along the way. Ever the diplomat. Finally, she whirls around, smirking. “You’ll never believe what I heard.”
“Go on.”
Her smirk grows and she glances around a final time before leaning in. “There’s a rumor going around that Henry can’t read.”
Oh, fuck.
~~~
The guilt is eating him alive.
Maybe no one really knows. June has always had a nose for sniffing out the best gossip. And, who can really say it’s Alex’s fault? Maybe someone else saw Henry scrutinizing that paper like a six year old.
The thoughts give him the slightest sliver of hope, but no. He saw the way the lieutenant’s eyes widened at Alex’s words. It’s undoubtedly, inarguably, Alex’s fault.
He lays back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his book abandoned by his side on the duvet. Even Jane Austen can’t hold his attention right now. He replays the entire celebration, from the moment the lieutenant processes Alex’s impromptu rumor to huddling in a corner with June as she relays what she’s heard. All the whispering, representatives bowing heads toward each other to listen. A few glances at Henry that Alex wrote off - everyone wants a look at the prince, right?
It’s too late now. It’s not like Alex can apologize now - he wouldn’t if he could. This is Henry. An apology would be like admitting a lifelong defeat that will follow Alex into his grave, and he’s not resorting to that.
It doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the guilt. The feeling of the media nipping at your heels with false accusations and cutting comments is too well known to Alex, and the less people have to experience that, the better. Even Henry.
Alex stares at the piece of missing paint on his ceiling - June had snuck into his room and taped a poster of Harry Styles to his ceiling once - and wallows in his misery. The only thing that could make this remorseful moment better is a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. God, the things he would do for some ice cream…
His phone, discarded by his side next to Sense and Sensibility, buzzes.
With a heavy sigh (for the drama), he props himself up on his elbows and looks.
Unknown Number: Did you hear I’m illiterate?
Alex’s blood runs cold in his veins. Okay, he can’t know for sure, it’s an unknown number. But, this number has protections on it, right? He doesn’t know for sure, but it sounds like something Zahra would establish. A list of acceptable numbers to reach out to him. Thinking back, he can’t remember a time when an unknown number has popped up on this phone. He stares hard at the screen as he types.
Alex: That must make texting pretty difficult
Unknown Number: You can’t imagine the struggle
Okay. So it’s definitely not Henry, like Alex thought. Henry doesn’t crack jokes. Henry never learned what a joke is. Alex sits up fully, hunching over his phone.
Alex: You seem to have a reasonable grasp
Unknown Number: I was confused at first. I remember learning my letters just fine. But this whole ordeal smells distinctly Alex Claremont-Diaz-esque.
Alex frowns at that. His fingers play with the frayed edge of his Iron Man pajama pants, twisting and untwisting the strings as he watches those three dots on his screen.
Unknown Number: You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?
Alex: I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I have no idea who you are
Those three dots pop up again, and disappear just as quickly. Alex waits, nerves scrambling his brain. Then, the phone rings.
Incoming FaceTime: Unknown Number
Oh, god. First of all, Alex doesn’t know for sure. At this point, it’s probably Henry. But what if it’s a stalker? Zahra will string his guts up on a flagpole if she finds out he’s talking to some stranger. Maybe they’re pinging his location.
Okay, that’s dumb, he lives at the White House, and he’s sure a good amount of the American population knows. But what if they need his exact location? For a sniper? Alex’s eyes jump to his window.
On the other hand, the curiosity will kill him if he doesn’t find out. And maybe, Unknown Caller will only ever talk to him this once, and he’ll be left in the dark forever. Him, his curiosity, and his raging guilt, all sleeping in a coffin together. He accepts the call.
Henry is as stone-faced as ever, but it isn't his face that catches Alex off guard.
“When did you get glasses?”
Henry blinks a few times, as if shocked, as if he’s not the one who called Alex. “I don’t know? When I was ten years old? Maybe eleven?”
“Why don’t you wear them? Is it confidential?”
Then, the most shocking part of the night happens. Henry shrugs. Casually. Loosely. Alex didn’t even know he could be casual or loose. “Not a secret. I’m far-sighted. I don’t really need them when I’m in public.”
It finally hits Alex.
Henry, holding the brochure too close to his nose, eyes squinted. Like he couldn’t fucking see.
Alex covers his mouth with a hand. “Fuck.”
“I knew it was you.”
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Just like you didn’t mean to break my mother’s vase last year.” And for the first time in Alex’s history, Henry smiles.
”And I apologized to her.”
Henry scrunches his nose at that. “I guess it was a god-awful vase.”
Alex catches himself before he laughs. He can’t help it, whatever crawled into Henry’s nose and infested his brain with a real personality is shockingly funny.
“I really didn’t. You have to believe me.”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Oh, right, sorry, Your Majesty.” Alex holds the phone a bit further out so he can perform a small bow.
“Please, Your Majesty is my mother. Call me Highness.”
Literally who the fuck is this? “Literally who the fuck are you?”
Henry’s smile melts into a small frown, and he tilts his head, almost like a puppy. “What do you mean?”
This is all enemy territory. Alex has spent years hating Henry’s guts. Hating his perfect intonation, his perfect dignity, his perfect posture. But here he is, a square on Alex’s phone, with glasses and slightly unkempt hair and an honest to god t-shirt. Seriously, Alex has never seen him out of business casual clothing.
So instead of answering, Alex falls back on his favorite tactic. Diversion.
“Is that really how it works? The queen is Your Majesty?”
“Shouldn’t you know all of this? You know, as the child of the president.” That tentative smile is back on Henry’s face. In the blurry image in the phone, Henry leans back onto some pillows. Of course he’s in bed, it’s like four AM in England.
“Humor me.”
Henry rolls his eyes - another action of pure personality. Alex is starting to worry a little. Maybe he’s been brainwashed, or something.
“Depends on culture and time period. Sometimes monarchs are referred to as Her Royal Highness, or His Grace, or what have you. Most people call me and Phillip ‘Your Highness,’ but no one is starting wars over incorrect titles.”
“Not starting wars? What a change.” Alex leans back on his pillows, too.
“We’ve come a long way. Now we only invade countries over Instagram handles.”
Alex snorts unattractively. Fuck, if Henry had been this way ten years ago, maybe they would’ve actually been friends.
He turns that thought over in his head. This whole conversation is just jarring and Alex feels himself reeling, even though he wants to keep talking. That’s another thing - he’s enjoying himself. Talking to Prince Henry Mountchristen-Windsor. Maybe he’s being brainwashed, too.
“It’s four AM, Alex,” Henry chides, as if Alex is the one who called.
“You started this-”
“Try not to tell anyone else about my presumed illiteracy, will you?”
“No promises.”
The call cuts off with Henry’s blurry smile disappearing into a black screen. Once again, Alex discards his phone next to Sense and Sensibility, then falls back into his pillows to stare at the ceiling.
“What the fuck.”
~~~
The headlines show up the next day.
The Royal Family’s Generational Illiteracy
Prince Henry: Well Read or Hardly Reading?
Is Prince Henry Dyslexic? Stories from the Palace
Alex Claremont-Diaz Declares Prince Henry’s Illiteracy
Alex cringes so hard at that last one that his neck almost retreats into his lung cavity.
“What did you do?” Zahra demands, that all-too-familiar rage showing in her face and her tense shoulders.
June can’t hide a wolfish grin from her seat at the breakfast table. “Pretty obvious.”
“Not the time,” Zahra snaps, and steps closer to tower over Alex’s pancakes. “What happened?”
“It was an accident.” Alex rescues a bite of pancake from under Zahra’s intimidating shadow, then says through a full mouth, “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”
“I don’t think the queen is going to care if it was an accident or not. All the rumors lead back to your mouth.”
“I just got off the phone with the Foreign Secretary.” As usual, President Ellen Claremont announces herself with work, instead of a hello. “There’s some damage control to be done.”
“Mrs. President,” Zahra inclines her head slightly, then sits at the table.
Ellen levels a serious stare at Alex. “You’re off to the palace tomorrow.”
“What- mom-”
She holds up a hand. “You’re going to prance around with Henry, and be best friends, and read a book together, or something. The Commonwealth and Development Office has your schedule all laid out.”
“I can’t hang out with Henry.”
“It’s either this or keep your distaste for the prince quiet, and you’ve already screwed up one of those.” Ellen sighs defeatedly and sits next to Alex. She leans over and steals a bite of his pancake with his own fork, the demon. “I don’t want any arguments on this one. The campaign is coming up and-”
“We know, mom. And I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to.” Alex deflates a little under his mother’s tired look. “I’ll go to the palace.”
“Aw,” June says, hands clasped together. “So cute, like you had a choice.”
Alex bristles, but his mom laughs at his side, and his tension fades. This campaign has been hard enough, and his mom needs a laugh. Maybe he should have started a dumb rumor a little sooner.
~~
Meeting with Henry goes just as Alex imagined.
Immediately off the private jet - private jet, like a king - Alex is ushered into a car with heavily tinted windows. The driver doesn’t speak to him, but sometimes relays coordinates into a headset, and Alex feels infinitely more important than he is.
It doesn’t take long to get to Kensington Palace, but a woman in clacky heels and a tight bun leads him far off to the side of the main entrance. To a stable.
“I’m not getting on a horse,” he starts to tell the woman, but Henry walks out of the barn. All the small smiles and relaxed shoulders from the FaceTime call are gone, replaced with that obnoxious grace and a mouth set in a thin line. What’s new, though, is the way Alex’s eyes dip down to the baby blue riding shirt Henry wears, with the sleeves rolled up to accentuate his forearms.
“You would die on a horse,” Henry says when he’s close enough, all accented and annoying. He hands a pair of leather riding gloves to the woman with the heels, then extends a hand to Alex.
“You don’t know that,” Alex grumbles, even as he shakes Henry’s hand. A camera flashes somewhere to his right and he glances over to see a palace photographer kneeled down to get the right angle. “Is this necessary?”
“Don’t worry.” Henry angles himself toward the camera, still clasping Alex’s hand in a firm handshake. “It’s only one day.”
The woman herds them back into the car and disappears. When Alex looks behind them, there’s another black car with tinted windows following close behind.
“They act like you’re someone important,” Alex huffs and sits back in his seat, arms crossed.
“Something like that,” Henry replies dryly.
Alex glares at the prince. He’s bounced back into that depthless alien of a man. Now that Alex thinks about it, maybe he hallucinated that entire FaceTime. Maybe he accidentally took acid or something. It can happen.
The rest of the drive passes in silence. Henry dutifully stares out the window, spine straight, and Alex alternates between scrolling through Instagram and glaring at Henry’s profile.
The next stop catches Alex entirely off guard. He really wishes someone provided him with an itinerary, or something. The car stops at an extravagant public park. The sun is out for once, and several locals stroll around. Couples, families with children, people with their dogs. It’s picturesque.
Alex studies the flower bushes as they pass by. Apparently, he and Henry are supposed to just… walk around. Get in the public eye, or something. But Alex has better things to look at than the prince. Even with his great forearms.
It doesn’t take long to get recognized. Two younger women, walking their dogs together, stop several feet away on the path and stare. When he looks over, one covers her mouth with a hand.
“Alex Claremont-Diaz?” She says, eyes bright. “I’ve always wanted to meet you! Sorry, can I take a picture with you?”
Alex indulges the girls, smiling brightly at their cameras, and they turn to Henry next. Henry seems a bit off-put by being recognized second, and Alex revels in his discomfort. But, Henry only stays put long enough for the girls to snap pictures before he’s kneeling on the path, giving the girls’ dogs some well deserved pets.
One, a small Australian Shepherd, jumps directly at his face, tail wagging so hard its entire body wags too, and Henry laughs. Alex doesn’t really think about it before his phone is out, snapping pictures, and the girls are grinning too.
Finally, Henry stands and dusts off his knee, still smiling at the little dog. The girls say their thanks and move on, but Alex stands still, typing on his phone.
“Are you going to be here all day?” Henry finally says, but Alex just holds up a pointer finger. He hopes the prince hates the gesture.
He presses the post button and looks up, grinning victoriously. “There.”
For a moment, Henry just stares at him. Then, his phone must buzz, because he pulls it out of his pocket, brow furrowed, to look at Alex’s Instagram post. “I think you’re supposed to ask one of the agents permission about these kinds of things.”
Alex tosses a glance back at the two agents, about ten feet away, with headsets and sunglasses, pretending not to watch Alex and Henry.
“Maybe, but this is better. Look,” he says, and shows Henry the comments already flowing in.
iiisabel.absolutely68: That looks just like my dog!
vicious_hotdogs_: since when do henry and alex hang out?!?! Anyone else freaking out????????
87246greys: this is so cute
Futur3windsor: I don’t care if he can read, I’ll read to him <3
“I can read,” Henry huffs, and Alex’s brain supplies an unhelpful comparison to a pouting puppy.
“It’s okay to admit our faults.”
Henry rolls his eyes, and Alex brightens. There’s a bit of that fire from the FaceTime call. It wasn’t a hallucination. Henry sets off down the path with a bit of extra stomp in his step. “Shove off.”
“You’re so English,” Alex marvels as he catches up.
Henry fixes him with a sideways glare. “And you’re so Texan.”
“Well I’ll be,” Alex says with a smirk and a heavily exaggerated Southern accent. “The Englishman knows an American state.”
“I’ve done my research.”
“On me?” Alex puts a hand to his heart. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.”
Alex laughs at that, catching them both off guard. Henry cuts him a curious glance, but the corner of his own lips twitch, betraying his amusement.
Whatever bonding that happens in that split second quickly dissolves as another couple approaches Henry with a little girl and asks for autographs. Alex is content to stand back and observe.
“Who are you?” The little girl asks as Henry signs something for her mother.
He offers her a wide smile. “I’m Alex.”
“Oh. What’s your favorite color? Mom says hers is green but I like green more.”
He taps his chin and pretends to think about it. “Light blue. Like the sky. Or like your dress. It’s very pretty.”
The little girl preens and twirls for him, gushing about how the skirt flares out and how her mom just bought it for her, until her parents collect her. By then, more locals have started to notice and nervously approach to speak with the prince. Some recognize Alex immediately, others don’t seem to notice him at all. He doesn’t take it personally. It’s kind of nice to be unknown.
It takes a while for the small crowd to peter off, after generous amounts of autographs and pictures with both Henry and Alex. Throughout the entire ordeal, Henry pastes on that tight smile, and his spine stays dead straight. Alex rolls his eyes and tries to focus on the people who do recognize him. Eventually, the last picture is snapped, and Henry turns back to Alex. He does seem a little more tense than usual - and the bar is high.
Alex opens his mouth to poke fun about it, but his eyes focus over Henry’s shoulder instead and he grins. “Let’s go.” With that, he beelines for the little ice cream cart up on one of the grassy hills. Henry complains, but follows anyway, and when they reach the cart, Alex sees him eyeing the chocolate ice cream bin.
In no time at all, they’re given their mint chocolate chip and chocolate ice cream cones, and Alex barely stops himself from taking a bite of the whole thing.
“Give me your phone,” he says through a mouthful of blissful mint. Henry immediately hands it over, though he’s staring at Alex like he just grew two heads.
“You bite your ice cream?”
“You don’t?” Alex asks through another bite, fumbling with the phone.
“No,” Henry says, but there’s a bit of a smile on his face. “I’m not psychotic.”
Alex just shrugs and opens the camera. “In my country, we prefer the term ‘patriotic.’”
A small laugh comes out of Henry, soft and short, and Alex captures the picture just then. It shouldn’t be so jarring, but the sound replays in Alex’s head. He refuses to look at the prince. Instead, he opens Henry’s Instagram and posts the selfie on his story. The two of them, ice cream in hand, Henry’s head turned toward Alex and frozen in a laugh.
Alex chooses to take another bite of his ice cream instead of acknowledging the confusing clash of the prince’s two personalities in his brain.
~~~
Thankfully, Alex has never really had to worry about jetlag. His brain and body seem to catch up pretty quickly when he travels. If not, flying to England for twenty four hours and turning right back around would wreak havoc on his sleep schedule.
He sits on the lawn of the White House the morning after his trip. Less than twenty hours ago, he had been walking around a park with Henry, and the temporary stop seems to have helped the headlines a little. Less articles are popping up about Henry’s illiteracy, now focused on pictures of them walking around the park together or the palace photographer’s picture of the handshake outside the barn.
Still, Alex frowns at his phone, scrolling through a new article that published only twenty minutes ago.
The Future of the Royal Family in Danger: If Prince Henry can leave a lifetime of private education without the ability to read, what is there to say about the rest of the family? With Prince Phillip’s recent engagement, should we be worried about the future education of the royal line?
Alex chews on his bottom lip, a habit that only comes out when he has too many thoughts wandering about in his brain. He takes one last sip of his lemonade before he opens up Instagram and presses the ‘Live’ button without a second thought.
Viewers immediately flood into the live stream and he grins at the camera, greeting everyone. Comments roll in, from “I love you Alex!” to “what’s your favorite food?” which he responds to with a thoughtful “chocolate pancakes.”
He gives the live stream time for enough viewers to join, interacting with the commenters and recalling the story of how he fell down the stairs at the White House last week. A name catches his eye:
henry.mc.windsor has joined the stream
“Hey, Henry,” he greets with a smile that comes a little too naturally at the thought of Henry watching the stream.
pfxxmimi: OH MY GOD
ttdr_kingston: so y’all are proper friends now?????????
alinarants_2022: i’m literally writing this in my diary as the day I’m in the same chat as prince henry
audr.draws: guys I kind of ship it??
lailaisweets: @audr.draws girl i was just talking about this, join the #halex thread
Alex reads those last two comments and his heart stumbles a bit. People are shipping Alex and Henry? That doesn’t make any sense. He hates Henry.
Well…
He recounts the last week. Their late night FaceTime conversation, with Henry’s soft smiles and surprising wit. Walking side by side in the park and poking fun at each other that was, for once, good-natured.
kindaariana: is the stream frozen?
Alex clears his throat and pastes on a smile. Oops.
“I guess I should talk about why I actually started this stream.” He takes a long sip of lemonade, then straightens his back and goes serious. “There’s been a lot of rumors flying around about Prince Henry, and I want to address it. First of all, it’s my fault.”
Telling Alex one year ago that he’d be admitting a mistake he made in front of Henry would probably send him into cardiac arrest.
“It was meant as a joke, and it got way out of hand. Henry and I are friends, and we have been for a while. Our friendship involves some well-meaning teasing, and that was taken out of context by a lot of people. Obviously, Henry can read…” He pauses for another sip of lemonade.
henry.mc.windsor: And write, too. Don’t forget that.
pfxxmimi: MARRY ME
“And write,” Alex says through a laugh. “But it wasn’t my intention for this to become a rumor. I want everyone to know that.”
singingintheshower: Did anyone really think that rumor was true?
nybabydoll: literally whoever thought that wasn’t a joke is dumb
your_fav_deviant: it super sucks that Henry had all that dumb shit written about him
“I hope this clears things up. If you guys want to help out, feel free to spread this information around. Again, it was me messing around with a friend.” He makes deliberate eye contact with the camera. “Henry, I’m sorry it happened like that. I promise next time we get ice cream, I’ll pay.”
The comments stream in with support for Henry and questions about their friendship, most of which Alex ignores. He spends a few minutes interacting with the chat, keeping it lighthearted, and finally signs off with a smile and a promise of more Henry posts next time they see each other.
By the time he ends the stream, the sun has dipped entirely behind the horizon, and he watches the colors in the clouds, until his phone buzzes again.
Henry: Thank you
Alex: No problem, Your Royal Highness
Henry: Royal Highness is for the king and queen. Are you sure you’re not illiterate?
Alex: Do you want to see my last report card?
Henry: No, no. But I am holding you to your promise
Alex: Promise??? What promise???
Henry: You’re paying for ice cream next time
Alex laughs at that and leans back against the tree, swirling the ice around in his empty cup. Then, he opens up Instagram and taps on Henry’s story, still up and hitting the twenty hour mark on Henry’s page.
He takes in the laugh on Henry’s face. How it softens the hard edges of his jaw and cheekbones. How he’s focused on Alex, ignoring the camera entirely. Content to just be. Then, Alex looks at himself in the picture. Just as relaxed. Something he’s never thought to be possible in Henry’s presence.
On the lawn of the White House, in the last light of the day, Alex opens Google to look at next month’s flights to England.