Why was being in love so impossible? Was it worth it? Even if by some extreme–long shot, never-gonna-happen, Abby-inspired chance I could corral Edgar and talk him out of abdicating, and we got back together, how could I be sure that, especially knowing me, I wouldn’t fuck everything up all over again?

That was when my phone went off, and a woman seated in front of me turned around and glared.

So I left the cathedral and sat on the steps outside. James had sent me a video, which I noticed he’d also forwarded to Edgar.

CHAPTER 28

James had trouble framing himself in the camera, muttering curses as he finally centered the image and said, “Is this right? Can I be seen? Is this damn thing working?”

He was in what was most likely his apartment at the palace; behind him I saw a frighteningly well-made bed and a small oil portrait on a plain white wall.

“Gentlemen,” he began. “And already I’m being far too kind. I have something to say to both of you sniveling brats.”

He peered into the camera, gave up worrying about it and went on.

“I’m quite a bit older than both of you. In fact, I’m older than much of the solar system. But forty-seven years ago, I was hired as a footman to His Highness’s grandfather. I was exceedingly thankful for the job, and then, as now, I revered the royal family. Because they were disciplined, they were well-dressed and they persevered.

“But I was a lad, and during my half day of freedom each week, along with the rare evening off, I sought companionship. Life was quite different then, and there were laws against sodomy and what was called ‘gross indecency.’ I didn’t care, or shall we say, my body and my heart felt otherwise. I learned, from household employees, of meeting spots, of parks and lavatories and pubs hidden behind other pubs, where dancing was rumored to occur. And one afternoon, in a far corner, I met a man my own age, named Albert—it wasn’t until our third encounter, at his tiny flat, that we shared our surnames. Albert Cradham was employed as a clerk on Savile Row. He was handsome, or at least I believed him to be—dark-haired, dark-eyed and impudent. He would tease me about working at the palace, and call me Your Lordship and worse.

“We found ourselves, much to our surprise, falling madly in love. At that time, not only was this illegal, but unimaginable—we had no examples. No LGBTQ princes, no associate event consorts.

“I spent every spare moment with Albert, at his flat and strolling through the city, careful to be taken for brothers, or mere acquaintances. But Albert wanted more—he said that we were bonded, and should celebrate our union, such as it was. I was fearful, but agreed, if the occasion could be kept entirely discreet.