Bram

Jack leads me through the warren that is the Palace. I usually only have clearance to the East Wing where the library is. My work is predominantly just to keep legal books on hand and research the odd law, so there’s no reason for me to ever be in the royal suite.

Yet here I am.

“You know, Leander has had this coming for a while,” Jack is saying as he opens an ornate set of doors. “He’s never taken any of it seriously and now it’s bitten him in the ass.”

I somehow expected the Earl of Dencer to be more aristocratic. I also expected him to be far more sympathetic to Prince Leander. I had thought they were friends, from what I could gather from the press at least.

“Um, yes. Well, I suppose he never thought this could happen,” I say, uncomfortable to be talking so casually about someone I had only seen from afar until today.

“Well, it has, hasn’t it? And now you’re going to be King!” Jack says and he chuckles to himself. “If only I’d stood a few inches closer, it could have been me!”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want there to be any accusations that I planned this. This is all some horrible, horrible mistake.

“What do you think will happen now?” I ask, keen to move the topic away from Prince Leander.

“Well, a press release will be prepared for the morning announcing Leander’s abdication, I suppose. Comedy and entertainment programmes will be banned until the King’s funeral, so expect a lot of sudden interest in your personal life and for it to be all over the news as the TV channels are going to have to broadcast something in the meantime and, quite frankly, this is the biggest news story of the decade,” Jack says, holding open another door for me to walk through. The corridors we are walking through are getting more and more ornate as time passes, the doors now gilded with gold.

“It’ll be a national holiday tomorrow, but it’s a Sunday anyway so that won’t mean much. There’ll probably be another for the King’s funeral and the Coronation I suppose. Flags will be at half-mast until the funeral in about two weeks’ time, and the stock-exchange and banks are going to close I reckon. Gonna be pretty bad for the economy,” Jack continues, leading me down a long galleried hall.

The eyes of previous Kings of Svaltova stare down at me. I don’t feel worthy of their scrutiny at all.

“Then I guess after the old King’s body is in the ground, they’ll start working at coronating you. That’ll take a few months at least,” Jack gets to the end of the hall and opened the door, gesturing for me to go first.

My head is spinning. It’s all too much.

The room I enter is the most elegant room I’ve seen in my life. A blend of new and old, the furniture is all made from the highest quality dark woods and fabrics, all in a muted royal blue. In the centre of the room, there’s a large, four-poster bed that seems like it was made for a giant.

“There you go! Get a good night’s rest! No doubt you’ll be busy tomorrow!” Jack says, closing the door behind him before I even have a chance to protest.

I run a hand over the soft silk of the bedsheets and swallow hard.

It’s Sunday morning at 1 am, and I am now the Prince of Svaltova.