careful now

get your f u c k i n g shit together and start acting like you were born for this: you were

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[justicemadisonporter]

Perhaps it was youth. Madison didn’t remember youth very well. She often joked that she had been born much like Athena - fully formed from her father’s mind, ready for battle and perfect as his heir. Then again, she hadn’t been under as much scrutiny as the man that stood next to her. The coalition as the best of the best, yes, but she didn’t require the spotlight that some of her fellow members had to suffer. 

Had Andrew been in the same boat - forced to adapt and grow quickly to play the role that he was expected to? If he hadn’t, he certainly had hid it better than Adelaide. The future queen’s skeletons were not neatly hidden, while the eternal princes were. It was interesting. Madison preferred it. 

“Madison.” She corrected the title easily, a dismissive gesture. “Or else I’ll have to start calling you Your Royal Higness once again.” It was almost motherly, though the smile didn’t quite work as warm and inviting. She shook her head at the question. “As it happens, I don’t believe in making resolutions. At least, not for New Year’s. Someone of strong will and resolve doesn’t need a holiday to change something about themselves that they don’t like.” That, and Madison Porter didn’t have many personal traits that she disliked about herself. 

[king-windsor-blog]

“Of course, Madison, I apologise,” he looked down, his best attempt at embarrassment colouring his expression. He rarely had things to atone for. “Not that you deserve to suffer through my excuses, but I’ve got a good thousand or so names floating around my head at any given time and this,” he held up his glass, “Tends to make it worse. Madison, not Justice, I won’t forget again, I promise.” He repeated her name once more, with feeling, an attempt at amends. It might have been the miserably lighting of the room, every available body casting a long shadow, or the scotch, but her smile had an edge to it. He didn’t like it. 

Andrew stood straighter, chastened, whether it was her intention or not, by the justice’s — Madison, Madison, Madison — declaration. She had strong will and resolve. He felt his age again, clearing his throat in a gesture barely heard over the room, and drinking again. It burned less now, but the sting had only weaned, not vanished, and he was careful to keep his expression neutral. “You’re right, of course. My father used to say something like that —” wearing the man’s cuff links, it was the only name he could think of. 

“But more so about the next of the parties,” he smiled wryly, “Valentine’s Day. ‘Why,’ he would say, ‘Do people require a specific day to proclaim their love? Do they not know they could do it now, if they wanted?’” Stories about Andrew’s father required a different expression, something more somber, nostalgic and just a bit soft. “I’ve probably been ruined by his loss, I was just considering whether I could manage to get everything done this year I was resolving to.”

[maleki-tahan]

At the greeting, Julian simply nodded. Though he hadn’t exactly expected the young man to remember his name, that didn’t mean he wasn’t pleased when it was remembered. “Yes, well instead you are simply on the sidelines watching as partners slip up on what is supposed to be the most important day of the year for their relationship save for anniversaries and their wedding day. What would normally be seen as a slight forgetful mind any other day would be seen as a strike against the relationship today. It’s painfully disheartening, honestly.” Call him bitter if one wished to, but Julian hadn’t been the type for romance in quite a while, rather always settling for the carnal pleasures in life and forsaking anything that could mean getting hurt. “I will admit though that I am surprised you find yourself alone this year. I would have thought you would be content with plenty of suitors.” It was a statement posed for as a question as Julian raised his eyebrow and glanced over at the young man.

[king-windsor-blog]

The man’s question was not one Andrew was prepared to answer. The idea of monogamy was, when you were young, boring, conventional, traditional — all the things a monarch was supposed to be at all ages, and at twenty-three, almost twenty-four, it was more than expected he have someone in his eye to kiss on the balcony at Buckingham Palace. Many of his cousins had already lined up for their white-lace-and-black-silk executions, and Adelaide’s perennial lack of a serious suitor stirred rumour and desperation. He didn’t want to talk about his prospects. But it was a conversation he had started, anyway. 

“Surely not very surprising if you knew me well, Mister Crenshaw, I have a bit of a reputation for... pickiness.” It was a joke, a split-second slip of his charming persona, and he was left desperate to pick it up. “Or, at least, my mother’s standards have been passed on —” 

[maleki-tahan]

Valentine’s Day had always seemed nothing more than a gimmick to sell more items under the guise of being ‘romantic’ as far as Julian was concerned, but he hardly said anything to the young couples supposedly in love as they fluttered about and flaunted their romance for all the world to see. It all seemed foolish as far as he was concerned, silly children who fancied their love as immortal when it was so rarely the case. Maybe he was just jaded, but if so Julian would never admit it. His attention was caught though by the words of another seemingly as annoyed with the displays going on as himself, or perhaps they were simply bitter as well and needed the company of another to denounce the entire day.

Either way, Julian smiled at the comment before realizing exactly who the spokesperson of those bitter words really was. If anything, Julian was surprised to find that Andrew himself was alone on a day such as this when he was sure the young man had suitors throwing themselves at him – or at least their fathers pushing for the arrangements. His eyes lit slightly in amusement before taking a sip of his own drink and nodding. “Yes, I suppose I can. It could possibly be even worse to be a part of a couple on a day like today. There’s so many expectations and chance to do it wrong.”

[king-windsor-blog]

He recognised the man now, turned to face him. He had been one of his guests at the Winter Ball, and the prince reached back into his head in an attempt to find his name among the many he had heard that night. There it was: Crenshaw. He was getting better at that, shutting off the instant boredom brought on by introductions and remembering something, or somethings, of worth. After all, he had no idea which of his subjects would be his only chance at quelling his boredom later. An eye for an eye. Andrew reached out, offering his hand in the gestured shared over the social club’s tables an uncountable number of times.

“Mister Crenshaw, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I have to say, I hadn’t thought of it that way, it is rather nice not to have those obligations hanging over my head.”

[king-windsor-blog]

It wasn’t like he had replayed that touch a thousand times in his head when he looked at his mother. He hadn’t lingered on the look between them, on the feeling of his back against the cold of the column that hid him. 

But Andrew would be lying if he said he hadn’t at least considered it again, whether he had dreamed it, half-asleep and just-been-fucked, whether he had misinterpreted it, and now, he had his chance for confirmation that his mind was as sharp as ever and that moment between the queen and her servant was something more than obligatory affection: he was staring down the housekeeper with his teeth bared in a smile, fingers wrapped around a glass of half-melted ice that had once contained gin.

His guest had left earlier than he expected, and the prince had taken, as he usually did in the dark, to wandering, half-asleep and half-dressed and just-been-fucking-disappointed. He didn’t believe in fate, it was for fools who didn’t take responsibility for their actions, but something had brought him here, to her, polishing silverware and blithely unaware.

His lips curved into as smirk as he raised the glass to his lips. “Jasmine.”

[saskiavand-blog]

Valentine’s Day. A day for lovers: for romantic candelit dinners and candy hearts, stuffed bears and giggling kisses. It’s no surprise that Saskia wants it all.

With envious eyes she watches couples as the walk down the street, hand in hand or with arms wrapped around each other. Their smiles, their laughter, she can’t quite bring herself to look away. Such are the privileges of couples that are allowed to be couples: to celebrate their love publicly, on this, a day for decorations of love and grand displays of affection.

She doesn’t care if it’s commercial. Commercial is all Saskia wants to be.

Is there anything as sad as being alone today? A voice asks, and it could have been her own. Is there anything as sad, she could reply, as having someone to be with today and still being alone?

But as she turns, the face she meets stops her short. She knows it from years spent enthralled by the British Monarchy, even when she was nothing more than a Dutch girl with dreams, not knowing at all that she would one day call this country home. Her mouth half opened on a commiserating reply, she pauses—she gapes—and it’s long seconds before she’s able to gather herself again.

“If there is, I can’t seem to think of it. I’m sorry, you must think me terribly rude, but aren’t you — ?”

She trails off. She wants him to say it. Valentine’s Day without her girlfriend, and she runs into the Prince. It seems entirely too fantastical to be real.

[king-windsor-blog]

He had been subjected to the mouths that couldn’t quite close and the questioning eyes and the whispered ‘oh my god’s since the moment he took his first steps out of the palace, but there was still nothing, nothing, for an ego like bringing a complete stranger to stuttered silence. Andrew inclined his head in lazy acknowledgement, smiling wryly. “That depends, who do you want me to be?” He had a line. He always had a line, whether he intended to or not.

The girl next to him wasn’t exactly his type, but desperation and boredom had settled in and he couldn’t possibly care less about something so... trivial. But — it had been a while since he had brought a girl back to his flat, especially one he had met in a club, even one as prestigious as the one he sat in now — primarily because he had gotten so bored of getting what he wanted. He would have to find his entertainment some other way. If she wouldn’t be his toy, he could still toy with her.

Subtly, he repositioned himself to face her, taking another sip of his gin, teasing smile still on his lips. “No rudeness, you haven’t posed any security threats or screamed so you’re leagues ahead of a few.” The prince reached out for her hand, to shake it. 

“Andrew, it’s a pleasure to meet you...?” he waited for her to fill in his silence.

[king-windsor-blog]

It took four minutes sitting alone in the Mayfair club before he heard it: “Happy Valentine’s Day!” A girl who looked too young and beautiful kissed a man who looked too old and wealthy, and they drank their champagne with their arms intertwined. It took restraint for him not to roll his eyes, still not free of the utter foolishness of the ‘holiday’ even after graduating and entering the world of so-called adults. 

Andrew was less than resigned to the idea of a day for love. He turned slightly, content with the anonymity of being one well-dressed and powerful man among many, to the person sitting next to him, mouth turning up at the corners as he held his drink. 

“Is there anything as sad as being alone today?” He said it rhetorically, to himself, but really, he expected an answer. A conversation. Anything to drown out the words on everyone’s lips.

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[justicemadisonporter]

Madison’s smile widened when he mentioned his line at the ball - admittedly, it was nearly as long as his sister’s. People looked to the younger Prince as a guide, for there were a few that still did not trust the girl who was in line for the throne. Madison understood their weariness. She had seen many addicts fall back into old habits. She had lured many addicts back into old habits. “Don’t worry yourself with that tonight. It shouldn’t be an issue.” She assured him.

With a gentle pat of his shoulder, she gave him a little nod. “Don’t move, I won’t be a moment.” Ordering around a prince wouldn’t be appropriate for anyone, except Madison had been doing it for years. Without a backwards glance, she made her way over to the bar. As if drawn to her, the bartender appeared, already pleased to serve and apparently happy to have his pockets greased. Madison ordered two glasses of scotch - and without thinking, ordered the former king’s favorite. Old habits died hard, it seemed. 

Though she saw a few fellows that she knew, her focus did not leave the crown prince for long. She returned with the two glasses in hand, a smile still politely formed on her lips. 

“Here you are.” She said, handing over the glass for the Prince to take. “I would have gotten champagne - it’s customary - but I think we both had plenty at the Winter Ball. I prefer to ring in the New Year with the drink that I wish to drink the most of in the coming year.” That, and scotch was her favorite. Not as dainty as one would expect a woman of her caliber to prefer, of course. But Madison only fit into labels when she found them useful. 

“Cheers. To a new year.”

[king-windsor-blog]

He had managed to become absorbed in the party, gaze darting from person to person, making note of which features he vaguely recognised and which suits he admired. The guests, Madison’s associates, whatever the hell they were, all looked to be older than him by at least a decade if not two or three, but that was not unexpected. Without the royalty-tainted Windsor blood in his veins he would have been another twenty-three year old with a shiny new degree and without a job to go with it, associating solely with people his own age. But instead, he had always been surrounded by adults, to the point that one of his father’s favourite jokes was that his children’s first words had been ‘solemn duty’, Adelaide, and ‘responsibility’, Andrew.

He had known what he was doing. There was no part of him — no rational part, anyway, and he prided himself on his intelligence — that expected to find Justice Madison Porter, beholden to the Crown, calculating and strong dressed in black, among England’s latest university graduates. The realisation of his age struck him anyway, and, self-consciously, he averted his eyes from the crowd he found himself in. 

Madison’s return startled him: it couldn’t have been more that five minutes of solitude, probably three, but it had felt like longer. He hesitated before accepting the slightly curved glass, cool again his palm. She had begun not-quite an apology before he could thank her, and he answered her first. “Completely understandable, I did and still do trust your judgement. God only knows I’ll have a thousand more toasts with Dom Pérignon before my time is passed. Thank you, cheers.”

His guess — she had brought them Scotch — built on a few years of decanted whisky at Balmoral for holidays, had been right, and he drank slowly. It burned. Of fucking course it burned, it always did, in a way he’d never managed to get past like he had with vodka. Dram in hand, at his side, giving the illusion he was taking his time and savouring it (he would, later, when the alcohol was in his blood and not stinging in his throat), Andrew attempted to change the subject. “I must say, I’m quite curious, do you have any resolutions, Justice? Besides drinking more whisky than anything else?”

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[justicemadisonporter]

The modesty was telling, this time. As though his entire family hadn’t been picked apart by the press since the day he was born - as though the press hadn’t fawned over the baby pictures of little Adelaide and little Andrew whenever they were released. Madison knew better, though she was sure that her companion for the evening didn’t know the extent to which she knew it. 

The guard’s presence didn’t perturb Madison in the slightest. After years of dealing with their father, and now Adelaide, the presence of guards - forced to wait outside as they discussed matters - was not uncommon to her. In fact, she had honestly been expecting more than just one. It was an act of good faith, Madison assumed, a show of trust from Andrew. One she appreciated, nonetheless. 

Madison smiled, a small nod. Before setting off, she place a hand on the crook of his arm, and lead him within. The building had security out front, but one look at Madison and they parted quickly. Madison glanced at Andrew, half pretending it had been his presence with her that had made them part. Again, flattery was everything.

Raucous wasn’t quite the right word to describe the tone of the event as they walked in, though it was certainly close. Men like this, ones that Madison chose to associate outside of the law world, knew how to have an enjoyable evening. Laughter and excited talk filled the room, while music with a pulse underlay all of that. The clinking of glasses was prominent between the chatter, though the room was fairly dark and littered with cigar smoke, making it hard to see precisely what it was they were all drinking. But everyone had their poisons. 

“May I get you something to drink?” She asked, eyeing the bar with only mild interest. “Fortunately, this crowd doesn’t require pleasantries as much as some, or else we would spend half the evening simply greeting everyone.

[king-windsor-blog]

He knew what it felt like to have a thousand eyes on him, daggers stared into his back, glances that attempted to hide their envy by narrowing and looking pointedly away, adoration, adulation — people rarely looked at him without betraying their true feelings. As if he could control the circumstance of his birth. Over time, imitating his mother, imitating his grandfather, he’d learned how to ignore the glares and gazes: acknowledgement. A head held higher, inclined towards those who would wish themselves in his place, eyes averted from those whose obsession he could feel. Sovereign and unflinching, the way a monarch should be. He walked that way now, following Madison’s lead.

The dark was a comfort like no other, and he could taste the tobacco on the air, leaning in closer to the justice to hear, then answer, her. “Please, surprise me. I trust your judgement..” Now was the moment he dreaded: solitude. It crept up on him, the realisation that Madison getting their drinks — his drink? she was, for all he knew of her, a very sober person — meant he would be left anchored to that spot, staring into the ground, refusing to glance around the room for people he knew. 

He hadn’t felt eyes on him, or, at least, eyes that didn’t sweep over his companion as well, and the sudden clarity of that, something like anonymity, a dignified version of it where everyone knew him and were impressed by him but pretended they didn’t and weren’t, would have been sobering, if he was already drinking.

“I know that particular duty quite well — after all, you were in my line at our ball,” there was a wink to it, something cheeky. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t stood before before me. 

[dianawindsor-blog]

His apology came pouring out, and in those words she found the son she knew well. There was a certain expectation that hovered over him — as a Prince, yes, but as a son as well. From his earliest days, Andrew had been the child to embrace the graces that Diana had simply expected would be inherent; after all, her own parents had taught her no such lessons on how to behave, it had always been implied, and to be anything less would be to disappoint not only the King and Queen who’d bore her, but the generations of monarchs that looked down from the heavens. How ironic, that the first son who wouldn’t ascend to the throne was the one born with those same instincts that had guided Diana on her upward rise.

It was her due diligence as a mother, as a Queen, to shape her children in a respectable image, one that not only passed the test of family, but that of a nation. The child that smiled back at her, offering a boyish yet earnest apology, had always been so much.. easier. Should the Lord have been listening to the thoughts that danced behind that smile of hers, perhaps he’d have struck her down — so long as the thought remained carefully guarded behind pearlescent teeth, she supposed no harm was done. It wasn’t necessarily a distaste for Adelaide ( though there had been moments where it had taken all the strength she had not to wretch at the sight of what her daughter was capable of doing to herself ) but an appreciation for her second-born, for the child whose mannerisms so closely mirrored her own, for the boy who simply understood. If God had ever sent her a blessing, there was no doubt it was him.

He was a Prince through and through, bending to pick up the books and pages that had been strewn across the floor before she’d had a chance. Smiling down at him, her outstretched arms gladly received the stack he’d retrieved on her behalf. “How fortunate I am, to have raised such a gentleman,” — excluding the filth she’d only just heard his tongue spew, when he’d thought she was out of earshot. It was an indiscretion she was all too willing to block out; a slip of his lips was nothing compared to the hells his sister had put them both through. Belongings gathered, her steps led them down the hall, to the privacy of her office. With the door shut behind them, she was free to speak candidly — or, as candidly as she would allow herself to. Decades of carefully coated words were habit-forming.

“Not in the mood to shake the peoples’ hands today, I take it?”

[king-windsor-blog]

As a child, practically a plaything, dressed like a doll in soft cashmere pullovers from the Isles and miniature boots, he had mirrored his mother — head high like hers, full lips on the same curve as hers, eyes that same wide, shifting grey as hers — Andrew had never resembled his father in any way but the practised manner of gentlemen, shared by a thousand others in London society. He had gotten taller, and grown into her expectations, and Adelaide had been consumed by darkness, and his imitation had paid off. It was a difficult practise to shake, watching the way his mother moved, carefully recreating the tone of her syllables. 

His classmates, first suited in black at Eton, then far from anonymous at Oxford, the privileged children of lords and exorbitantly new moneyed-intellectuals, had always scorned the idea of becoming anything like their parents. He had watched as they staged meaningless rebellions — their fathers had all belonged to Bullingdon, the Phoenix, Piers Gav, Gridiron, the Viceroy, the illicit, naughty drinking clubs before them, and could probably drink their posh, pampered sons under the table. It had always rested in the back of his head, an irritation that was not quite repulsion with the entitlement that surrounded him, an asset in his attempt to be seen as a monarch of the people not unlike his unwitting imitation of Her Majesty The Queen. Andrew needed to be like his parents. Or, at least, he needed to be like his mother.

He followed her now, careful to stay a few steps behind her until she allowed him to pass so she could put up her books. The Queen’s office was, in earnest, one of Andrew’s favourite places in the palace, sovereign and beautiful like its owner, and he had a thousand memories from time spent exploring on its floor, crawling under the desk that had belonged to his grandfather, bouncing on a knee in a leather chair, spinning the globe that rested next to a shelf of reference books. 

Hands on the same chair, now unofficially his seeing as he claimed it every time he came to his mother’s office, he waited for her to sit first before answering, lips curving into a lazy smile. “Something like that, I hardly slept last night — do you still have that stash of Fortnum’s Darjeeling? I’m in desperate need of caffeine.” The utter privilege of speaking so casually to the ruler of a nation would never not delight him.

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[justicemadisonporter]

“You are fortunate enough to attract excellent company, then.” 

Madison made note of how receptive he was - those who thought themselves above her often were haughty and standoffish in their believed superiority. But Andrew almost seemed to crave the attention she gave him, as though he had never received it growing up. Or maybe it was simply that he could not stifle the desire for it. Either way, it worked in her favor. 

Her hand retracted from him, settling in her lap as he crossed his legs, fiddling with the cuff there. She watched - she was always watching - and smiled at the mention of ‘timelessness’. “Yes, it seems traditional, in it’s own way. Though I’ve heard talk that it’s making it’s comeback. Especially if the press were to catch you wearing it - they’d be fools to not follow your lead.” The statement was casual, flattering, but not as twisted as it could have been. From what she had seen so far of the young man, he would make a powerful leader. And the title that he was not likely to receive - the Crown - was not the only way of ruling. 

The car slowed to a halt at the address Madison had given. Madison didn’t move from the car, waiting until the driver came to open the door for them. She hoped that the Prince would at the very least find the evening entertaining. As a rule, she had avoided anything filled with press or incriminating in the slightest. She’d also avoided her normal crowd of politicians and lawyers - she had noticed how Andrew had been in the court house. No, this was more private sector - a party that men like Dante and Luciano would frequent, which was how she had heard about it to begin with. Power players, but ones without allegiance except to themselves. She preferred that, and perhaps the man beside her would as well. 

[king-windsor-blog]

“Again, you flatter me, Justice,” he gave her a more dignified smile, before lowering his voice to something more conspiratorial, leaning towards her, “Between us, I will always find it incredible that there are people who care so much about what I wear.” Slightly vulnerable, slightly innocent, a king who had not yet grasped what he was — people would more than care when it was purple velvet wrapped around his shoulders — Andrew fell into his usual role without thinking. It was armour, at this point, his persona, ever-present and unyielding.

The prince watched Madison, as their doors were opened and they were escorted from the car, one bodyguard at his back. He had argued with the palace security team for two days, in the end only accepting one, and even that he had claimed was too much. It was a show, he couldn’t have cared less how many unarmed men stood at the door and followed him in and judged him under unflinching expressions, but for the judge’s sake, it was a display of trust, and not just his. The building wasn’t entirely imposing as he gazed up at it, not going to be the first to make a move, but he had grown up on the grounds of a palace. “Shall we, Justice?”

It took Andrew far too much effort to remember the last proper party he had been to. Not gallery openings, not charity balls, not Christmas, nothing his mother would approve of attending but something grittier, where everyone was so pissed anything they thought he did would be dismissed when the hangovers sunk in. It had to have been three years since the last one. He had abandoned the Oxford societies his final year of university to maintain his grief-stricken son charade, associating solely with old friends and his books, and even before, Adelaide had made it very clear that his kingdom wouldn’t be found ruling pulsing beats and bodies pushed together and ruined houses. 

Nonetheless — he was a boy. A careful one, a prince, a thousand other things too, but still, underneath it all, a boy. He’d given in to a few invitations in school, convincing himself that he couldn’t be a sheltered, spoilt child if he wanted to rule. He had to be something real. Not in the way his sister was, pushing the idea so far she had ventured into her own reality, but somewhere between naïveté and cynicism. 

Some part of him was holding on to the hope Madison had brought him to one of those New Year’s Eve parties.

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

[justicemadisonporter]

Cold air whipped around her bare legs. She didn’t seem to mind, of course, she had spent her entire life bare legged. Stockings, her father had told her, were for weak women. And Madison knew that she wasn’t weak. A little discomfort was the price that a woman like her paid to be entirely well-respected. She had insisted on black velvet once again for the little get together that she had invited the crown prince to attend with her. But she couldn’t exactly wear the same outfit she had worn to the Winter Ball. So this time, it was a short black affair, classy but just revealing enough. 

The car pulled up in front of her, and Madison’s brow raised as the door opened. The first words out of his mouth were an apology, though as far as she was aware, he had no reason to be. Where his sister was normally quite full of herself - in Madison’s experience of her, of course - Andrew seemed immediately apologetic. It was interesting. Perhaps he was more modest than his sister. Or perhaps it was an act. Either way, she appreciated it. It was impressive. 

She took his hand, allowing him to lead her into the car. “Think nothing of it, dear.” She told him - if he was going to apologize, she certainly wouldn’t deny him the apology. Her eyes surveyed him once she was sitting beside him. She noticed that the bowtie was different, but the bespoke remained the same. She smiled at that - he had to be at least somewhat contrary it seemed. She could appreciate that. Her hand reached towards him, brushing the shoulder of his suit again, mimicking the act that she had done at the Winter Ball. “You look dashing, once again.” 

[king-windsor-blog]

“Please, Justice, you flatter me. A man is only as good as the company he keeps.” The old adage took on new meaning with his public image, the light in the car low and the windows tinted to discourage anyone who took notice of its passengers. He had had to trade school companions, girlfriends, relatives, those he cared for who courted scandal for those who would not time and time again. If — no, when — all those things Adelaide had done were revealed, and it came time for him to cut her off and burn the place she had been, he would have done it a thousand times, to people he had liked a thousand times more.

Madison Porter had a prestigious name, a clean record, and he doubted a clever woman like the one next to him would bring him into an orgy to celebrate the year’s end, but he had made the calculations: several years her junior, the son of the monarch who ruled her, he was playing a dangerous game keeping her as company. Andrew leaned towards her anyway, accepting her compliment and paying one of his own, smiling in a way that showed his teeth.

“I have to say, a few hours ago I wasn’t entirely sure black was the right colour to welcome a new year, but you’ve made it look absolutely stunning and I can’t regret being your match at all. To hell with trends,” he crossed his legs and reached down to adjust his trouser cuff and his laces, glancing outside for a moment, met only by darkness, before turning back to his companion. “There’s a certain timelessness to a velvet dress for the holidays, don’t you think?” 

The polite banter stuck in his throat, something for him to roll his eyes at when he remembered it later. Insipid. Boring. Politics would be too much, and he carefully guarded his opinions of Parliament and the parties, as he had to, anyway, and nothing else to say came to his mind. Which left unoriginal, safe affirmations.

‘A certain timelessness.’ Some part of him began to hope it was a coke-fueled orgy they were hurtling towards, much as he knew he would run the second he stepped over that threshold.

[devilalchemy]

It was strange to believe that in such a progressive society, one of the foremost cities of the world, rank and reputation still relied so heavily on the nobility. Luciano was no anti-monarchist, and held no particular dislike for the royal family itself but the way aristocratic privileges could influence nearly every facet of life had never sat well with him. For the archaic practice of an old world long extinct to dictate the interactions of the social and business elite, true enterprise and ambition would always be deemed secondary to a landed title.

Of course, there was also that part of Luciano  ––  the businessman who’d raised his own company from nothing, who loathed the notoriety that came with being a member of the nouveau riche. 

As if their family fortunes weren’t as stained red and marked by filth as his secretly was.

The slight inclination of his head was a polite concession to the greeting. The Venturis were no blue-blooded lineage extending back centuries through history, but they wielded enough wealth and power in the current day to warrant being known. “Heavy lies the head.” He murmured, amusement layered in the undertone of his voice. 

“I came with a business proposition for Her Royal Highness. Unfortunately, being the future heir and in such high demand, she seems to be preoccupied elsewhere.”

[king-windsor-blog]

Her Royal Highness. Not Her Majesty, and certainly not him. His sister. Andrew had never known Adelaide to associate with the Venturi patriarch to the point where he had a ‘business proposition’ for her, but no company she kept could truly come as a surprise now. 

If she wanted to build an image like his, benevolent, kind, a monarch of the people, she couldn’t keep a circle filled only with bloodlines that stretched back centuries. And he knew, as well as her, that there came a point when their noble-born ‘friends’ became jealous. The un-titled and newly-wealthy, like the Venturis, hadn’t been in their world long enough to know they shouldn’t be content with being lesser. They were, in a word, safe.

Andrew returned the amusement in the man’s tone, shifting his weight and trying not to wince at the motion. He could deal with whatever the knock had done to his arm later. “I must apologise for her, in that case. Her schedule is less than predictable, even for her brother. But I would be more than happy to pass along any message you have for her.”

It was a long shot, he knew. An audience with Adelaide brought out a kind of paranoia most men buried deep. She was the Queen of Secrets, none were as heavy as their own, that loathing and that bitter struggle and just what she had done to bring them to where they stood, but there were bodies in her shallow graves he could only dream of. 

It was unlikely Venturi would give him anything, but he was supposed to smile blithely and nod along and play devoted baby brother who would never touch the crown.

[fourteendrawings]

Always remember that the crowd that applauds your coronation is the same crowd that will applaud your beheading. People like a show.

Terry Pratchett, Going Postal  

[king-windsor-blog]

Validation/Revolution | M & A

He had heard the first fireworks — misfires, surely, it was far too early for London to be celebrating a new year — as he was getting dressed, tying the bow at his throat to the sound of an explosion on the Thames, pausing and straining to look out of his window and see if there was anything visible on the horizon. The sky was dark, its usual state in December. Bored without anything to focus on, he turned back to his mirror, straightening his jacket after reaching up to fix his hair, narrowing his eyes at his reflection. The justice had said black velvet, and Andrew hadn’t lied when he had told her he wanted another excuse to wear his bespoke Gieves & Hawkes, but even with a tie that matched his jacket, the whim to throw away his plan, flouting Madison Porter’s expectation of obedience, had forced itself into his thoughts. 

Even thinking of changing was, at this point, useless. He had an image to maintain, if he was really going to spend his night among strangers who knew him without introduction. He needed to live up to their expectations and be their Prince Andrew. The handsome, charming, intelligent, perfect, completely together son of their beloved queen. Madison almost certainly held him to that gilded standard, and after the arrangements had been made for his security detail, he felt a vague sense of obligation towards his own personal enigma. 

Always judging him from afar, it felt like, from the moment he had stepped into her office and questioned her intent. The desire, as much has he had pushed it down and starved it, to give her something to judge had yet to fade. It stayed with him as he had slipped on his coat and left his flat for his car, tapping his mobile against his thigh with his legs crossed. His driver had been given an address, but that and his safety having been guaranteed aside, Andrew knew little of what awaited him. The justice had agreed to meet him, and as the car moved in the darkness of a London street towards a rather ordinary building he could see her waiting. 

An apology for his non-existent lateness — he was early, if anything — was the first step, extending his hand with a sheepish smile. “Really, I’m usually so punctual, I apologise to have kept you out in the cold for so long.”

[devilalchemy]

Aside from Coalition business, Luciano had little reason to venture this far near the Royal Palace, let alone trespass within its walls. Lacking faith in the privacy of modern technology, with phone lines that could be traced, and cloud storages hacked, he preferred to act as a personal courier for messages that carried sensitive information. As he exited the hallway leading back to the main foyer where throngs of souvenir-laden tourists and concealed security details awaited, his path intersected with another’s in the form of a full-bodied collision. 

Recognition flourished with a purposefully constructed chagrin. Ah, the spare. Second child of Queen Diana, and the brother caught behind Princess Adelaide’s shadow. 

“Nothing to apologise for, Your Highness.” And to think, if he’d been born merely a few years sooner, he might have found his own seat at the same table his sister had been welcomed to. “I imagine it must be fairly intrusive to have strangers wandering the corridors of your home at all times.”

[king-windsor-blog]

No bloody wonder the relatively small collision had hurt so damn much. The man before him had a good few inches on him, and muscle aristocrats could never develop, the kind of muscle they had security teams to make up for. But something told Andrew that he wasn’t facing an off-duty member of the Royal Guard. Vague recognition settled onto his tongue, and he tested the name in his head before saying it aloud. “Mister Venturi, I must insist.”

The Venturis were well-known in the city, even to the noble class with titles that could never be bought. Perhaps it was in spite of the Dukes and Marquesses they had made their name. He had heard rumours about Carlos’ — well, whatever the fair haired daughter was to him, she couldn’t really be his girlfriend, and about her sister, and their family as a whole. Then again, given the rumours he heard about himself, London couldn’t be trusted to know truth.

“Between you and I, privacy is a rather difficult sacrifice, but I see the necessity of my loss. If you don’t mind my asking, what has brought you here?”

[dianawindsor-blog]

She’d done her time with the tour group — a gentle wave in the distance as she strode through the halls, stack of books and papers in hand. They made themselves known at the same hours every day, a clockwork Diana had grown all too accustomed to, yet on more days than not, she made the effort to time her walks from room to room accordingly, to flash them a kind smile and wish them well. Such wasn’t expected, of course — they paid to take in the corridors, the architecture, the paintings that had hung on those walls for generations, the history that had transpired where they stood, but to walk away with stories about how welcoming the Queen had been would only do her good. There was a genuine nature to her good wishes, but it was image, after all these years, that was still everything.

The image of Her Majesty colliding with a stranger, scattering the stack she’d been carrying as she made her way to her office, was hardly the same one she attempted to convey.

Head down, picking up all she’d spilled, it took but the single syllable he uttered for her to recognize her son. It was a shock, admittedly; perhaps a newly learned word, one she’d certainly never heard fall from the lips of her perfect gentleman of a boy. “That tongue of yours is capable of so much better,” she sighed through a light smile, pulling herself up off of the ground. “Best to clean it up, the group is bound to arrive any minute now. Though, of course, I’d understand if you chose to avoid them. My office is always private, if you’d like to weather the storm there? I can have Jasmine ask the kitchen to bring us something to eat, and some ice for that arm.”

[king-windsor-blog]

Andrew froze. As he had gotten older, and after he had taken residence in Kensington, his mother had become less the person he had always known her as and more the name everyone else knew her as, occupied with Country — she provided the requisite Queen — and with less and less time for her grown children. It usually didn’t bother him, he had known since he could speak what he had to give up to be a member of his family, and his mother’s attention was one of a very long list of things, but he had grown too comfortable with her not being over his shoulder. He was always so damn careful around Her Majesty, never drinking more than her, never letting her see the girls that slipped in and out of his room, never swearing anything but loyalty to the Crown and their house, nothing that could remind her of her daughter. 

His first instinct was, again, ‘Fuck.’  — that she had caught him in a moment of less than dignified behaviour, that one of her books had almost certainly bruised him through his jumper, that he had knocked his mother’s books from her hands, that it was her he had run into in the first place  — “Sorry, Mum. Really. Still can’t look where I’m going, apparently.” Andrew gave her the crooked smile he had used most as a child, running through the hallways unburdened and knocking into more people than just his mother. For a moment, he didn’t speak, bending to pluck her belongings from the floor and stacking them in her outstretched arms.

If he was less practised at concealing his true feelings, his eyes might have widened at the brazen mention of his mother’s lover. Instead, his smile slipped and he knelt to retrieve a missed paper, rising and placing it delicately on top of the re-formed stack. “No ice necessary, just a knock. I can’t let you carry all of these yourself.” It was acceptance, in his own way, of her offer. It had been awhile since they were alone. Christmas never counted.

[aubriellenadir]

“A cheat and a thief – you’re proving to be a thoroughly dangerous man.” Bri shifted her weight, crossing one ankle over the other, but only for the matter of simple repositioning rather than discomfort. That was a habit she had not quite shed - checking herself, rearranging her body to provide an angle that might make her look better, thinner, more appealing. That was the curse of the modern woman: self modulation. “Should I be holding anything else closer to my chest while I’m around you, Andrew?”

Will you, would you, could you steal my heart?

[king-windsor-blog]

“You mean the trained assassins at my beck and call weren’t enough to make me dangerous?” He attempted to make a joke, careful eyes locked on hers, guard lowered. She was good at her job — no, fucking brilliant at every aspect: the manipulation, the looks, the subtlety of her movements, all reminders of what she offered. It was a shame he never paid, and that he would never set that precedent. Andrew mimicked the new angle she took, glancing to the ground under their feet a moment before looking back at Bree. 

He never paid London’s illustrious and sordid history enough attention, but it was almost certain two people like them, the world’s two oldest professions, had stood in their place before. “I can assure you there’s no need to worry now, I’ll only steal in the future, when I’ve become fiftieth in line after my nieces and nephews and no one will so much as throw me an abandoned pound from the street.” A bitter joke, but one he told anyway.