And if the triplets could be tracked down…
No. Too much effort. Leo’s stamina was still recovering.
“Your Highness,” Hugo started in again, the two words making Leo’s head pound.
The man had known him since he’d been in diapers and been assigned as his personal valet for half Leo’s life. Would it kill him to address Leo by his actual name? Even once? And yes, Leo would be the first to acknowledge that his valet’s unwavering insistence on protocol was grating on him today more than usual. He normally treated Hugo’s stubbornly impeccable propriety as a sporting challenge—starting with refusing to address Hugo by his last name, in defiance of palace custom with the staff—but today Leo’s irritation with the man’s incessant formality was genuine.
Genuine and… drat. Fine. Also not his valet’s fault.
Leo took a breath, too damn well-bred not to acknowledge, at least to himself, that his irritation—along with his uncharacteristically bad temper in general—shouldn’t be taken out on Hugo. It couldn’t be blamed on having over-imbibed the night before, either. Well, not only on that, at least. It was just that Hugo’s relentlessly formal address was yet another reminder that now that Leo had hit his thirtieth birthday, everyone seemed to agree that it was long past time for him to rein in his “rebelliousness.” There were expectations—from his country, the king and queen, the Rosavian people—and even if Leo was entirely sure that those expectations would strangle him just as badly as that damn magenta tie had all morning, it was—as had been pointed out to him too many times to count—still his duty to fulfill them.
“Please just send Sander to… whatever it is this afternoon,” Leo said, a sinking feeling in his gut that he was going to lose this battle solely due to Hugo’s refusal to fight it. He paused at the door leading to the decadent en suite and the heaven to be found in its luxurious marble walk-in shower, turning back to face his valet for a moment. “Mother and Father will understand,” he added firmly. “Sander is the better choice.”
The first statement was false and they both knew it. The second, however…
Leo may have been the heir, but Sander—his next youngest brother, Cassander, the spare—was far better suited, in Leo’s not even remotely humble opinion, to assuming the vast array of obligations that came with being next in line for the crown.
Hugo raised a single eyebrow without replying, and Leo bit back a sigh, refusing to let the man see that he’d won. Leo had grown up with that look, though. Had confessed too many transgressions to count under the weight of that look. Was as fluent in that look as he was in the eight diplomatically-selected languages he’d been required to study from the cradle onward. And that look was telling him that, since the king and queen had decided that his presence was required at this civic ceremony, in Hugo’s mind, at least, Leo’s attendance was now both as necessary and as irrefutable of a law as gravity.
“Never mind,” Leo said, abruptly switching directions and grabbing the fresh set of (slightly) more casual clothes that Hugo was already holding out to him.
He’d forego the hot shower for now and take it up with the king and queen himself. Surely, they could give him one afternoon off, couldn’t they? Especially given the bombshell they’d dropped the night before? The one that had sent Leo out of the palace on his motorcycle to find a drink and a blonde… or two… or three… to lose himself in?
“Very good, Your Highness,” Hugo murmured, his face as blandly innocuous as if he wasn’t secretly gloating over his victory.
Leo ground his teeth together.
“Meow?” Treble inquired, rubbing herself against his calves with a deceptively gentle purr.
Leo redirected his ire, scowling down at her. He categorically refused to be suckered into picking her up. She lived to shred. Her claws were sharpened by the devil. Her cuteness was a traitorous lie that hid the heart of a sadistic villain.
He sidestepped again, slipping on the cat-armor—er, the fresh slacks Hugo had given him.
“Will you please ask Benedict to come collect his cat?” Leo requested through gritted teeth. “She’s a menace.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Hugo said blandly, making no move whatsoever to collect the fuzzy little razor-tipped con artist.
Leo narrowed his eyes. Hugo’s lips had definitely twitched, ever so slightly… hadn’t they? No. Of course not. Trick of the light.
“I mean it, Hugo. I’m tired of Treble sneaking in here.”
“Yes, Your