The Snow Prince - Raleigh Ruebins Page 0,57

could be here.

I woke up to the tinny sound of the old TV in Henry’s living room. I rubbed my eyes, sitting up and finding Henry sitting on the old recliner in front of it, his face bathed in the glow of the TV light.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to wake you.”

“It’s okay. I slept for a while, didn’t I?”

“Couple hours,” he said.

The light from outside was faint and purple. The sun had just set.

My adrenaline spiked when I heard my mother’s voice.

“What the fuck, Henry—”

“I know,” he said. “Trust me, you can go in another room, if you want. But the queen is doing an interview on TV.”

Fear spiked through my heart. “No,” I said, standing up and walking over toward Henry. “No. Turn it off.”

“We can’t run from reality forever,” he said. He reached up, softly running a hand down the side of my body. I was still naked from the waist down, but somehow it felt infinitely less sexy than it had a couple of hours ago.

“I know,” I whispered. “I know I can leave the castle, but that doesn’t mean Frostmonte just... goes away. But I thought I could ignore it maybe for one night?”

“I want to be with you,” Henry said. “In a very real way. And I know it feels easier to ignore the rest of your life, but it isn’t realistic.”

I clenched my jaw. “I know you’re right. I just hate it.”

“I hate it, too.”

“If my mom is doing an interview on TV, I know she’s the one who called for it,” I said. I felt like I had a pit the size of an anvil in my stomach. “If she called for it, I don’t want to know what she’s going to say. About me.”

“The Queen is a master of public relations,” Henry said. “She’s going to try to save face, after what you said earlier.”

“I know she is,” I said. “That’s what I’m afraid to hear.”

I watched as the news TV show cut to a shot of my mother, perched on one of the fanciest sofas in Frostmonte Castle. They’d set up a whole exclusive interview room. At the bottom of the TV screen, a scrolling banner read Queen Charlotte to Make Comments on Breaking News About Prince Sebastian’s Big Reveal.

It was stupid.

It was disgusting.

And I was about to have my life splattered across TV for no goddamn reason at all.

“You don’t have to watch, Sebastian. I mean it,” Henry said.

“No. I know I have to. You’re right,” I said. “Reality isn’t going to just… go away.”

He nodded.

“Just come hold me, though?” I said. I tugged him, and he came back over to the couch with me, curling up underneath a fuzzy throw blanket next to me.

“I can promise you, there is never going to be a time I’ll say no to being near you,” he said.

“Is that a challenge?”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’d want to be near me even if I was practicing the piccolo for hours on end?”

“Have you actually started playing the piccolo in the last eleven years?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. Violin, though.”

“God, that's sexy.”

“Violin playing is sexy?”

“Of course,” Henry said. “A dark, rebellious prince who plays violin up in his quarters, alone and sad?”

“I mean, let’s be honest, I’m not sure I have prince’s quarters anymore, after today.”

“Let’s see what your mother says.”

The interview began without much interest. The interviewer caught up with my mom about boring castle updates. I could just picture families in every village surrounding us, slowly trickling toward their TV sets. I could almost feel the eyes starting to watch the show, ready to hear more “juicy gossip” about my sexuality. I felt nauseous.

Soon enough, the interview turned toward the topic of my life. A little history retrospective about me. About how lucky it was that my mother and father’s only child was a son, a son that could one day take the throne and become king.

And then finally, they turned to the topic of my “shocking revelation.” And to my surprise, my mother barely batted an eyelash.

“Of course it was something I had known,” she said, perfectly calm and calculated. “It may be hard for some to remember, but we are only human up here in Frostmonte castle.”

I puffed out a bitter laugh. “So fucking arrogant,” I muttered.

“Of course I don’t renounce my son. In these modern times, I could never. Maybe it’s about time a prince married another prince,” my mother said.

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