Muttering quietly to himself about the pomp and circumstance of the British Empire, Daisuke stared out the window of the steam carriage as it smoothly drew him closer to what he thought would be the highlight of a terrible week. Besides the long journey via ship from India to Egypt, and the train from Cairo to Istanbul and then to France, his bike was damaged in the crossing of the Channel just hours from his father’s ancestral home. “My home, too, I suppose,” he thought bitterly to himself.
Jerked out of his reverie as the coach abruptly stopped, he realized they had arrived at the palace while he was brooding. He couldn’t see much of the royal palace; still, he imagined for the Queen’s golden jubilee, they had gone all out. He let his gaze drift over to the door as it was opened by a footman in the Queen’s livery.
The Lord Vencart stepped out of the steam carriage, an arm offered to the aging Duke of Dorset. Waving off his protégé with a wry grin, the Duke stepped down and nodded to the page waiting next to their footman.
“I’m old, not dead Ernest,” the Duke mumbled under his breath, his gravelly voice pitched to reach more than the younger man’s ear. “Tend to your wife and children, and I’ll look after my old bones for myself.” Daisuke held back his grin when his father blushed slightly to himself, catching it before the Lord Vencart turned back to help his wife down. All of them tried to ignore the page that hid a laugh behind his hand.
As she stepped down, his mother did laugh out loud, though she covered her mouth as her husband helped her down. With an arm slipped into his, the Lady Hitomi and her husband followed a short distance behind the Duke, her traditional dress the limit on their pace as they climbed to the jubilee celebration.
Standing as best he could in the coach, Daisuke helped his sister gather up her own trailing kimono and step down after them, getting his first good look at the palace. Lit up by a thousand lights, the royal palace looked like something out of a storybook. Featuring the latest technology, it seemed entirely a third of the sprawling building had been built with steel and glass, the steam that bellowed out of chimneys the map to where the wonders were powered. “At least they appreciate the modern conveniences. Sometimes it seems mother would rather ride from India on a horse,” he thought to himself.
He saw the page’s eyes widen slightly as his sister, Kou, stepped down from the steam carriage; even without her exotic charm, the young woman was strikingly beautiful. More than one man had tasted his anger when eyes lingered too long, so the page quickly averted his gaze when Daisuke stepped down and glowered back in anger. With a slight growl at the young page, he slipped his sister’s arm over his own and started to lead her after their parents into the palace.
When the pair caught up, their father gave them both a warm smile and straightened the edge of Daisuke’s kimono for him. “You know, you could have worn a tuxedo like the other men. It would have saved you some discomfort,” he said a bit stiffly, obviously still upset with Daisuke, but showing some worry. If anyone thought it odd that the young man was a good head taller than his father, wisely none would speak it to their face. His sister and mother were surely not tall, but Daisuke broke the mold when he was born.
“If I had, then I would be uncomfortable,” the dark-haired boy replied quietly as a quick step back took him a bit out of his father’s reach. “I am comfortable at home, in my own things. This…whatever it is you’re doing is what makes me uncomfortable. We are not English, and we will never be English, father,” he added sullenly. As sullenly as he could manage without bringing them shame, Daisuke would show these English he knew how to behave if it killed him.
With another sigh and shake of his head, the Lord Vencart let the issue lie and moved on with his wife, leaving their children to follow. His sister gave him an evil look, but he ignored it and waited as the footmen arranged them in order. The Viceroy of India, Duke of Dorset, ranked above all members of the procession save the Queen’s only living son; a position of high honor, especially for outlanders like Daisuke and his sister. “At least the Viceroy buys us status over these people. Otherwise, they would be insufferable,” he thought bitterly as he struggled to keep his face schooled. The more he could exercise self-control, the less he gave them something to talk about behind their hands.
His thoughts were broken when a slightly disheveled boy came walking quickly to the line ahead of them, obviously frantic to make the line without appearing to rush. “Well, they’re not all perfect. And not that bad looking, either,” he added to his inner monologue, eyes drinking in the boy with a half-smile as they continued in the procession.
***
James was late. Very late. Her Imperial Majesty’s Golden Jubilee was starting shortly, and the youngest son of the Duke of Kent dashed through the halls of the palace, desperate to find his place in precedence with his father before they entered the hall. Missing the presentation would see him back with his cousins in Flanders, watching the wool grow on the sheep for the next year. That fate would be worse than death: trapped away from the city and the bike races that broke the monotony of his life.
He stepped off the lift and rounded the corner to the hall’s main entrance in time to see the Prince of Malta presented into the Queen’s presence ahead of his father. With a calm that hid his fluttering stomach, James slowed his pace to a seemly, if quick walk. It held the grace required of the Queen’s youngest nephew, if barely, but allowed him to meet his parents and siblings in line.
Besides the glower from his father and the amused snickers of his two older brothers, no one else in the line seemed to notice the golden-haired boy’s tardiness. After the footman’s voice announced their arrival, James stepped up behind his brothers and ahead of his sister as they paused at the head of the stairs to climb into the ballroom.
“His Grace, Duke George of Cornwall; Her Royal Highness, the Princess Alexandra of Spain, Duchess Cornwall; the Most Honourable Albert, The Marquess of Exeter; Lord George Cavendish; Lord James Cavendish; and Lady Louise Cavendish,” the man intoned in the same monotone he had been using all evening, which made James want to do nothing more than crack a yawn.
Moving with the stately procession of the line, he tried his hardest to concentrate. One foot in front of the other was all he could think as he followed behind his brothers slowly down into the ballroom, his sister’s arm over his own.
“You were late again, James,” she whispered quietly, lips still enough to hide the breach of protocol. Not that anyone seemed to watch, already eyes looked past the young lords and their sister as they took their place in the room.
“I was busy, besides…I made it,” he responded just as quietly, though it still managed to earn a reproachful glance from his father that forced his mouth to snap shut.
Turning to look up at the stairs, they watched as the Duke of Dorset and his entourage entered, James barely paid attention as he tried to hide his disinterest. The Viceroy was pleasant enough, but James would rather be down in the East End with his bike and the wind flowing through his hair. Sparing a glance for his father, the young man sighed and turned back to watch the procession. Most of the city knew his father’s stance on the machines, modern progress be damned.
When his eyes swept over the pair walking down the stairs, James couldn’t help but start at the beautiful woman demurely gliding down with the Lord Vencart. “Must be his wife,” he thought to himself, pausing to look at the silk kimono she wore. It was not something you saw every day, any Japanese people, let alone one in so beautiful a kimono. As they came to the bottom of the steps, he shifted his eyes up to the two following behind.
James had no doubt that the shorter figure was the Lord Vencart’s daughter, but he used every bit of his will to keep his eyes from bugging out at the taller figure at her side. In a deep blue kimono, the young man came close to his sister’s beauty, easily her equal with pronounced cheek-bones and the same tilted eyes. Her’s was a soft beauty, but he was hard and masculine and mixed with a seemingly deadly grace as he walked. Those shoulders and the deep line of his chest that peeked through the neck of his kimono made it clear, as pretty as the man was…he was a man. More, he was staring right at James as he walked, those eyes held his own like a vice.
Digging through his memory, James thought he pulled up a name from the droning footman. “Daisuke,” he whispered to himself, getting an elbow from his sister for speaking, though he didn’t think she heard what he said. The name burned in his mind, now, harder than the look in those eyes.
Swallowing hard, he managed to pull his eyes away only as the other disappeared behind the heads of those nearer the stairs. James was a bit embarrassed he’d stared so hard or so long, but none around him made any comment or gave him a look of their own. Maybe the light flush on his sister’s cheeks showed he wasn’t the only member of the family swept up in the exotic gaze of the Lord Vencart’s son.
He lost the final groups in his thoughts, a few foreign sovereigns forced to enter before his uncle, the Prince of Wales. Cousins and all, he only snapped out of it when he saw his youngest cousin disappear at the base of the stairs. Just in time, too, as the speakers overhead began to play “God Save the Queen” through the room. All thoughts of that line of hard muscle visible under robes and the elegant arch of dark eyes were banished as the Queen appeared on a balcony over the end of the ballroom. Bowing gracefully, James stood up straight again as the song ended, eyes with the rest of the crowd up to his great aunt, the Queen.
As much as he loved her, the royal “we” and the formal tone always left him bored out of his mind. With a glance to his left, James caught sight of his oldest brother staring openly at the young Japanese man. He followed Albert’s gaze, James really couldn’t blame the older man, but snapped his attention back when their sister cleared her throat gently. Not looking to see if it was for him or for Albert, he waited for the Queen to finish before he applauded loudly with the rest of the crowd. All bowed again as she stepped down from the balcony to appear at the large throne on a dais at one side of the ballroom.
“Well, children, we should pay our respects to your great aunt,” his father said to them, voice low and gruff, brooking no nonsense from the group. Turning on his heel, the Duke led his family through the murmuring crowd and up to the dais, only behind his older cousin, the Prince. Even foreign dignitaries and monarchs could not precede blood here tonight. The Duke of Cornwall bowed deeply to his great Aunt as James and his siblings did the same.
***
If there was anything Daisuke hated more than England or the English, it was English balls. Having spent most of his life in India and Japan, the stiff, gawking English set his teeth on edge. Why had his father been recalled, and why had the Viceroy not stopped it? Too many whys, not enough answers. God and Queen and all that nonsense, that was all he got from them both.
Starting a bit when Kou laid her hand on his arm, he tensed and held himself higher as they started down the stairs after their parents. He regarded the people in the room with as much disdain as he could muster, not caring what they thought of him.
Taking in the crowd as they walked down, Daisuke’s eyes settled on the boy with shaggy blond hair and nearly started when he caught the boy staring at him. Most of the people he had met since father brought them to England had been horrifying, gap-toothed savages. This boy, though, was handsome and had an air of mischief, as if he was on the verge of smiling. Staring back at him until they reached the bottom of the stairs, he lost track of the boy and followed his father off to the side where they could watch the Queen enter.
Letting himself run on auto-pilot as the Queen came out and spoke, Daisuke’s thoughts turned in on himself, trying to figure out what was so different about that boy. “No, not just a boy…he has to be a little older than me,” he thought to himself, shaking his head. Feeling eyes on him, he discreetly looked off to the side and saw the young man staring at him again. And an older, slightly more dour version stared at him, too. Somehow, though, the older one’s stare made Daisuke feel dirty like he hadn’t bathed in weeks.
Shivering a bit, he arched a brow down at Kou as she gripped his arm more tightly, offering him a small smile.
“You could have stayed at home,” she murmured very softly, only loud enough for his ears.
“And miss the biggest spectacle of the century?” he replied, voice a low rumble compared to her own. “I may dislike the people, but they are quite…entertaining,” he added with a smirk, attention back on the Queen as she finished her speech to a round of hearty applause. Daisuke refrained, even if his sister offered soft clapping of gloved hands in response.
“Besides, father took away your bike, so what else would you do,” she added with an innocent look, leaning up to adjust the fold of his kimono, as their father had before.
Daisuke let out a low growl, lightly pushing aside her hands, but still gave her a full smile. He knew that on any woman but her and mother, that smile could absolve him of any crime, short of murder. “There is that. But my bike or someone else’s bike, I’m still the best these English have ever seen,” he added with a low chuckle.
“You know, I think one of her majesty’s nephews races those monstrosities. And I hear he’s quite good,” the Duke of Dorset offered lightly, giving them both a kindly smile. Daisuke couldn’t help a small blush from forming on his cheeks, embarrassed to have said what he did about the Duke’s countrymen.
“And you’re not racing again until you apologize to your tutor, as well,” their father added on top of it. He crossed his arms and made what looked like an attempt at glowering; to Daisuke, it just seemed like he needed to sneeze.
Before another argument could start, however, his mother laid a hand on Lord Vencart’s arm and drew him aside to speak with another couple that had approached from the crowd. She would do that, divert them both to avoid a fight no matter public or private. Usually, with the same slightly exasperated look for both men, one that made clear that no one in her family was ever as stubborn as her husband or her son.
“Give him time, boy, he’ll come around,” the Duke added with another kind smile before he drifted off among the crowd himself. For his part, Daisuke managed to find his way to a corner and left his sister to act the social butterfly she was.
Still, he couldn’t help his mind wandering back to the boy, “no, the man,” he thought, with the blond hair. His eyes found him again as he climbed the steps up to meet the Queen, just behind his family.
***
In this, at least, James was the dutiful and obedient son of the eleventh man in line for the throne of England. Meaning, at least thirteen people had to die before he was important enough for anyone to care. Still, his father put great stock in their place in the Empire and gave the man what he wanted. Especially in so public a place, that would keep James in London a bit longer. So he bowed precisely the correct depth for a man of “his standing” to the Queen, his great aunt. The million little rules and levers that adjusted the number of degrees he bowed, the angle of his back, and how far he slid one foot forward to make a leg to the most powerful monarch in the world.
To James, it was the most ridiculous thing he ever had to do, especially when that woman had smacked his bottom as many times as his own mother. While she never bathed him or changed his soiled clothes as a child, she was still as involved in raising all of his siblings as their own mother had been. A Princess Royal and a Queen, while not practically equipped to raise children, knew what their servants were supposed to do. And what they expected of potential heirs, even distant ones.
In public, she was the Queen; no smile or hug or soft kiss for his cheeks she favored from her youth in Paris. No questions on his studies, or excitement over how Lousie had grown since last summer. She would be coming out this season, so there would be more balls and excitement where Her Royal Majesty could put off the crown and be their aunt again.
Almost as soon as it was done, they were waved off with an imperious nod of acknowledgment, and the next distant cousins were there to offer their respect. He sighed inwardly to avoid any embarrassing outbursts and followed respectfully behind his brothers back to where they were standing near the center of the room before.
Immediately, he sought the other man out again with his eyes, hiding it in a general study of the room. Daisuke could blend in well, but there was no mistaking the way those eyes stared back at him when they met again. James took two steps toward the other man instinctively before Louise put a hand on his forearm and stopped his feet.
“You know father will be upset if you don’t at least say hello to the King of Spain. Grandfather is important, and he speaks so little English that we need to keep him entertained,” she prodded in a low voice, her grip like iron for someone so small.
It was true, especially if he wished to go to the races before the night was over. There was good gold to be won there, and a good time for all, but he would quickly find his stipend empty, and the headmaster of the Naval College called to visit if he shirked his duties. So he followed his sister and went to join the elderly man speaking to his mother, for once glad duty wasn’t so onerous…if only he didn’t have something more interesting dangled right in front of his face.
***
Daisuke was pleased and disturbed the young man, not a boy, who made a beeline toward him once his duties were performed. The reverse of the entry precedence, his own father and mother would be nearly an hour down the list to present themselves to the Queen, so there was little for the man to do until then but hide in the corner and avoid an international incident.
Still, the young lady who pulled him aside spared Daisuke a glance that promised he would speak to James later was more of a shock than anything. Clearly, she knew her brother better than he did himself and intended to make the introduction. Good, because it would be improper for the son of a middling Earl in the Foreign Ministry to introduce himself to the Queen’s grand-nephew. Even one that entered in a party ranked above the man himself, it was unseemly.
For one who hated English manners, Daisuke was a stickler for them and would never allow one of these barbarians to look down at him for a breach. Still, there was something in those light eyes that made his stomach flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. Again, though, inappropriate thoughts for another man, especially here in London.
Whatever pleasure came from the man’s attention, his older brother’s lithe frame brought a small frown to Daisuke’s lips. He didn’t want to mingle with Royals, especially those who stared like they intended to strip him nude and do unspeakable things. While he might have opted to do them, Albert was as handsome as his brother, it was unseemly to be so…open…in public. Even at home in Japan, it was more circumspect, more dignified.
With a forced smile, he allowed the eldest son of the Duke of Cornwall to start the conversation. That, and prayed to the heavens above for the first excuse to get away from the man. That, and down a great deal of alcohol to wash this bad taste from his mouth. So many prayers for one night…