The Unlikely Heir (Unlikely Dilemmas, #1)

by Jax Calder

Unfortunately, the genetic gods also gave me a bumbling personality, an intense interest in unusual topics, and an offbeat sense of humor.

This is an unfortunate personality trait of mine. I will discover a random thing I find interesting, learn everything I can, and then want to share my newfound knowledge with everyone around

Every current working member of the royal family has been implicated, from Albert, the Prince of Wales, down to Princess Chloe, who has always seemed more interested in her reflection and social media followers than anything else.

“What did Queen Katharine say to you about the whole thing?” “She informed me she’s instructed every family member caught up in the scandal to surrender their right to the throne,” I reply.

I’d never liked Albert, the Prince of Wales. Unlike his mother, he always seemed pleased with his privilege. From my brief interactions with his three children, they all seemed to have inherited his attitude.

You could too easily imagine a fifteenth-century version of James plotting to overthrow his brothers to gain the throne for himself, but twenty-first-century James had to be content with his life as a minor royal.

Nan gave the painting to me as a wedding present when Garett and I got married.

This is when I miss Garett the most. After a day like I’ve had today, not having someone else to talk things over with. For an insane, crazy second, I imagine calling him in his love nest in Fulham, wrenching him away from whatever fun and games he and his young Italian lover, Riccardo, are engaged in, just to talk to him.

“We’re short-staffed as it is, Callum. You know that. You better have a decent excuse.” “I’m on my way to England because I’m now heir to the British throne,” I offer. There’s a momentary pause. “Very funny, Callum. If you’re not here by nine a.m., you better have a doctor’s note.” The dial tone sounds in my ear.

It’s raining when we land in London. I try not to take it as a premonition because it always rains in London.

My mother had a brief experience of royal life when she was married to my father, and she then spent the first twenty-two years of my life before she passed away protecting me as much as she could from this reality.

The politics of other countries don’t often penetrate the bubble of American media

First, there’s his movie-star good looks. He’s what you’d get if you played around in one of those apps where you can merge two celebrity faces. In his particular case, Henry Cavill and Chris Evans would combine to produce his dark, brooding handsomeness.

The first openly-gay prime minister of one of our closest allies, at a time when the backlash against LGBTQ+ rights in America was raining thick and fast.

My mother’s words from years ago echo in my head, “Never trust a man with a mustache.” She did have a point—there is a correlation between villains and upper-lip facial hair throughout history.

She’s lost a son and her husband, and in the last forty-eight hours, has learned of the betrayal of nearly every member of her family. Yet she stands with a ramrod straight back.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask. Her blue eyes don’t leave mine. “I need you to help me save the crown.”

I will stand on my head and recite Much Ado About Nothing, which I know is her favorite Shakespeare play.

I think of what I know about my younger half-brother. He’s twenty-two and has just graduated from Oxford. He’s been through the top British schools and is the archetype of a polo-playing, privileged upper-class aristocrat.

While I don’t know either of my half-siblings well, I have a soft spot for Amelia. She’s the definition of nerdy chic. Our relationship currently consists of sending each other funny memes. I guess the upside of this whole thing is I will get to know my half-siblings better.

It’s like he’s so manly that his facial hair grows back the moment he shaves it off.

I open my mouth and a whole lot of inane babble falls out. “It’s so nice to meet you, Prime Minister. I think it’s amazing what you’ve done for LGBTQ+ representation in politics. I mean, it’s so seriously cool that the youth of today have someone like you to look up to.” Awesome. Fanboy gushing.

I’m so distracted by the authoritative way he speaks that I’m a few seconds too late with my reply.

My grandmother has a neutral expression as I rattle on, but then, she’s used to my flights of fancy. She also does about two hundred public engagements a year. She would have had to deal with many other bumbling idiots before. There must be more of us out there.

But it wasn’t his looks that surprised me about Callum Prescott. I’d expected…what? Cocky arrogance to go with his handsomeness. Smoothness and charm. Confidence combined with reserve. Not a bumbling, affable guy who seems to trip over his own tongue.

I’m a fighter. I’ve had to be. A skinny gay kid raised by elderly grandparents on a council estate, with no siblings or close friends for support, unlike the groups of other kids who roamed in packs. No one was going to come to my defense. I had to learn how to defend myself.

“Mr. Speaker, excuse me if I find it hard to stomach being lectured on privilege by a man who was at Eton while I was on the free school meals at a state school in Ilford.

The idea that I am worthy of this amount of attention still seems so ludicrous it’s up there with the pet rock trend and pineapple on pizza. I work in an insurance call center.

With headlines like My Date with the Prince and I was with Callum when He Found out He was Heir! she’s gushed about how nice and humble I am. And apparently, I looked “like someone hit by a stun gun” when Spencer told me I was now heir to the throne. Emily is also auctioning off her blouse with the red wine stain.

“And how are you planning to handle the fact that the heir to the throne is an American?” Nicholas asks, his crisp public-school accent sounding even more precise than normal.

I don’t even remember Brett McCallister or the incident he’s describing, although I intensely dislike the smell of paste, so there’s a good chance his story is true.

Herbert has, so far, proven to be unflappable, which I think will be a very helpful trait when he’s working for me.

“Did you know that Greek philosophers believed the singing ability of a swan increases when they are close to death? That’s where the phrase ‘swan-song’ comes from,” I say. “No, I didn’t realize that.” Jessica seems genuinely interested in my random fact, which is a better reaction than I get from most people.

Henry the 1st – defeated the French. Callum the 1st – defeated by a swan.

Sometimes I don’t know which memories are real and which have come from watching videos and seeing photos.

“As heir, Callum will be next to me.” There’s a flicker of annoyance on Nicholas’s face before it’s back to neutral.

“It’s so nice to meet you too,” I say. “It’s nice to hear some people who sound like me.” “I’m not sure many Canadians want to hear that they sound like Americans,” Jeffrey says. Oh shit. I was trying to find some commonality, and instead, I might have started a diplomatic incident.

“Well, his handshake was incredibly enthusiastic,” the other says. “And he looks the part.” “Unfortunately, you can dress a pig in a wig, but it doesn’t change the fact it’s a pig.”

I was exposed to the inner workings of those circles when I was married to Garett, and it honestly shocked me how many people still believe they have an innate superiority over others just because of their ancestry.

“I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness, you must find this conversation incredibly boring. It’s the kind of thing we spent hours debating at Cambridge. What do you Americans like to discuss? The specs of the latest semi-automatic machine gun on the market? Who one of the Kardashians is sleeping with?”

I almost choke on my wine. There’s a stunned silence around the table. Callum gives Lionel another happy, sunshiny smile. “Anyway, who is your favorite Kardashian? Mine is Khloe. Best personality by far.”

Arvind stares at me. “You play the part of the oppressed minority well, Mr. Hartwell, for an Englishman.” His words cut me, and I try not to flinch. I suck in a breath. “While we’re discussing oppressed minorities, shall we talk about whether my marriage would have been legal in your country?” He raises his eyebrows and a bemused expression comes across his face. “By the time of your next marriage, it will be.”

Of the fifty-three nations represented at this summit, homosexuality remains a criminal offense in twenty-nine of them.

As I amble in the opposite direction, I’m suddenly looking at the elaborate decorations of the Waterloo Chamber with fresh eyes. How many of the treasures in this castle are ill-gotten gains?

“We’ve made so much progress in some areas and so little in others,” Callum says.

Callum tilts his head back to take in some of the higher paintings. “Do you think this is really just a giant competition of ‘Who Wore it Best’ military uniform edition?” he asks. I find myself barking out another unexpected laugh, and Callum smiles at me. This is why I find Callum so disconcerting. Most people I can categorize easily, mentally slotting them into the correct box. I’m still not quite sure how to classify Callum Prescott.

He’s got two half-siblings he hardly knows, and from what I know of Prince Nicholas, he’s probably not hiding his enthusiasm for Callum to stumble so he can swoop in as heir.

“When I first got into politics, you wouldn’t believe all the maggots that crawled out of the closet to claim their five minutes of fame.” Including my own mother. But I don’t want to think about that now.

Yesterday I went to a bake-off raising money for a mental health charity and managed to knock over the winning Victoria Sponge by gesturing far too enthusiastically, which triggered another round of creative headlines. Prince Callum Cake-tastrophe Bake-Off Blunder Prince Callum’s ‘Destruction Derby’

Besides, those headlines give me the edge in the little competition I’ve got going with Oliver Hartwell. It’s a slightly disturbing contest where we compete over who has generated the most negative and ridiculous headline for the day.