Red, White & Royal Blue

by Casey McQuiston

The queen looks over at Alex and Henry, and Alex sees it in her eyes at last: She’s afraid of them. She’s afraid of the threat they pose to the perfect Faberge veneer she’s spent her whole life maintaining. They terrify her.

It’s a mural of himself and Henry, facing each other, haloed by a bright yellow sun, depicted as Han and Leia. Henry in all white, starlight in his hair. Alex dressed as a scruffy smuggler, a blaster at his hip. A royal and a rebel, arms around each other. He snaps a photo on his phone, and fingers shaking, types out a tweet: Never tell me the odds.

“Sorry,” Nora says. She sits down heavily. “I drank like nine Red Bulls to get through all of those and ate a weed gummy to level back out, so I’m flying at fasten-seat-belts right now.”

First, the First Son of the United States didn’t actually do anything wrong. Second, Jeffrey Richards committed a hostile act of conspiracy against a sitting president, and I am eagerly awaiting the federal investigation that is coming to him once he loses this election. Third, Rafael Luna is perhaps the unlikeliest hero of the 2020 presidential race.

I am the First Son of the United States, and I’m bisexual. History will remember us.

They’ve woken up half-naked and warm, tucked in tight while the first autumn chill creeps in under the lacy curtains.

Today, Henry goes back to London. Today, Alex goes back to the campaign trail. They have to figure out how to do this for real now, how to love each other in plain sight. Alex thinks they’re up for it.

“We won.” Henry takes his hand, one corner of his mouth tugging gently upward. “Yeah. We won.” Alex reaches down into the front of his dress shirt and finds the chain with his fingers, pulls it out carefully. The ring, the key. Under winter clouds, victorious, he unlocks the door.