Page 3 of A Wise Prince

Chris growls and spins around nearly running smack into Mia, his secretary, who has just rounded the corner. “Whoa,” he says, grabbing her so she doesn’t fall. I smirk. Mia and Chris are most definitely hooking up and the fact that they still keep this hidden from everyone cracks me up. There is no way that they aren’t shacking up nightly.

I walk past them and head toward the west wing and my apartment. I need to get away from my duties. The moment that I’m inside my room, my phone pings. I see that it’s Paolo. I groan, not bothering to check his message.

I need to get away. I walk to my closet and head into the tunnel system in the palace. I meander for a while before I find myself outside in the gardens. It’s a nice day out. I stop by Mom’s grave and sit. I haven’t been here in a while. I normally don’t come here. I know Chris and Anna come here all the time, but…I just…it’s too real, too somber for me.

I sit on a bench and lean my head back, soaking in the sun. I could use another jaunt down to the south of France. My brother-in-law’s family has a place there, I’m sure he’d let me visit again…then I remember the last visit and grimace. Maybe not. I may have had a party, and there may have been some social damage.

I rub my forehead and wrack my brain for something that will get me out of here for a while. I’ve been home for four straight months now, and it’s driving me crazy. But after the tabloid-sized fiasco on my last trip, and I swear I didn’t know those girls were escorts and I certainly didn’t know people were snorting lines of cocaine in the bathroom, my father has essentially grounded me.

My phone pings with more messages. I’m supposed to go visit a hospital today, some charity thing my mother used to run, and I get to be the fill-in for Anna, who normally goes. Yep, that’s me, just the extra one, here to fill in for the more important children.

CHAPTERTWO

Iplaster my fake smile on as I slide from the car and enter the children’s hospital. It’s world-renowned for its work on childhood cancers. I don’t mind coming here, but it’s totally fucking depressing. I always want to yell to the kids to go enjoy what little life they have left, but even I know that would be a dick thing to do. My heart breaks for each one of them. Sure, some of them overcome it, but many do not. It’s a sobering place to be.

The hospital director greets me at the door and ushers my entourage to the cancer ward. I visit patients as I’m debriefed on the latest and greatest the hospital has to offer. I take selfies with sick kids and their families. I shake hands and give hugs and play the part of the goofy, social prince because I’m fucking brilliant at it.

“Bathroom?” I finally ask my security. I’m shown to a private bathroom for the medical staff. It’s across the hall from a room with six little tables and art supplies. There’s a young woman sitting next to a little boy who is coloring a picture. She laughs and wraps an arm around him as she points at something in his picture. He gives her a half-smile and goes back to his task. Something about her intrigues me, so after I relieve myself, I head into the room and tell my security guards to wait outside.

The woman and child look up as I enter. I can see both of their eyes widen a bit, particularly the little boy’s.

“Hello there,” I say as I make my way to the table and sit down across from them.

“H-hi,” the little boy stammers. “Y-your Highness,” he adds.

The woman’s brows furrow a bit, but then she seems to regain herself. She nods politely at me.

“Hello, Your Highness,” she says. I’m surprised by her American accent.

I examine them both. The boy’s hair is growing back from what I assume is chemo treatments. He looks young, maybe six or seven. He’s thin, making his eyes appear larger than normal.

The woman is in her early to mid-twenties. She has long blonde hair and giant blue eyes. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few curly wisps hang down around her face. She’s wearing a sundress that is pretty bland, but it fails to hide her voluptuous curves.

I glance down at the drawing. It’s of a beach. It’s not half bad for the boy’s age.

“That’s pretty good,” I say, nodding to the boy’s artwork.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he says. His hand shakes slightly.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Andrew,” he says quietly, looking down at his art.

“Well, you are very talented, Andrew.”

I look toward the woman. “Are you his sister?” I ask coyly.

I see something flash over her eyes. “No,” she answers.

I see someone is going to make me guess. “His mother?”

Andrew giggles. The woman rolls her eyes.

“His grandmother, then?” I continue. Andrew bursts into laughter.

“Your Highness—” he starts. I hold up a hand to stop him.

“Please, call me Auggie. Your Highness makes me feel like my dad.”

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