Page 141 of The Unlikely Heir
Nicholas looks anxious, tugging his sweater sleeves as he glances around my suite.
He opens his mouth, then hesitates before taking the plunge.
“Callum, are you sure you want to do this? No one will think less of you if you choose not to go through with the investiture.”
I stare at my younger brother.
He keeps talking, the words spilling out of him with reckless abandonment now that he’s uncorked the bottle. “We’ve got a referendum coming up… Have you thought that maybe the public would find it more palatable if they’ve got a British Prince of Wales to vote for rather than one with an American accent?”
My heart is in my throat.
“Do you think I should give up my place in succession?” I ask.
Nicholas meets my gaze. “I want what’s best for the country.”
“So do I,” I say.
My knees are weak. I take a few steps backward and sink onto the bed.
Nicholas is offering me a lifeline. And it’s so tempting.
If I step down in succession, I can be with Oliver. I won’t need to wait for the results of the referendum. I can just be with him without any issues. Spend every night with him with no need to hide.
The idea of walking away is so tempting. Leaving behind the endless scrutiny that comes with this role. Going back to being a normal person.
Cliff’s words from his interview echo in my head.
He never sticks at anything.
I swallow. Hard. I wanted to prove Cliff wrong. But is blindly sticking with something just to prove I can the right course of action? Is this role worth sacrificing my heart?
I can never be with Oliver if I’m the Prince of Wales. And the weight of that knowledge, of knowing I’m sacrificing the man I love, feels unbearable.
For a brief second, I imagine telling Oliver I’ve given up my place in succession. Seeing his smile. Knowing we can be together forever, with nothing standing in our way.
But do I trust that Oliver and I are for life? What happens if I give up my throne for him, only for us to break up a few months later?
I’d look like the ultimate fool. I know Oliver loves me, but ultimately, he’ll always love his job more than me. Recent events have proven that.
And I promised my grandmother I’d help her save the crown.
I stare at my handsome younger brother. The one who has been a prince since the day he was born. He looks like a prince of England. He sounds like a prince of England. He doesn’t have random coordination issues that threaten havoc and mayhem at every event. He would be so much better at the pomp and pageantry part of being the Prince of Wales.
Even as I contemplate this, memories of some of the people I’ve met slide into my head. Amara from the hospital. Quinton from the Hedgehog Appreciation Society. The kids from the heart charity.
I’ve never before felt a sense of purpose in my life. I’d drifted through majors at college and then into my job at the call center.
These last few months have been different. I’ve finally found something I love to do. I’ve seen the difference I can make in people’s lives.
Do I truly believe Nicholas would do a better job than me at connecting with the people of the UK?
No. I don’t. He couldn’t do it better than me.
And that realization settles inside me.
Royalty throughout the centuries has had to make sacrifices. And while it’s difficult to believe any of my ancestors have ever given up something or someone as precious as Oliver, I can’t help remembering my grandmother when I first arrived in London, having just learned of the betrayal of so many family members, still focusing solely on her duty as sovereign.
I look out the window at Caernarfon Castle, looming in the distance. A castle that has seen kings come and go, generations of people toiling in its shadow, history made and remade.
