Page 15 of The Unlikely Heir
Harry stands up, shooting me a smirk. Harry is the same age as me, and he’s the epitome of a Tory politician: handsome, aristocratic, privileged, and determined to do what he can to keep the class divisions in British society the same as they have always been. He takes a few steps forward until he comes to the despatch box, the wooden chest identical to the one in front of me. The despatch boxes were originally used to carry documents, but now they’re where the prime minister and opposition leader stand and eyeball each other.
Adrenaline flows through me as I wait for whatever direction Harry is going to attack me from today.
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.
Now I do so with my intellect and wit rather than my fists, but it’s a similar thrill to besting an opponent, to delivering that knock-out blow.
“Mr. Speaker, I want to acknowledge the unprecedented times we are in,” Harry says. “The Conservative Party supported the legislation introduced by the government to remove ten members of the royal family from their place in the succession line to the throne. But while this government might be happy to trudge along with the status quo and reinforcement of privilege, perhaps it’s worth examining whether the status quo is what the people deserve.
“So, I’m interested to know what the prime minister feels regarding the rights of the British people to determine whether the monarchy has a place in the future of the United Kingdom.”
I take a sharp breath.
Fuck, he’s taking a gamble.
A Conservative leader hinting the monarchy should come to an end?
If Harry’s trying to get some of his share of the newspaper headlines, he’s probably just succeeded.
Harry doesn’t do anything on a whim. I know that. If he’s prepared to ask this question, he must have substantial evidence indicating the tide of public opinion will be to abolish the monarchy.
I loathe the Conservative leader with every fiber in my body, but you don’t rise to the top of the cesspool of the Conservatives without having highly developed political instincts. So for that, he has my grudging respect.
I’m on my feet, ready to answer him immediately, my folder resting on my despatch box, the microphone ready to amplify my words throughout the chamber.
“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 Conservative Party has proven time and time again that their concern about inequality is just a political football to kick around when they’re in the mood, which they abandon for tax cuts for the wealthy when they get into power.
“Does it reek of privilege that members of the royal family, people who are vastly wealthier than ninety-nine percent of Britain, are accused of trying to gain more wealth by illegal means? Yes, of course, it does. It is reprehensible behavior that this government condemns.”
I pause to eyeball all the members on the opposing bench.
“But as my nan used to say, you don’t throw the baby out with the bath water. We still have a queen who has dedicated her life to our country and whose behavior is above reproach. We also have a new heir to the throne who”—my words, which have been flowing freely until this point, now abandon me as I try to come up with some way to describe Callum Prescott—“appears committed to continuing his grandmother’s legacy. And let’s not forget the economic benefits the monarchy brings to this country. It is far too premature and completely irresponsible to be calling for the end of the monarchy. But we have a unitary parliamentary democracy. I shall always follow the will of the people.”
I sit back down on the bench, accompanied by rousing applause from the Labour MPs and the usual jeers from the Conservatives.
I’m breathing hard.
I won’t be cornered into a position where the Conservatives can outmaneuver me on this one.
It’s on my mind when the parliamentary sitting is adjourned, and I find Toby waiting in the corridor for me.
“Fucking Harry Matheson,” he growls as we march through the corridors of Westminster. “What the hell kind of game is he playing?”
My own dislike of Harry is nothing compared to Toby, who has a history with him that goes back to before either of them entered politics.
“We need to step up our polling on the monarchy. I want to see every little dip and rise for what the public is thinking. We’re not letting the Conservatives outfox us on this,” I say as we stride down the corridor.
“Consider it done,” Toby says.
We walk into my House of Commons office, where two of my assistants are huddled over a phone next to the tall windows overlooking Westminster Square.
Anton quickly straightens.
“Press conference introducing Prince Callum,” he says, shoving the phone at me.
I stare at the footage.
