The Contingency Plan by Addison Albright-2
780 Words
Marcelo stretched, then stilled. This didn’t feel right. He was on his bed, but wore his daytime clothes and lay atop the coverlet. He opened his eyes. The sun was far too high in the sky for him to be lying abed.
“Marcelo.”
He turned toward the source of the deep voice. Prince Consort Elmer sat in the chair adjacent to the bed.
“Sir? Father?”
Why was his father in his bedchamber? His salon, perhaps, would have made sense, but even that was rare. Visits with his parents took place in their suite or in the public rooms. No one except Erich or servants under his direction ever entered Marcelo’s private bedchamber.
“Are you injured? In any pain?” Father asked. “You didn’t appear to hit your head as you fell. Kemble made it over to you in time to support you during your collapse.”
“Kemble…”
Marcelo’s muscles stiffened, and his breath hitched as memory of the events in the great hall rushed into his mind. “I choose His Royal Highness, Prince Marcelo. The wedding will proceed tomorrow as planned.”
That had actually happened.
“Collapse? How…how…?” Marcelo trailed off, unsure what he wanted to ask. How could such a marriage be possible? Instead he sat and reached for the metal cup on the small bedside table.
“How did you come to awaken in your bed?” Father queried. “Prince Efren carried you. He said it was the least he could do after shocking you into a dead faint.”
The cup slipped from Marcelo’s hand and clattered to the stone floor, spilling water as it rolled, clinking across the room. And now Prince Efren had shocked him a second time. Naturally, Marcelo had assumed servants had carried him.
An unfamiliar tingle raced through his body at the thought of being held by the prince in such an intimate manner. Or was it caused by remembering the curious half-smile when the prince had let Marcelo “win” the stare-down, or the way he’d looked confidently into Marcelo’s eyes when he’d announced his choice?
Marcelo cleared his throat and shook off the strange feeling. “Father, I don’t understand. How can this be? Men don’t marry other men, and royal sons in Sheburat don’t marry anyone.”
“Men can and do marry other men in Zioneven. Likewise with women. It’s not the norm, but it’s done. In Sheburat, there are no laws forbidding it, but nobody has yet come forward to try. With this precedent, that will probably change.”
“But royal sons…”
“Again, there are no laws forbidding it. It’s a tradition borne of a long history of royal sons who’ve shown no interest in marrying.”
“I had no interest in marrying.”
“I know.” Father nodded. “But, although royal sons never married, some did take lovers.”
Tilting his head to the side, Marcelo stared blankly at his father. There didn’t seem to be any logic to these traditions whatsoever. “Why wouldn’t they have married their lovers? Did no one tell them it wasn’t forbidden?”
Father took a deep breath before continuing. “Some took lovers, but those lovers were never women.”
Marcelo’s lips parted, and he turned his head to gaze out the open window. How sheltered he’d been. Ignorant and sheltered. Ignorant of the ways of the world, at any rate. Why had no one told him such things weren’t forbidden? Or would they have done so if he had ever shown interest in making a match?
Royal sons were pampered, but not celebrated in the way that daughters were. He’d had full access to the library and had made good use of it. Although his formal education had ended earlier than that of his sisters—there’d been no need to continue beyond the basics as he would never be a statesman—he’d always had a thirst for knowledge. Clearly there were many things to learn that nobody had ventured to put into print.
So, a man could bed with another man, and presumably Prince Efren would expect that as part of their marriage. A shiver ran up his spine, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Did he actually welcome the thought?
The prince had looked at him from across the hall, sized him up, and decided Marcelo would make an acceptable partner. Prince Efren would be a hundred times worldlier than Marcelo, and probably knew that history about Sheburat’s royal sons better than he, who actually was one.
But what of Prince Efren? He’d been prepared to marry Marcela. Would he have preferred a woman? Was his desire to complete the terms of the treaty sooner rather than later more important to him than his personal choice for a spouse? And more importantly…
“Why doesn’t he care that he can’t have any legitimate heirs if he marries me?”
“Perhaps he is satisfied with letting his younger siblings and their children carry on the line.”
Marcelo stared at the fallen cup that had rolled toward the fireplace. He had so many questions, but most he would be uncomfortable asking his father.
“I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No. I’m sorry, but you don’t.”
- Writer
