He brightens even more, if that were possible. “Come with me. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Someone has already taken my bags. My security detail has previously been through in advance of my arrival today, and my personal bodyguard, Alyse, trails us.

“Will she always be here with you?” asks Colin.

“Always. Like my shadow is committed to me.”

He brays a laugh, then shakes his head. “As long as she stays out of the shots.”

“I’m sure we can work something out.” I glance over my shoulder at Alyse, who is an unflappable professional as ever. She looks unfazed at my unhinged reference, which would definitely earn me a tut or two from the King.

Alyse nods curtly. “As long as there are no surprises, as our team has discussed with yours.”

“We’ll do our very best,” Colin assures us a little too easily to be convincing as we walk up the steps. “We’ve planned the locations, as you know, and you have the shooting schedule. However, we don’t actually script the show. Everything, I’m delighted to say, is truly authentic. We’re all about the genuine reactions and skills.” He beams as if he’s personally responsible for the whole debacle.

Something inside me dies.

Great. The situation is officially dire. Or post-dire, even, like postmodernism. None of these movements gets me out of the situation I’ve landed in, however.

I would have loved a script. Any script. Authentic, unscripted Auggie might be a bit much for the British viewers, but I guess we’ll see what happens.

As we walk into the imposing and impressive entrance hall, a film crew catches my entry and reaction when I see what must be the rest of the cast curiously looking at me. Overall, they’re a tall and athletic-looking bunch, mostly under forty.

I don’t see Thomas Golden. My shoulders ease.

“Hello.” I give my best charming smile. On a list of the Top 10 Smiles in the UK, I came in at number 3, and that was after bona fide celebs. And braces when I was a teenager.

There are murmurs of greeting from the other men. I can’t help but notice a couple of them look decidedly unimpressed. Doing a quick head count, I must be lucky contestant number nine.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Or should I say:Renaissance Men.” Colin laughs at his own joke and claps his hands together. “It’s my honor to announce the arrival of His Royal Highness Prince Augustus to nearly round out our merry set for Season 1 of our little talent show. I did tell you we would have a very exciting surprise guest staying with us.”

Despair rises at the mention of talent. I’m royally screwed.

“Like he needs a million pounds,” I hear someone scoff in the background.

“Like he can actually do anything useful,” mutters someone else.

Fair point to the last.

But wait.

There’s a million pounds on the line? I should have probably read the information pack more carefully. Not that money has ever motivated me, mind, but I’m acutely aware of my privilege.

I keep my face schooled in my pleasant public persona.

“Please.” I look at the group of men. “Call me Auggie. I look forward to meeting each of you.”

In the enduring silence that follows, Colin turns to me as the gathered men start to disperse. “Let me show you to your rooms, and you can settle in—away from the film crews. Thanks, Jimmy,” he tells the closest cameraman, who finally puts the camera down.

Before we go, one of the men catches my eye and comes over with a friendly smile. Despite my nerves, I’m more than happy to see someone not eyeing me with suspicion, and I respond with an equally welcoming smile.

“Prince Auggie. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Jax.” The young man smiles merrily up at me. “My pronouns are he/they. Welcome to the show. They weren’t joking when they had an epic surprise guest joining us.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jax.” It’s thrilling to meet someone who is open about their gender identity. I can’t help but be a little envious.

“And don’t mind Wilson. He’s simply cross by nature.”

“Noted. Thanks.” Whoever Wilson might be, I appreciate the fair warning. “Please excuse me. I don’t want to keep Colin waiting.”