Page 7 of Will You (Not) Marry Me

FINN

Finn had managed to keep up the appearance of being entirely sober until the precise moment that he stumbled through the door of his private rooms in the palace, his feet suddenly becoming too big, too clumsy and tripping him up. His balance finally gave out just as he sank down on the sofa in the sitting room, his knee smacking against the marble coffee table. At least his head was spinning less now that it was resting on some cushions.

He had arrived at the charity gala fashionably late but had still been stuck talking and networking until the early hours of the morning. Was it three a.m.? Four? It was that in-between time where it wasn’t really night and not really morning. He used to call it make-believe time, as if it didn’t really count. It definitely felt like it counted now.

He’d been continuously offered drinks by an Italian politician until his head was buzzing uncomfortably. Finn could usually hold his alcohol, but he hadn’t slept properly in days and had been living off of canapés and other insubstantial party food. So when he finally managed to evade the politician only to get cornered by a lesser member of the Japanese royal family, who also wanted to offer him drink after drink out of flattery, Finn had to resort to dumping his drinks into random pot plants and out of windows so he didn’t end up slurring his words. One of the waitresses had taken pity on him, helping him switch out drinks for non-alcoholic dupes. Finn had made sure to go up to the event organizers and praise her specifically. She was probably the only reason he’d been able to remain standing as long as he had.

But he still wasn’t feeling great. His head was thumping, and his mouth felt far too dry. His tuxedo was too stiff, too tight, and he clawed at the bow tie around his neck to try and relieve the pressure.

The event had been a success, though, and even feeling sick, he was still content knowing that. He’d made a good impression as crown prince of Eschenberg, especially to the Italians and Japanese, it seemed. He’d been the perfect representative of his country. That was the main thing. He’d done his job to perfection. That was all that mattered.

Even though he hadn’t yet hit thirty, this was his least favorite part of the job: the late nights, the parties, the drinking. He could do the official meetings, the speeches, the TV appearances… Finn could keep smiling for hours despite his face hurting, and he was sure he was going to get arthritis from shaking so many hands. But nights like these had him feeling drained. How was it that justtalkingcould make you so tired? And wasn’t drinking to excess supposed to be fun?

He slumped further down on the sofa, his shirt now loose enough to be semi-comfortable, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket. Mina, the head housekeeper, would probably find him like this in the morning with a tut of disapproval for drooling on the sofa. Then she’d forgive him. She always did.

Finn wriggled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, not seeing much of it in the dark. A familiar little prickle of guilt was worming away in his chest. He shouldn’t be complaining about his royal duties, even in the privacy of his own mind. Along with all the charity events and public appearances came a painfully clear awareness of how privileged he was, how wealthy. He knew how the public felt, how they struggled. He read the letters he was sent and paid attention to the polls. Finn did actually care. Attending events like tonight, he knew some other leaders didn’t think that way, but he did. Maybe that was why being crown prince felt so emotionally exhausting when other royals in other nations seemed so carefree.

This is why he didn’t like drinking… He swung violently from sulking to guilt-ridden, back and forth until the hangover hit.

What was he complaining about?

Finn groaned and rubbed his face as that guilt washed over him again. He was lying back on a sofa in his private suite in his family’s palace, wearing a tuxedo, of all things. His life was just fine. Charity galas weren’thard.

But itwashard. Especially doing all of this on his own. Finn was an only child and had no siblings to share the burden of the royal press junkets. And his father… well, his father’s health wasn’t exactly great these days, so he’d taken on even more of the events, the appearances and the duties. His immediate family hadn’t really talked about the situation. They’d all just silently taken note of the king’s failing dexterity, the tremors that grew more frequent and more visible.

Collectively, without anyone mentioning the elephant in the room, Finn and his family had all come to the understanding that Finn would be taking over sooner rather than later. Doctors had stated that King Josef still had many years left in him; the information passed along quietly and not repeated. But that didn’t mean he’d be up for ruling a country during those years. So they’d all kept tight-lipped as usual. Discussing things openly wasn’t really how the family did things. Their communication consisted mostly of a lot of subtle nods, maybe a few hushed words. If ever there was a conversation about something unsavory, then it was promptly forgotten once they’d left the room, shoved to the back of one’s mind.

Finn had never been able to talk to his parents about things like feelings. He was more likely to have a public relations meeting with them than a heart-to-heart. Which was fine. It was just how things were. It wasn’t like he knew any different.

Finn was… tired. So tired. Soon enough though, his thumping thoughts started to quiet down, his breathing slowed, and he drifted into sleep.

* * *

In the bright light of day, Finn had stopped feeling sorry for himself, embarrassed by his own sulking the night before. Not that he’d told anyone, but still. It was a new day, and with a shower, a fresh pair of clothes, the expected head shaking from Mina as she tidied up after him (and maybe a couple of painkillers for that headache that was still hanging around), he was back to inhabiting the role of the perfect prince. It was a persona he’d crafted carefully over the years, mixing together all the things needed to be a spokesperson, a royal, a son and a public figure.

The casual attire he’d thrown on for the day couldn’t really be called casual at all. A pressed dress shirt, the sleeves carefully rolled to below his elbows, dress pants and leather shoes. His dark chestnut hair was always neat and trimmed, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let his facial hair grow out for more than a day. His image was both neat and refined. Elegant and approachable. He was recognizable by everyone in Eschenberg but wore clothes plain enough that sometimes, just for a second, he might be able to slip into the background without being noticed. It was an image that he’d spent years perfecting, and it hadn’t failed him so far.

He had a meeting scheduled with his parents at ten that morning. It was usually the only time he really spoke to them these days, with how many of the royal duties he’d taken on. And ten, at least, was late enough in the morning for the painkillers to start working on his throbbing headache. There wasn’t much that could cure the sluggish feeling of a hangover, though, other than time.

Finn was fully aware that he was burning the candle at both ends, but the only way he was going to be able to have any sort of nap today would be to schedule it. Was that a normal thing that the rest of the world did? Or was it a Finn Baumann exclusive experience?

He pondered that as he wandered down the hall to the sitting room he and his parents preferred to meet in, his steps silent on the plush carpet. At ten precisely he opened the door. His parents, the king and queen of Eschenberg, the beloved leaders of the small but mighty nation, were already waiting for him. It was almost supernatural how they moved about the palace, and Finn had never quite been able to figure it out. They were seated in two of the three plush armchairs around a small coffee table, the morning sun streaming through the window and glinting off of all the reds and golds.

“Good morning,” he said, giving a little bow.

“Good morning,” rumbled his father, his voice deeper than most. “I heard last night went well?”

The man’s mobility might be slowly failing him, but he still had eyes everywhere to tell him precisely what was happening at any location at any time.

“Yes,” answered Finn. “Well enough that I might need a few days to recover.”

“To be young again.” His father smirked, entirely unsympathetic. Finn smiled, glad that the king was well enough to show some of his dry humor this morning.

His mother, meanwhile, looked up from her phone, where she had presumably been reading an email. She always had been the brains behind the operation, though neither of his parents would ever admit it out loud.

“Good morning, dear,” Queen Clara chirped, putting her phone away. She thought it rude to have a cell phone in sight unless absolutely necessary.

“Morning, Mother,” Finn said fondly, bending down to where she sat to give her a kiss on the cheek.

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