Page 93 of King of the Crease

“Those men aren’t ruling a country. Ardenia isn’t ready for their future king to live that lifestyle. I’m sorry, but they just aren’t.”

I’ve spent my life living in a straight line watching everyone else get to zig and zag. I am exhausted. The dread of having to go back to pretending chokes me. If I keep living a lie, I will wear myself to dust. One day, I will be wiped off this earth with nobody knowing who I truly was, and that terrifies me.

“I will not marry someone under false pretenses,” I say. “That would be cruel to everyone involved.”

“You will do your duty.” Why can’t he see me as his son first and prince second? One time, that’s all I want.

“My duty,” I reply, voice steadier than I feel, “is also to be honest. How does being miserable in a fake marriage help the people of Ardenia?” A sliver of light appears in my dark tunnel. “What if I publicly came out?”

Agnes’s eyes jump at the suggestion.

“There will be lots of media coverage at first, but it will eventually blow over. In time, people in Ardenia and our allies will get used to the idea of a gay royal who’s married to a man. By the time I take over the crown, it will be old news, and the transition will be seamless. We just need to give it time.”

Another long silence.

“We don’t have time, Nicholas.” For the first time, there’s no reprimand in his tone. Only exhaustion.

My grip tightens on the phone. “What do you mean?”

“I am ill.”

The words don’t register at first.

“…Ill?”

“I was diagnosed with ALS three months ago. The disease has been progressing rapidly since November, getting more aggressive. The doctors estimate that in a year, I will lose complete motor function. No movement or talking.” All of his intimidation vanishes. All that’s left is fear.

My father won’t be able to move or talk? The statement sounds ludicrous, like some made up language. The room tilts.

“That’s why you’ve been insistent that I get married and produce an heir. I’m taking over sooner than expected.” I slide down a wall to the floor, doing all I can not to cry. It’s no use. Tears spring from my eyes.

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you the news.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you let me stay in America for a month?”

“Agnes was very insistent. She can be a bit intimidating," the king says. “You wanted freedom, and I wished to give you that for a little while.”

I press a hand to my mouth, breath coming unevenly.

“I cannot continue as monarch much longer,” the king went on. “The transition must begin now. The country needs stability. It needs you.”

All the anger drains away, replaced by something heavier—my duty to my country, to my father.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. I thought I was at peace with my mother’s death years ago, but the wounds rip open at this news.

“You will learn,” he says gently. “You always do.”

When the call ends, I stand frozen in the dim room, phone still pressed to my ear long after the line went dead.

Outside, Christmas lights blink in soft red and gold through the window.

“Your Highness…” Agnes approaches slowly, her eyes red from a brief bout of tears.

Love, freedom, identity—all of it feels smaller now beside the weight of a crown I never wanted but can no longer refuse.

“Make sure the jet is ready to go tomorrow.”

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