Page 5 of The Harvest Homecoming

That felt like a slap in the face. “Ugh, don’t. Please. Be angry at me for leaving you, but don’t be this icy golem. We both know you have fire inside you.”

His nostrils flared. For a moment, I feared he might conk me with his adored PDA.

“What or whom is inside of me is none of your business, Your Highness.”

Well, I hoped there was no one inside him. That would be…terrible. Surely he wasn’t with someone. Was he? Damn it.

“Is there someone inside of you?” He glowered. “Asking for a friend.”

That snapped the rubber band he’d had wrapped around his composure. “If there is someone inside of me, Your Royal Highness, he’s there because you vacated that spot inside of me when you ran like a terrified rabbit the night I confessed having feelings for you. Also, this line of questioning is highly inappropriate and certainly illegal.”

Fuck. Yes, he was right. Shit. Damn. Fuck. Hell. And any other random expletive that fits.

“You’ve picked up a touch of a British accent. It’s very appealing mixed with the—”

He poked a finger at my face. “Do not try to be charming. It will not work with me, not any longer. Now, if you’re done being an arse, I would like to continue on my way. Princess Alva is waiting for me.”

“Of course,” I muttered, stepping aside to give him room. Not that he required it—he was a slim man—but his ire was huge. Off he went with his nose in the air, gathering looks from one of the staff refilling an urn with fresh flowers.

“Damn it to hell and back,” I said, watching Rani round a corner without once looking back. The staffer dipped his head, hands filled with bright yellow mums, as I spun on my heel to retire to the music room. Perhaps mangling Schumann’s Piano Concerto in A Minor would make me feel better, or at least slightly less guilty. Doubtful but possible. My playing had never made Master Ballo any happier.

***

It’s truly amazing how clarity of mind settles in during a long, restless night.

Lying awake in the room where I had slept since childhood—refurbished to a more adult design after I’d left for college at the University of Oslo—I had an epiphany. Usually those occurred while in the shower, or while driving, or even when sitting on the toilet. But last night, with the ringing of a mutilated piano concerto and Rani’s biting words echoing in my head, I was enlightened.

I loved Rani Adhikari.

Me, Prince Harold of Östermon, possessor of the European Cup of Inglorious Behaviors & Dishonorable Romantic Actions, had fallen. Blindly, it seemed, and for many years, but fallen I had.

It came to me around two in the morning, as many revelations do, when I threw the covers off in disgust to go piss. After emptying my bladder, I made my way to a finely upholstered sleeping chair that had been rattling around since the late sixteen hundreds. Though fairly gaudy for my tastes, the floral-designed seat was ridiculously comfortable given its age. I flopped down in it then stretched out my legs to place my bare feet near the fire. September meant a fire for me, even if the others in the castle considered me daft. Always Chilly Harold Frode had coined me years ago. I never argued with that nickname.

Staring into the flames, my mind synced with my breath, which opened up a karmic channel to the vastness of time and space. Much like a certain doctor in his blue box, I soared through the cosmos of my mind until I landed at a point in time. The night Rani confessed he loved me after we’d fucked ourselves silly. Something we did with regularity. Even back then, I knew the sex was beyond anything I’d experienced before. And I had a lot of experience. Randy princes were common in Europe. A dime a dozen, to be honest. Rich, foolish, horny lads with no restraints on their wallets or libidos.

Rani was special, but I’d been too stupid to see it. No, that’s untrue. I’d seen it. I’d felt it. And I’d run as soon as he spoke of love. Love. Incredible how much power that tiny word possessed. Love. He’d whispered he loved me, and I froze, stammered some excuse about needing to return to Östermon the next day. Blinking at me with eyes wide, dark, and filled with devotion, he softly nodded while I panicked. I kissed him goodbye the following morning and flew home, leaving him in Oslo. Endless texts from him lingered unanswered. Eventually, he stopped trying to contact me and moved on with his life.

His life led him to finding a position with my brother as his personal assistant. Ah, the fates. Funny, fickle things they are, plucking away at the life threads of we mortals. Surely Rani knew that taking the assignment with Anders would put him and me in close proximity. The first time I’d seen him at Anders side, I nearly choked on my tongue, but Rani…ah Rani, he merely cocked a neatly plucked brow, bowed when introduced, and led Anders off to a charity event without so much as a ‘fuck all the way off, you pretentious prick’ which I would have fully deserved. Still did, if I were being honest. But now the shoe was on the other foot. My pea-sized brain had matured enough to be able to grasp the concept that I loved the man. Only problem was that he loathed me.

I spent hours staring at the fire, wringing my hands, roasting myself mentally over the flames, trying to see a way out of the shit pit I’d dug for myself. When dawn painted the sky with shades of pink, blue, and purple, I was no closer to a plan to win Rani’s affections back. What I did have was a numb bum and a need to move.

I pulled on some swim trunks, an Östermon United fotball team tee, and some sneakers sans socks to head to the inground pool in the side garden. A few dozen laps in the heated waters might work out some of the tension from my late-night realization. Or possibly lead me in the direction of a solution. How does one get a man to give them a second chance? I didn’t have one damn clue.

The castle was quiet for the most part, as it was terribly early. A few staffers were moving about—opening curtains in the halls, polishing some of the furniture in the queen’s library, jobs that were silent. The kitchen staff would be in full bustle, readying breakfast to be served in the small dining room overlooking the azalea garden. The private room where the family ate, or at least one of them. There were several.

Stepping through the double glass doors, the nip of fall in the air made me shiver. I’d been so wrapped up in being gobsmacked, I’d not brought a sweater. Gazing down from the stone patio bedecked with cement urns overflowing with fall flowers, I watched my father slicing through the waters of the Olympic pool. The man swam every morning at the crack of dawn. I should have recalled that. Damn Rani and his hold on me. Now here I stood like a dolt, watching a man going on seventy cut through the bright blue water like a dolphin. Papa had held up well. Of course, he worked at it, which was something I’d also recently realized I should be doing.

Well shit. I really had no desire to get into it with the king so fucking early in the—

“Harold!” Papa shouted just as I was about to turn around. He held up a hand as he bobbed in the deep end. I waved back, sucked up my reservations, and padded down the wide steps to the pool. The smell of chlorine hit my nose. He swam to the shallow end and placed his forearms on the lip of the pool. “Are you coming home?”

“No, I’m just up,” I replied, ignoring the pointed question. A fair one. Just a year or so ago, I would have been freshly home, soused, reeking of cigarette smoke and sex. His eyes rounded. “I had a bad night’s sleep. Insomnia again.”

“Ah. Your grandfather used to say that only those with guilty minds couldn’t sleep well at night,” Papa remarked as he climbed out of the water to grab a towel waiting for him on a nearby table/umbrella set.

“Grandpa knew little of modern medicine. There are various reasons for insomnia, from medical conditions to medications to stress-related issues.” I fired back while yanking off my tee to chuck it onto the neatly tended grass.

“Stress?” He looked up from running the towel over his still-toned chest. Sure, the hairs on his six-pack were mostly silver, but he had a six-pack. If I had a magnifying glass, I still would not be able to locate my abdominal muscles. “What on earth do you have to be stressed about?”