Page 6 of The Harvest Homecoming

Oh, that hit the mark like an arrow from a crossbow. “Nothing. I have nothing to be stressed about. I live a life of magic and fairy farts.”

His sigh was legendary. Seething, I toed off my sneakers. “Harold, why on earth must you assume that tone with me the moment I ask a simple question?”

“I don’t know, Papa, why do I?” I spun to face him, my anger instant and vibrant. Due to lack of sleep, a flash of clarity in the dark of night, and the general tension between him, Anders, and me, I assumed. “Perhaps it’s because my country still considers my brother and me aberrations while my father feeds that thinking?”

“Harold, I do not consider you or Anders abnormal. Your homosexuality cannot be helped. I know this now and am frankly tired of you throwing your sexuality at me like a bomb every time we see each other.”

“I’m bisexual. Anders is gay. If you’re going to persecute a people, at least get the terminology correct,” I barked and dove into the pool, leaving him to stare at my wake. I swam and swam, back and forth, unwilling to look at him. After a few moments of my ignoring his attempts to speak, he left for the castle. I did lap after lap until my biceps and thighs burned. Winded badly, I hauled my wet arse out of the pool to stare up at the glory that was Dragon’s Perch at dawn. A shudder ran over my wet skin. “Fuck my life.”

It was all I could think to say at the moment.

***

Breakfast was lovely. Not.

Papa was terse. I was crabby, tired, and feeling guilty for jumping down my father’s throat for a comment I may have taken too personally. Mama was scowling at me over her yogurt and honey. My brothers were annoying as fuck. The only bright spot during the meal was Alva, who chatted amiably with us about the upcoming festival preparations. Such a pretty woman. A British rose, if ever there was one. Blond hair, blue eyes, petite, pleasant, smart as a whip. Also, a very fine dresser. I liked her a great deal. I liked both the women my brothers had married.

Rolling a hard-boiled egg back and forth on my plate, I pondered what married life was actually like. I avoided it like the plague, for marriage meant being with one person forever. A rake I might have been, but I’d never cheated. Of course, the only person I’d been with longer than a single night was Rani. That right there should have told me something even back then, but my head was as hard as granite. Several of my tutors had said as much.

“So, I think it’s wonderful that all the royal family will be helping with the preparations for this year’s festival,” Alva said as a servant placed a dish filled with herring and cod roe in front of her. “The people will love having everyone help out. It will foster goodwill to have the royal family rubbing elbows with us. I have our days all plotted out for the next few weeks. Harold is very good with the people, and they love him—”

“At least someone does,” I mumbled gloomily under my breath.

Alva chose to ignore my sad-sack state. “So, I thought he and I would go out to the farmers and producers every day to gather the goods that we’ll need for our booth. All proceeds will be donated to local charities, and we’ll have contests throughout the festival. Largest pumpkin, heaviest squash, prettiest sheep, that sort of thing. What is…is that caviar?”

I looked at the small plate of fish eggs and nodded. “Fresh from the North Sea,” I commented, with a thought to spoon myself some later.

“Oh, yes, I…it’s got a briny smell,” she whispered. “Not…well…it’s…”

When she drifted off, I glanced up from my egg. Her color had gone from porcelain white to a shade of mossy sort of green. Frode and Ivar were bickering over some streaming show about ghost hunters across from me, seemingly oblivious.

“Alva?” I asked, sitting up from my slump to watch in horror as the always refined princess or lady, take your pick, threw up into her napkin. Not that the napkin could hold it, obviously. We all leapt to our feet. Alva began to weep copious tears.

“Oh my God…” Alva gasped, staggering to her tiny feet, napkin held to her face. “I’m not feeling…well…Rani will go with…you today…Harold.” She threw up again. Ivar rushed to her and helped her from the dining room. Everyone was concerned about our lovely lady, of course, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t rather chipper about spending the day with Rani. Would he be as happy as I was?

Chapter Five

No. He was not as happy as I was. Not even close to happy.

Unhappy best described it. Sullen. Rude. Well, not exactly rude, as I was a prince, so he couldn’t be blatantly ill-mannered to me in front of Houghton and Vetra, but he was a sliver away from raising a lip every time our eyes met.

Seated in the back of a security vehicle as we made our way through the lovely countryside of Östermon, the tension was so thick it was a wonder Houghton could see through the fog of strain to drive. Rani was engaged with Vetra, comparing notes from Alva to my PA to ensure we did everything on the agenda for the day. Alva was nothing if not incredibly organized—much thanks to Rani for that, I was sure—and punctual to a fault, as was Rani.

I dithered over my clothing and hair overmuch, so we were running late. A fact that did not go unnoticed by Rani. Vetra and Houghton were used to my tardiness. Vetra had taken to telling me an event began at nine when, in fact, it began at ten just to ensure I’d be there on time. Most times it worked. This morning it didn’t. I’d wanted to look good for Rani, as I was now contemplating how to win his affections back. The casual jeans, sweater, and hiking boots look had worked, for he checked me out when I joined them at the SUV. Then, of course, he frowned before climbing into the front seat beside Houghton.

So, he still found me attractive. Good to know. I found him utterly delicious in his dressed-down garb for the day. One didn’t wear thousand-pound Euro dress shoes to a sheep farm. He was in jeans as well, topped with a crisp green button shirt with a light checked flannel shirt tucked in the front, out in the back, ala Tan France.

Feeling rather good about the once-over from Mr. Adhikari, I let my head rest on the window as the personal assistants chattered.

“The tour of the sheep farm will take about two hours total. Several members of the press have been invited, along with Jens Rankin,” Vetra was explaining. Jens was a professional photographer who had been one of our chosen royal photographers for twenty years. We called him out for all of our prestigious events as well as ceremonies, birthdays, and the like. Back in the day, before everyone had a cell phone, this was common practice. Now it was usually just for high-profile things, so Jens coming out was a sign that my parents wanted these rural visits to be captured well. I’d take some casual images on my phone, as would Vetra, and we’d share them with Rani and vice versa for social media postings. “After the tour, there’s a late luncheon at two at the Torslev town hall. They’ll be serving lamb dishes mostly, as that portion of the country is very sheep-rich. That should take two hours minimum. Houghton, the local law enforcement has been notified and will send two of their men to aid you in security.”

“Very good,” Houghton said, glancing into the rear view to see me before his sight returned to the road.

“After the meal, there is a small concert for you by the local school children with some songs and dances at one of the town churches. That will be completed by seven, and we should have you back at the castle by eight. Nine at the latest. Is there anything you wish to add to the agenda, Sir?” Vetra asked, pulling me from my admiration of Rani’s lovely neck. My gaze flew from his Adam’s apple to his dark eyes. Then I looked at Vetra, cheeks warming, to avoid the glower from Rani that was surely coming.

“No, that should do me in,” I replied with a smile. “These farmers are such wild things that I may have to tumble into bed as soon as we return home to recuperate.”

Vetra chuckled. Houghton smiled. Rani rolled his eyes. Oh well, two out of three.