His eyes light up with glee—he knows he's gotten under my skin. He strolls into the theater room, hands still in his pockets. He’s not quite as tall as Benedict but still tall enough to loom over me.
“Here's the deal,” he says. “If you want to reel in a real royal, you should consider me.”
“What are you talking about?” I repeat. I want to tell Franz he’s smoking crack but now he’s got me confused. “You’re the younger brother. Benedict’s next in line for the throne.”
Franz taps the side of his nose then points at me, looking sly. “But is he?”
“Yes.” Suspense makes me grouchy. I prop my hands on my hips. “From all my understanding of succession in this country.”
“Well then, let me let you in on a little secret.” Franz leans into my space. I angle myself away but he whispers in my ear. “He’s not the real deal. Not legitimate.”
He leans back, probably to watch my reaction. I keep my face blank, and he continues, “Our mother liked a smorgasbord of men. Who knows who his real father is? It wasn’t mine.”
Behind my calm expression, my thoughts are racing back and forth, bumping into each other and falling down.
Franz pauses as if savoring the moment. “There’s only one of us who has a chance at the throne, and it's not him.”
“You're lying.” I’m breathing hard. Franz has to be lying. This is crazy. Does Benedict know this? Does the queen know what is going on?
“One thing's true,” Franz keeps talking. “Seduce two brothers, you double your chances.” I open my mouth to tell him off and he bends down, slanting his head to kiss my lips.
“Bleh!” I push him away and he grabs my arm.
Before he can do anything, Benedict’s sharp voice interrupts. “Franz!”
Franz lets me go and I jump away from him. I wish I had a baseball bat handy. Is clobbering a royal an imprisonable offense? Probably. But it’d be worth it.
“Don't touch me,” I say shakily.
Franz sneers at me but turns to his brother. Benedict blows past him, furious and sudden as a summer storm. He inserts himself between Franz and me, and puts his arm around my shoulders. He smells of popcorn, and I spot the tray with a full bowl of buttery goodness and two glass soda bottles on a side table.
He came to my rescue. I sag into him.
“Better watch her, brother,” Franz snarls. “When she heard you're not headed to the throne, she was all too willing to ditch you for a short ride.” It’s such a lie, my face turns red and I can’t speak.
“You will stay away from Frankie,” Benedict commands. He steers me away, putting his back to his brother. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
Behind us, Franz golf claps. “Good show. Eight out of ten.” He mimes holding up a number like a judge. “French her, and you might convince me.”
“I'm warning you,” Benedict says, turning back around. “Leave her alone.”
“So you’re trying to tell me this is real?” Franz cocks his head to the side.
“My relationship with Frankie is none of your business,” Benedict says and sneers. “Run along, boy. Go play with your toys. The grownups are talking now.”
Franz flushes, and I know Benedict's jab hit its mark.
“She's a gold-digger,” Franz shoots back, his hands fisted at his sides. “Everyone's talking about it. Why do you think the paparazzi is all over you? The story's about to break.”
“Get out,” Benedict thunders. His arm is rigid when I place a hand on it.
“It's okay, Benedict,” I whisper. “He can't hurt me.”
“But I can hurt him, Frankie,” Franz says. “I know the truth. He’s as fake as you are.”
“What are you talking about?” I edge my tone with scorn. But Benedict stiffens at my side.
Franz can tell he’s landed a blow. “That’s right, big bro. I know your secret. You know, I always thought it was weird how perfect you acted all the time. Then I realized… you had to be. You’re a bastard, in every sense of the word.”
I wait for Benedict to deny it. The duke’s jaw is clenched, his face paler than normal.
“And then I dug a bit deeper and figured out what this is.” Franz waves a hand at both of us. “Another story. Another lie. People always compare me to you. Mr. Perfect. What would they say if they knew the truth?”
The silence between Franz’s statements is heavy and awful.
“Don't worry, half-brother.” Franz smirks over his shoulder as he turns away. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He pauses in the doorway. “For now.”
“Get out,” Benedict snaps, but Franz is already gone.
The silence after Franz has left is even more awful.
“Is it true?” I ask.
Benedict presses his lips together. For a long moment, I think he’s not going to answer me. “Yes, it's true.” He looks away. “It's the worst secret of my life. And if I'm not careful, it will destroy everything.”
Chapter 11
Frankie
We're on the loveseat, curled up together. Franz is long gone. The movie is playing silently over our heads.
“I was twelve when I found out,” Benedict says. “Overhearing an argument between my mother and the man I thought was my father. He always preferred Franz to me,” he adds in a lower voice, almost as if he's talking to himself. “I always wondered why.”
I squeeze his hand after a moment, bringing him back to me. “You must have been devastated.”
His lips curve in a self-mocking grimace. “You should laugh at me. I was born with every avenue open to me. I was already in training to be Crown Prince—in case my aunt died and my mother became queen. Although, it was expected—not spoken of but hinted at—that my aunt would outlive my mother. My mother was wild even then. The details of my birth drove a wedge between her and her husband. The man I thought was my father. I always wondered why he was so cold…”
His mother and her husband were fighting the night she died, I remember with frozen clarity.
“What did you do?” I asked after he remained silent for a long while. “What did you do when you found out?”
He shakes himself, blinking like he's just been roused from a deep sleep. A reverie of memory. “I went along as normal, I suppose. Tried a little harder to be good. To be the best, to become the man they all needed me to be. After my mother died, my aunt brought me into a private audience. I was so nervous because it was her formal sitting room—the one where she speaks to presidents and prime ministers. Where she has her weekly debrief on the state of the nation. So I knew the meeting was serious. She told me the details of what I already knew: that my mother had lain with a man who was unmarried. There were hints of it in the paparazzi but she’d hidden it well enough. And I looked enough like Franz’s father that the rumors were quelled. But if ever anyone went digging and found out… it would be the end of everything.”
I bite my lip. I don't quite understand the importance of secession in this country, but to Benedict, it’s everything. A duty. A destiny. A sword of Damocles hanging over his head.