Page 8 of Wear It Like a Crown

“That’s not in any way relevant right now,” Joshua said. “You know I’ve got bigger problems. I was just wondering what you thought of them, the whole team, since they’re kind of… instrumental? And because of something Leo said to me, so it’s—I’ll tell you when I see you. I mean, you’ll be at Mo’s too, right? Can’t promise I’ll be good company, mind.”

For once, Tristan didn’t tease Joshua for rambling, just rolled with it. “We’ll ply you with pizza and beer,” he promised. “And yeah, I’ll be there after I drop Kels off. Mo’s worried about how we’re all co-dependent, by the way. ‘S’adorable.”

Seeing as they’d parted ways just last night after a two-week holiday spent in each other’s pockets, Mo might have a point. On the other hand, he’d been the one to suggest Joshua come over once the meetings were through. Mo did not have a leg to stand on.

“Thanks, T.” Joshua exhaled. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Hey,” Tristan said quickly, before Joshua could end the call. “I got Leo’s number, if you want it. Purely for crisis-related reasons, of course.”

Oh. Well, Joshua had been planning to call James so as to give him the go-ahead on a subtle investigation, but… calling Leo would be easier. Less need for an explanation.

It would be convenient.

“Text it to me?” Joshua asked.

“Will do,” Tristan replied, and if he sounded just a tad amused, Joshua chose to ignore it.

* * *

Leo’s phone rang during the one smoke break he allowed himself throughout the working day. Filthy habit, smoking. Nate had tried to wean him off it for the better part of a year, but Leo figured that he’d done much riskier things in life. Three cigarettes a day wouldn’t kill him, at least not anytime soon. He planned to die young and beautiful anyway.

At the generic ringtone associated with unknown numbers, he blew smoke into the warm afternoon air and fished his phone out of his pocket. A string of unfamiliar figures flashed on the screen. All right. Call centre or a street kid looking for advice.

Leaning into the balcony railing, Leo picked up with a neutral, “Yes?”

“Hi, um.” Deep, slow voice, slightly uncertain. No call centre, clearly. “Is this Leo?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Leo softened his tone, smiled so that it would shine through and tapped some ash into a gap between two wooden boards. “Kylie give you this number? How can I help, love?”

A cough, followed by a pause. Leo waited it out by taking a drag of his cigarette, all too familiar with the inherent caution the street taught you quickly and efficiently, the kind of distrust in anyone but yourself that made it hard to ask for help when you didn’t know what it would cost you. “You wanna tell me your name?” Leo asked when the silence began to drag and all he could hear was steady breathing on the other end. He deliberately thickened his accent. “Or I could talk a bit, if you want.”

“It’s Joshua,” the voice said, gentle confusion clouding the words. “Uh. Prince Joshua?”

Fuck, fuck,fuck.

Leo dropped the cigarette and crushed it with the tip of his trainer, heat rising to his face. Shit. Prince Joshua, what do you know. Hopefully, he wouldn’t make anything of the confusion.

“Joshua, hello.” Leo fought to mould the greeting into something smooth and calm. Professional, that was it. “Sorry, didn’t recognise you. Normal people state their names when they call. Didn’t they teach that at royal etiquette school?”

Well, professional had segued straight into cheeky. Okay. To Leo’s relief, Joshua huffed out a soft laugh. It shivered down Leo’s spine like a warm gust of air. “Sorry,” Joshua said. “I guess they did and I wasn’t paying attention. You haven’t been properly bored until you’ve wasted three hours of your life learning how to hold your teacupjust so.”

Properly bored. Back at Eton, Leo might have spoken like that; now, he would be proper bored rather than properly so. “Posh,” he commented. “It’s true that the art of drinking tea is sadly neglected, though. You should do something about that. Funnel your royal influence into making a true difference to people’s lives and all.”

“Hey, it’s not—we’re not totally useless, you know? We can make a real difference in some areas, even if it might not always be obvious. My mum certainly does.” Joshua sounded faintly irritated, and for once, Leo actually hadn’t meant to offend.

“I waskidding, Princeling,” he said quickly. Tilting his face up into the weak sunlight, he propped both elbows on the railing, phone wedged between cheek and shoulder. “I’m not a monarchy groupie, but I do acknowledge that you guys have a considerable amount of soft power. And that the Queen,”your mother, holy shit, “uses it well. It’s the idea of a few random lucky people being born into privilege that I object to. It’s like you’re playing FIFA at Amateur difficulty level while everyone else is set to World Class.”

Goddammit, Leo needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut. It was a recurring challenge for him, but today had turned into a new low. Then again, he deserved some slack, what with how he’d been randomly thrown into close contact with the guy he’d fancied himself in love with several years ago. In another life.

Also, did Joshua even play FIFA? Did princes do things as mundane as playing video games?

“But is that different from being born into money?” Joshua’s gravelly voice right by Leo’s ear sparked the illusion of nearness, as though Joshua was leaning in for a private murmur. “Or into an academic household? Or with athletic skills or good looks? I mean, I get what you mean, and I do think it’s important we keep working on equal opportunities, give everyone a fair shot at a good education, ensure that the same work gets the same pay, that sort of thing. Improve the scholarship system for those from poor families. But unless you want to bulldozer all differences at birth…”

Leo hadn’t expected a serious answer from Joshua, and receiving one, delivered with an air of quiet sincerity—it was disarming. “I see your point,” he admitted. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Joshua was quiet for the time it took Leo to draw a deep breath, then he gave a half-formed chuckle. “Well. They do say that a man who is not a liberal at twenty has no heart, and a man who is not a conservative at sixty has no head.”

“Paraphrasing Churchill, eh?” Leo said.