The Plans Trilogy Box Set

The Contingency Plan-2

* * * *

Marcelo stretched, then stilled. This didn’t feel right. He was on his bed, but wore his daytime clothes and lay atop the coverlet. He opened his eyes. The sun was far too high in the sky for him to be lying abed.

“Marcelo.”

He turned toward the source of the deep voice. Prince Consort Elmer sat in the chair adjacent to the bed.

“Sir? Father?”

Why was his father in his bedchamber? His salon, perhaps, would have made sense, but even that was rare. Visits with his parents took place in their suite or in the public rooms. No one except Erich or servants under his direction ever entered Marcelo’s private bedchamber.

“Are you injured? In any pain?” Father asked. “You didn’t appear to hit your head as you fell. Kemble made it over to you in time to support you during your collapse.”

“Kemble…”

Marcelo’s muscles stiffened, and his breath hitched as memory of the events in the great hall rushed into his mind. “I choose His Royal Highness, Prince Marcelo. The wedding will proceed tomorrow as planned.”

That had actually happened.

“Collapse? How…how…?” Marcelo trailed off, unsure what he wanted to ask. How could such a marriage be possible? Instead he sat and reached for the metal cup on the small bedside table.

“How did you come to awaken in your bed?” Father queried. “Prince Efren carried you. He said it was the least he could do after shocking you into a dead faint.”

The cup slipped from Marcelo’s hand and clattered to the stone floor, spilling water as it rolled, clinking across the room. And now Prince Efren had shocked him a second time. Naturally, Marcelo had assumed servants had carried him.

An unfamiliar tingle raced through his body at the thought of being held by the prince in such an intimate manner. Or was it caused by remembering the curious half-smile when the prince had let Marcelo “win” the stare-down, or the way he’d looked confidently into Marcelo’s eyes when he’d announced his choice?

Marcelo cleared his throat and shook off the strange feeling. “Father, I don’t understand. How can this be? Men don’t marry other men, and royal sons in Sheburat don’t marry anyone.”

“Men can and do marry other men in Zioneven. Likewise with women. It’s not the norm, but it’s done. In Sheburat, there are no laws forbidding it, but nobody has yet come forward to try. With this precedent, that will probably change.”

“But royal sons…”

“Again, there are no laws forbidding it. It’s a tradition borne of a long history of royal sons who’ve shown no interest in marrying.”

“I had no interest in marrying.”

“I know.” Father nodded. “But, although royal sons never married, some did take lovers.”

Tilting his head to the side, Marcelo stared blankly at his father. There didn’t seem to be any logic to these traditions whatsoever. “Why wouldn’t they have married their lovers? Did no one tell them it wasn’t forbidden?”

Father took a deep breath before continuing. “Some took lovers, but those lovers were never women.”

Marcelo’s lips parted, and he turned his head to gaze out the open window. How sheltered he’d been. Ignorant and sheltered. Ignorant of the ways of the world, at any rate. Why had no one told him such things weren’t forbidden? Or would they have done so if he had ever shown interest in making a match?

Royal sons were pampered, but not celebrated in the way that daughters were. He’d had full access to the library and had made good use of it. Although his formal education had ended earlier than that of his sisters—there’d been no need to continue beyond the basics as he would never be a statesman—he’d always had a thirst for knowledge. Clearly there were many things to learn that nobody had ventured to put into print.

So, a man could bed with another man, and presumably Prince Efren would expect that as part of their marriage. A shiver ran up his spine, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Did he actually welcome the thought?

The prince had looked at him from across the hall, sized him up, and decided Marcelo would make an acceptable partner. Prince Efren would be a hundred times worldlier than Marcelo, and probably knew that history about Sheburat’s royal sons better than he, who actually was one.

But what of Prince Efren? He’d been prepared to marry Marcela. Would he have preferred a woman? Was his desire to complete the terms of the treaty sooner rather than later more important to him than his personal choice for a spouse? And more importantly…

“Why doesn’t he care that he can’t have any legitimate heirs if he marries me?”

“Perhaps he is satisfied with letting his younger siblings and their children carry on the line.”

Marcelo stared at the fallen cup that had rolled toward the fireplace. He had so many questions, but most he would be uncomfortable asking his father.

“I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No. I’m sorry, but you don’t.”

* * * *

Marcelo closed the heavy tome with more vigor than necessary and scanned the vast walls of books in the castle library. Not only had he been sheltered from commonplace knowledge, but apparently, he shouldn’t have confidence in everything written in books either. He trusted the evidence of his own eyes, and that contradicted everything he’d heard about the people of Zioneven, and much of what he’d read in this book.

He trailed a finger along its spine. In the book, even where details were possibly factually correct, they were presented in such a fashion as to make Zioneven’s policies appear misguided or dangerous. But when he thought about it, Sheburat’s arguments against educating the commoners appeared self-serving and coldhearted. Zioneven’s policy seemed more benevolent, and likely to cultivate a more civilized society. He took heart in knowing that his family and ancestors didn’t go so far as to forbid educating the masses, but they did nothing to encourage it or make it easier to achieve.

Could this be why his people had deemed the kingdom of Zioneven to be backward? Because their common people had the ability to rise above their station at birth? Because the children of the humblest of field workers could elevate themselves to a learned position in life…maybe even a diplomat? He’d thought it was because men were allowed to rule in Zioneven even though they were considered to be generally more aggressive than women. Possibly it was a combination of these things.

True, he had yet to personally interact with any of them beyond the occasional ambassador over the years, but they’d appeared every bit as civilized when assembled in the great hall as the people of Sheburat, and their crown prince had taken it upon himself to carry Marcelo to his bedchamber after his fainting spell. That little smile kept popping up in his mind, catching him off guard, warming his heart to the man.

Allowing people with same-s*x attractions to marry each other felt like the humane thing to do, so once again, the rulers of Zioneven seemed more principled than Sheburat’s. Marcelo had accepted that he would be alone and celibate because it had simply never occurred to him that there could be another more palatable option.

More palatable. He sniffed and shook his head. Mere hours ago, the thought of marrying Prince Efren had alarmed him to the point where he’d passed out rather than deal with the thought of it. Unbelievably, he was coming around to the idea that his life might actually improve with this marriage.

It made sense that his sisters had been dismayed at the thought of moving away from a land where they were the highly respected rulers to one where they would instead have to accept the reign of a man in a land where rule passed to the oldest child without regard to that child’s gender. But for Marcelo, that concern didn’t apply.

This matriarchal society was all he’d ever known. As a royal, he was indulged, but he would have never enjoyed the status of his sisters. Would his standing be elevated in Zioneven? Would he be treated with respect? Would his opinions be valued?

A discreetly clearing throat sounded behind Marcelo, and he turned to acknowledge the person wishing to gain his attention.

Erich bowed his head. “Sir, dinner is served.”

“Thank you.”

Perhaps he could get answers to a few of his questions. It wouldn’t change the fact that he must marry Prince Efren tomorrow regardless, but it would help relieve his unsettled state of mind. He rose and set out for the great hall.

Marcelo wiped his palms on the sides of his tunic and settled his breathing before stepping into the room. Inside, the long tables stood along the center of the chamber. At the head sat his mother with his father at her right hand. His six sisters and a mix of nobles from both Sheburat and Zioneven flanked the sides. Prince Efren sat at the foot, with the seat at his right hand remaining empty.

With his shoulders back, Marcelo strode to the chair reserved for him. His face heated with the knowledge that all eyes were on him as a servant pulled out the chair. A quiver zipped up his spine as he sat so close to Prince Efren he could smell the clean musky scent of the man mixed with a whiff of a lightly floral cologne. The quiver was alien, but not unwelcomed. It was…reassuring.

He nodded respectfully to Prince Efren, but waited for the higher-ranked man to speak first. Prince Efren chose to study him for a few moments, but Marcelo kept his head high and held the gaze. As when they’d first set eyes on one another hours earlier, the result was once again for the prince to twitch up one side of his mouth. However, this time he didn’t turn away.

“Prince Marcelo, I trust you’ve fully recovered from your shock?”

Marcelo returned the slight grin. “Your Royal Highness. Thank you for asking. Indeed, I have.”

Prince Efren inclined his head. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“I hope you understand, sir, that my swoon was truly caused by my utter astonishment, and that you won’t be facing an antagonistic partner. Apparently, I’ve been shielded from the realities of life to a far greater extent than I knew.”

Prince Efren’s grin widened. “I surmised as much, but thank you for reassuring me.”

“If you don’t object, I’d like to take this opportunity to learn from you what will be expected of me. What is my role to be in your household? In your kingdom?”

“Excellent questions. I am encouraged by your interest in such matters. It would appear my diplomats’ analysis was accurate.”

“Sir?”

“Sheltered as you were, I’m sure you were still aware that since the treaty was signed, ambassadors from each of our lands have visited back and forth.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve spoken with them.”

“One of their objectives was to learn as much as they could about the characters of Princess Marcela’s younger siblings so a contingency plan could be in place should the worst happen. It was decided years ago that you would be the best choice both as a partner for me personally, and for Zioneven overall.”

For me personally. That answered one of Marcelo’s concerns. Somewhat. He still wasn’t sure if the prince would have been equally happy with Marcela, but sadly, the answer to that no longer mattered. “Is it because we shared a birthday, and there need not be any further delay?”

“That was a factor, yes, but not as important as other considerations. Although none of your sisters were found lacking, our diplomats felt you had the most empathetic temperament and an inquisitive nature, and those characteristics are highly valued in Zioneven.”