And another one. I'm excited for both the new Royals episode and the NFL Conference Championships. Obviously I'm #teamRobert and #teamSteelers. Pretty sure that the brother who wins the boxing match, will lose the girl. But I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Thank you guys for reading and reviewing. You're too kind!

ACT I.

Ahasuerus

Part III.

Hosea

He had slept until noon. If Liam hadn't come banging on his door, he probably would've slept longer. Not because he was that tired – which he was, mind you – but he simply was not – not, not, not – in the mood for another day of tittering and giggling and whatever else his tavern wenches were prone to do. He had taken to calling them that after three of them had gotten shitfaced drunk on champagne, had wanted to show him the champagne room – even though Poppy had insisted there was no sex in the champagne room – yet another American pop culture reference only she understood – and later on they, as a unified front, had barfed all over Jasper's front when he went to collect them from the Ascot Bar.

The highlight of my day.

Because Jasper's misery was Robert's joy.

As it should be.

The day, however, seemed more gently-paced than the one before and Robert, though he was loath to admit, was indeed enjoying himself. He had an ice-cold foaming pint in one hand and Surrey – perhaps Poppy had been right; the girl was nice – was playing with the ring on his other while engaging him in pleasant conversation - even though at the moment he wasn't given her his full undivided attention. She was gracious enough to pretend not to notice. He liked that.

They were lounging near the Parade Ring, all of them, and Robert took a moment to simply enjoy the moment. Beck, Gemma and Ashok were captivated by Willow, who was telling them the story of her love confession to Liam, while his younger brother stood a bit to the side, leaning against the railing with Jasper, the two of them looking for all intents fitter than Robert was comfortable with.

I, after all, am the best-looking bloke of the Commonwealth and let none dare say different.

They took the attention of the press away from him, though, and he decided he couldn't be bothered. He sent Jasper a text though.

Button up, vagabond.

Which the man did. The Kingdom was not in need of pictures of half-naked bodyguards. Especially not when the entire nation knew Eleanor was shagging said bodyguard.

He grimaced at the thought and took a drag from his beer to chase the matching image away.

'Placed your bet yet, My Liege?'

He had already told her earlier to call him Robert, but she insisted on his formal title. He didn't correct her anymore. Perhaps secretly he liked it. Judging by the twinkle in her eyes everytime she said, he assumed she was very well aware he liked it. The shrew.

My liege.

He'd wish his siblings would address him this way.

As was proper.

He smirked and showed her his bet slip, firmly held in the same hand as his beer – his two most important possessions this afternoon –, slightly damp with beer but most definitely the winning slip. The Group One Prince of Wales's Stakes was the most important horse race of the entire event. Appropriate, since it was his race - Liam had made complaints that it should be his title - Prince of Wales - but Robert had quickly reminded him that even though his brother was next in line now, he would always be just the spare - and he'd be damned to miss it. Especially not since his own Thoroughbred Prince Robert – and no one would fault the King of England his narcissism – was to compete. The black colt – not a colt anymore, but a stallion, Robert reminded himself – was new to the field, having only ran three other races before, but Robert had faith in his namesake. Better yet, the odds of the Prince winning were unheard of.

Outlandishly high and outlandishly mine.

Some of the other counties were chatting amongst themselves. Eleanor had found a friend in Cumbria and Robert wasn't surprised. They were both not the full shilling and as long as they weren't bothering him, he considered it a blessing. But best of all was the absence of his dark-haired pest, who he hadn't seen since their little altercation in the hallway the day before. He was already dreading her unpreventable return, but for now he was simply enjoying the peace and quiet.

He was grateful, though. Overnight she had gotten rid of twelve of his admirers, no doubt with help from his mother who'd had a few choice words to spare for the three alkies, Oxfordshire in particular. The girls he was left with were particularly more stable of mind than them, with the exception of Cumbria.

'It's starting,' Ashok cried out as the first horses were led into the Parade Ring. Surrey cheered softly and, grinning, he pulled her closer. She looked up surprised, but nestled herself more comfortably against his side.

Female company, a pint and horse racing. Am I in heaven?

He leaned against the railing and breathed in deeply. He loved the smell of horses. Especially when said horses were about to make him a lot of money. He saw his own horse being led onto the circuit and smirked. The animal was already high-strung, more so than the others. Thoroughbreds were made to race and carrying a jockey on its back was only secondary. Prince Robert also had a tendency to bite – much like his owner – making it even easier to pick him from a crowd. As if his jet black coat wasn't obvious enough.

The Prince's trainer had advised him to castrate the horse, but Robert would hear none of it. He applauded his horse's temper and he eventually planned to retire him as a stud. Therefore, the Prince was to remain intact.

No one's touching our balls, God be damned.

The horse's attendant waved at Robert when he recognized him and Robert nodded in return. He smirked when the bloke needed two hands to rein in the horse. Jim Crowley, the Prince's jockey, grinned as well and stopped near Robert and Surrey.

'Wotcha,' he said almost fraternally. Robert smiled and clasped his arm in greeting.

And thank the bloody lord none of the press were near, because a commoner addressing him with "wotcha"…

Bloody unheard of and he'd rather keep it that way.

Not that Jim was just a commoner. Robert respected him. The man was a hard worker. One didn't become Champion Jockey by lazing about.

'This's the future wife then?' Jim asked, never one to mince his words.

Berkshire halfwit.

'Who knows.' Surrey smiled graciously before Robert could respond.

And you signed your own death warrant, doll.

The other counties were looking at them, eyes narrowed. Robert gave them the stink eye - jealous banshees -, but followed up with a sassy wink.

Keep up pretenses. He could practically hear Poppy's voice in his head.

He sighed and shook his head. 'Let's move to the Furlong Club.'

The Royal family always watched the Stakes in their private box at the Grandstand, but Wednesdays traditionally attracted a smaller crowd and the Furlong brought them closer to the tracks. It was a somewhat public area – normally too public for his tastes – but today Robert wanted to witness everything.

Have the bloody dirt of the course smear my face.

He clapped Jim on the back. 'Make me proud, mate.' Squeezed his shoulder for good measure. 'Try to stay on and good luck.'

Jim chuckled. 'Seems to me you need the luck more than I do, Your Highness.'

And he bloody well was right.

The Furlong Club was the perfect venue to luxuriously enjoy the race. A limited number of people was allowed entry, ensuring uninterrupted views of the track. He did a quick sweep of the place, but concluded Poppy wasn't here either. Hence the absence of dastardly vapour.

Robert, personally, was a great admirer of the Furlong's extensive bar, as, evidently, was Jasper.

'A Scotch, then,' Robert called after him. 'Since you so courteously offered.'

He took position against the banisters and disentangled himself from Surrey. She seemed to disagree, but he turned away from her before she could voice her objections.

Freedom.

Just in time because they were off.

And for fuck's sake, Prince was in good position. Around the first bend they raced and Robert gripped the railing tightly. Shouted. They thundered down the track and bloody hell, this was what the Ascot was about. Prince was in third position, four lengths behind, but Jim hadn't even used his whip yet.

Hadn't even used his bleeding whip yet!

Robert knew – knew – they were holding back.

The crowd cried out, Robert cried and they rounded another bend.

Prince moved into second place as Jim pushed him, smooth and hard.

Hold the whip, hold the whip.

Then they came into full view again, the last bend of the racecourse.

Robert screamed. 'Whip him!'

The tightening of muscles was a beautiful thing to witness. He could see the pressure building up, very nearly felt the horse coil tightly, surely, patiently.

And then they exploded forward. Exploded.

Robert just about exploded as well.

'Seven lengths!' Suddenly there were cameras everywhere. 'Won by seven fucking lengths.' Camera's everywhere because the King's horse won.

I bloody won.

He was exuberant, high on whatever and fuck, Surrey was just standing there.

Fuck it. I'm King.

He lifted her up in the air. She squealed, eyes twinkling. Twirled her around.

'My liege.'

Camera's flashing.

Man, he liked hearing that.

Reporters.

'King Robert, what's your first reaction to the Prince's win?'

He had no idea what possessed him.

No bleeding clue.

He kissed her.

And fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Her hand found the back of his neck and she tangled her fingers in his hair. Held him to her and she was soft and pliable and.. She gasped and what the hell am I doing?

He pulled back jerkily, stepped away from her, eyes wide. Immediately reporters filled the space between them, pushed her back, out of the circle they had created – thank God, he didn't have to do that – and fuck.

Eleanor was staring at him, openmouthed. Dismayed, or was it just his imagination? He turned so he couldn't see her anymore and focused all his attention on the reporters. Exhausted himself by answering all of their questions – there were many and thank God only few about that blighted kiss.

And all he could hear was fuck.

Afterwards they moved to the Royal's private box, though some of the other counties opted to stay behind. Robert couldn't blame them. He evaded Surrey, though, and collected the Scotch Jasper had gotten him, before settling a distance away from the others, near the parapet.

Jesus, what did I do?

Luckily Poppy hadn't been there. She would have given him hell.

'Jump,' a voice suddenly sounded in his ear.

And jump he did.

I knew my bloody luck couldn't last.

And there she was. His infamous trial and burden.

'You know,' Poppy said, leaning back next to him, against the parapet. 'When I said Surrey seemed like a nice girl, I didn't mean be all over her and kiss her in front of the camera's.'

She wasn't pleased. He could tell, no matter how hard she tried to restrain her displeasure.

He smirked and arched an eyebrow.

'What? Jealous?'

She ignored his comment. 'And why didn't you go to your private box? I mean, the Furlong, Robert. Are you serious?'

'We're in the private box now.' He subtly reminded her to lower her voice, because people could be listening.

'Too little, too late.' She pushed passed him and groaned. 'How the hell am I going to explain this to the press? What will the people say?'

'You've been missing all damn day. Don't start with me now, Poppy.'

'Don't start with you now?' She huffed. 'Robert, you stuffed your tongue down some girl's throat for the whole fucking country to see. I'm going to fucking start right now.'

She breathed in deeply, tried to calm herself. 'Are you insane?' It didn't work. 'You're not some frat boy. You're the Head of the Commonwealth. Behave like it and keep your fucking dick in your pants.'

'Are you out of your bloody mind?' he hissed. 'Who do you think you're talking to?'

And why are you so damn angry?

'Apparently an idiot,' she said beneath her breath. 'And that's supposed to rule the country?'

Harsh.

'What happened to "you're a good man, a good King"? Showing your true colors now, aren't we?'

'What happened to "I can't deal with this; I don't bloody fucking want this"?' she shot right back.

He frowned. 'You got me into this mess, so don't play high and mighty with me now.'

She chuckled mirthlessly. 'Of course. I am the one who forced you to kiss some girl you only just met while there were camera's everywhere.'

He spun away from her, agitated, but she grabbed his hand. She rotated him back around and pulled him closer by his shirt studs. He flinched and pulled away when he felt her nails digging into the back of his hand, but she had a strong grip.

Where the fuck was Jasper? Worst bodyguard ever.

She was positively molesting him, the wretched niggard.

'I get it, Robert.' Her tone was much gentler then before and perhaps she had a better control of her temper then he'd initially thought. 'But that doesn't mean I can't be pissed about it. The media is going to have a field day with this. Your mother will fancy herself the youngest looking grandmother of the country and the people will demand a marriage.'

She ran a hand through her hair. Pinched the bridge of her nose. 'You're a King. An unmarried King. Any girl you're seen in public with is a potential wife. Let alone a girl you kiss at an event organized specifically to find you a wife. You cannot do shit like that. It sends out the wrong signals. Mixed signals.'

He could see her anger bleeding away as she looked at him. He dared a smile, which she answered in kind. He couldn't suppress the smug smirk.

No one could ever resist my charm.

He turned his hand around in hers, so he could clasp it between both of his. Her fingers curled around his right thumb and she repeated the same motions of yesterday. Rubbed soothing circles. And he sighed.

'You're right, okay.'

And I'm sorry.

But her face closed off again and her expression became unreadable. She pulled back her hand. He could recognize her false smile from miles away and turned to see what she was looking at.

'Surrey, how are you?' Poppy hugged the girl, rigid and impersonal. Surrey didn't seem to notice nor care. Poppy scowled at Robert. 'We'll talk later.'

I will slay you.

He shuddered. The hidden threat was obvious in her tone. He should have her arrested for bullying the King of England.

Damned repudiated grimalkin.

'That was amazing.' Surrey took his attention away from Poppy's retreating back. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Smiled.

How the hell am I going to get rid of this one?

Like an adult, was the obvious answer.

Tell her you got caught up in the moment, apologize and thank her for her service.

Surrey entwined her fingers with his. Her hand was colder than Poppy's. He angled himself away from her, but she simply moved with him.

Perhaps easier said than done.

He looked down at the racecourse, Surrey contently slanted against him, and yeah, mixed signals.

Congratulations, England. Your Monarch is a bleeding imbecile.

He should just purchase a prostitute and marry her.