My Prince by Anna Martin

have to look at your dick or admit that he’s fucking a dude. You know the ones.”
    “I do,” Doug said wisely.
    “But he’s not like that at all.”
    “So, what’s the problem?”
    “He has it, not me,” Alex sighed. He reached for the bottle and topped off his glass, since the contents had disappeared mysteriously quickly.
    “Ah.”
    “What?”
    “Ah,” Doug said again. “He knows.” He waved his hand demonstratively at Alex.
    “Is it really something to freak out over?” Alex asked.
    “I did.”
    “No, you didn’t.”
    “I did,” Doug repeated. “You’re turning me into a fucking parrot this afternoon, Alex. Stop it. Yes, I feel it’s something most people would freak out over. You’re the only openly gay royal since James IV.”
    “James I.”
    “The point wasn’t political, and you know it. If and when you ever settle down with someone, it’ll be a big fucking deal, both to the world at large and the gay community in particular. Lord knows, the last thing we need is another queen to worship….”
    “Watch it,” Alex said amiably. “Or I’ll have you beheaded.”
    “Ha ha,” Doug said, his voice dry as a bone. “Promise me one thing?”
    “Maybe?”
    “Never sell your story to Hello! magazine. I’d never live down the association.”
    “How rude. I’d sell it to Tatler .”
    Doug snorted inelegantly. He reached for the wine, found the bottle empty, and dumped it back in the ice upside down.
    “You need to give him some space, darling,” Doug said. “He’ll come around soon enough. And if he doesn’t, then you move on.”
    “But I like this one. I’d much prefer to hang on to him. I was hoping….”
    “What?”
    “Let me get another bottle.”
    “What is it? You’ve got me worried now.”
    Alex scooted out of the booth and grabbed the bucket. “Be right back.”
    Doug grumbled, and Alex shot him a quirked eyebrow and sauntered over to the bar.
    “Same again please, love,” he said to the lady behind the bar.
    “No problem.”
    He could almost feel Doug stewing behind him—if there was one thing Doug hated, it was being ignored.
    “So,” Alex said as he slid back into the booth, dumping the refreshed ice bucket between them on the table. “I need to ask a favor.”
    “I’m not in a particularly favorable mood right now,” Doug said. He took the wine bottle and poured two more glasses.
    “I was thinking you could meet George. Talk to him, you know.”
    “With you there, right?”
    “Um….”
    “Why on earth would you want me to meet your new boyfriend—”
    “He’s not my boyfriend,” Alex interrupted.
    “Fine, your latest fuck buddy, on my own? You can do a fine enough job of scaring him off without my help, love.”
    “I don’t want you to scare him off. I want you to… I don’t know. Help him out of the closet a little bit?”
    Doug tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose like Alex was giving him a headache.
    “He’s a closet case?” Doug asked, sounding exasperated.
    “Sort of.”
    “Sort of? Jesus wept, child, I’m doing it again.”
    “He’s out to his mum and dad, and his brother. No one else.”
    “Well, that’s a start. Why do you want me to talk to him, of all people?”
    Alex shrugged and reached for his glass. He was getting drunk. He decided he didn’t care. “Because you have this way,” he said, “of making people feel not ashamed about who they are.”
    “I do?”
    “Yes. I’m not sure what it is with George, if it’s shame or fear or internalized homophobia… maybe a bit of all three. He didn’t come out until, like, last year or something. He’s been playing straight for most of his life, and he never had that person, that mentor to help him deal with the whole coming-out process.”
    “You want me to be a mentor.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “Yes. I want George to have that person who guides you through all of the shit we go through when coming out. I had one,