Chapter 22: Is That So?

Chapter 22: Chapter 22: Is That So?

Night had already settled over Altera by the time Nero’s car stopped beneath the illuminated entrance of Vesper House.

Even through the tinted windows, he could see the constant white pulse of cameras and the crowd gathered behind the barriers. The charity gala was taking place on the upper floors of one of the newer towers overlooking the eastern river, but judging by the noise outside, Nero’s arrival had become an event of its own.

Someone screamed his name loudly enough for the sound to reach the interior of the car.

Nero finished fastening one cuff and glanced toward the window.

Across from him, Hale checked something on his phone. "The article has reached several of the larger entertainment networks in Saha."

"I know."

Hale raised his eyes.

Nero gave him a mild smile and said nothing else.

He had known considerably earlier than that.

Duncan, the second in the line of command after Hale, opened the door from outside, allowing cool night air and the roar of the crowd into the car.

Nero stepped out.

The reaction was immediate.

His name traveled along the barriers while photographers began calling for his attention from several directions at once.

His suit had been made specifically for the evening. It was black, fitted closely through the waist and shoulders, with silk lapels and dark-purple embroidery worked into the fabric so subtly that it only became visible beneath direct light. Instead of a tie, he wore a narrow platinum piece at the collar of his black shirt.

His hair had been left loose, falling almost to his waist in pale waves.

That had not been his idea.

The stylist had informed him that tying back hair nearly to his waist while wearing that jacket would be a crime against the kingdom.

Nero had learned from Christopher that arguing with people who knew more about clothing than he did was usually pointless.

His mother still sent him photographs whenever Nero appeared publicly in something Chris considered particularly good or particularly offensive.

The black leather shoes were his own choice.

They were simple from above, polished to a mirror finish, but the soles were a deep royal purple that became visible with every step. The designer had built an entire luxury line around the idea that expensive shoes should be recognizable even when someone was walking away.

Nero appreciated the logic and applied his own color to it.

Duncan moved slightly ahead while Hale remained behind his right shoulder as they entered the carpeted area.

The first wave of photographers immediately began shouting.

"Your Highness, this way!"

"Nero, look left!"

"Crown Prince!"

Nero stopped briefly and turned toward them.

The flashes intensified.

He smiled just enough to make the crowd behind the barriers noticeably louder.

He had become accustomed to this years ago. Saha had always been unusually enthusiastic about its royal family, and Nero’s popularity had only worsened with age. He was aware that his face contributed significantly to the situation.

So did his height. So did the hair. So, according to Hale, did Nero’s habit of encouraging people when he should know better.

A young woman near the front held an illuminated sign above her head.

MARRY ME, NERO.

Nero noticed it and looked directly at her.

She froze.

"I’m afraid that position may already be under negotiation."

The screaming around her became deafening.

Hale drew a slow breath behind him.

"You enjoy doing that."

Nero continued toward the press line. "Doing what?"

"Creating problems where none existed."

"I answered a question."

"She didn’t ask one."

Nero glanced back at the sign. "The intention was clear."

Duncan, who had apparently decided not to participate in the argument, motioned for them to keep moving.

The press corridor began several meters from the entrance. Reporters stood behind low barriers with microphones ready, each attempting to catch Nero’s attention before he disappeared inside.

Most of the questions were predictable.

The foundation hosting the gala had recently funded a pediatric rehabilitation center in southern Saha, and Nero spoke about that first. Another reporter asked about his trip to the western provinces. Someone else wanted to know whether he would attend the winter military exhibition.

Then a fashion correspondent asked about his shoes.

Nero looked down briefly.

"They’re shoes."

The woman laughed. "Very expensive shoes."

"I have been advised not to discuss their price in public."

"By whom?"

"My mother."

That earned another round of laughter.

Nero continued forward until a reporter near the end of the line called his name.

"Your Highness, have you seen the reports coming out of Palatine today?"

Nero slowed.

Hale did as well.

Nero turned toward the woman. "Palatine produces quite a lot of reports."

She smiled despite herself. "The one involving you and Marquis Fitzgeralt."

There it was.

Nero allowed a small crease to appear between his brows, as though he genuinely needed a moment to understand what she meant.

The reporter continued. "Several outlets are reporting that you and Sebastian Fitzgeralt may be privately involved."

Nero tilted his head slightly.

"Is that so?"

He said it pleasantly enough that the question sounded almost sincere.

The cameras immediately became louder.

From the corner of his eye, Nero saw Hale’s expression flatten.

The reporter glanced toward one of her colleagues and then back at Nero. "So you haven’t seen the article?"

"Should I have?"

"There are photographs of the two of you together."

"People take photographs of me quite often."

"These are being described as intimate."

That nearly amused him.

Sebastian had looked distinctly irritated in most of them. Nero remembered the conversation very well, including the part where Sebastian had seemed close to throwing him into the nearest wall.

Apparently he was right that distance and the correct camera angle could turn hostility into longing.

"I have known Sebastian for most of my life," Nero said. "Our families have been close for years."

"That isn’t exactly a denial."

Nero’s smile shifted.

The reporter realized immediately that she had pushed further than intended, but she was already committed.

"So there is something between you?"

"That is a remarkably personal question."

He said it without offense, almost warmly.

Her face reddened.

Nero gave her a polite nod and continued toward the entrance while cameras followed him until the doors closed behind them.

The lobby was quieter, built from black marble, bronze, and enormous panels of glass overlooking the city. Staff waited near the private elevators while security redirected the remaining guests.

Hale waited until they were out of range of the press before speaking.

"You could have denied it."

Nero removed one glove as they crossed the lobby. "I could have."

"You deliberately chose not to."

"I dislike lying."

Hale stared at him. "You manipulated every word of that conversation."

"That does not make anything I said untrue."

Duncan pressed the elevator button.

"You know exactly what those answers will do."

Nero removed the second glove and folded both together. "People were already writing about it."

"They are going to write considerably more now."

Nero stepped into the elevator when the doors opened. "Then their evening has been improved."

Hale followed him inside with the expression of a man reconsidering several career decisions.

The doors closed, cutting off the remaining noise from downstairs.

For the first time since leaving the car, Nero had a moment of silence.

His phone vibrated inside his jacket.

He took it out.

Not Sebastian.

He was mildly disappointed.

The message was from Christopher.

PURPLE SOLES?

Another arrived almost immediately.

FINALLY. I WAS BEGINNING TO THINK TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF PARENTING HAD ACCOMPLISHED NOTHING.

Nero laughed quietly.

Duncan glanced toward him. "Something important?"

"My mother approves of my shoes."

"That is clearly why we have phones."

"Maintaining family relationships is important."

Hale leaned back against the elevator wall. "You say that after deliberately ensuring Sebastian’s family will spend the next twelve hours asking him whether he is secretly involved with you."

Nero looked up from the screen.

"That is different."

"How?"

"Sebastian is difficult."

Hale closed his eyes briefly.

Nero returned the phone to his pocket.

Sebastian was eight hours away by plane, which meant it was still afternoon in Fitzgeralt. By now, he had certainly seen the article.

More importantly, his family had probably seen it as well.

Sebastian would be furious.

Nero knew him well enough to imagine the precise expression on his face, the narrowed eyes and tense jaw, followed by increasingly creative profanity directed at the press and probably Nero himself.

None of that concerned him.

The article had never been about convincing anyone that they were already together.

It only needed to make silence inconvenient.

Seven years ago, Sebastian had told Nero that pursuing him would be a mistake. Nero had accepted the rejection and promised he would not ask again.

He intended to keep that promise.

Technically.

He would not approach Sebastian and repeat himself. He would not beg for another answer or give Sebastian the satisfaction of rejecting him twice.

If circumstances happened to become inconvenient enough that Sebastian chose to approach him instead, that was an entirely different matter.

The elevator reached the private floors.

When the doors opened, warm music and conversation drifted toward them from the ballroom. Gold light reflected across polished stone and glass, illuminating several hundred members of Saha’s political, financial, and cultural elite.

Nero adjusted one cuff before stepping out.

Whatever Sebastian was doing in Fitzgeralt tonight, Nero doubted he was enjoying himself nearly as much.

Hale followed him into the reception.

"You look pleased with yourself."

Nero accepted a glass from a passing server and glanced toward him.

"I have no idea what you mean."