Chapter 3

The next morning, Grayson heard the distinct sound of his cell phone ringing. It sounded like music blaring off in the distance, pounding against his skull, but the more he came to his senses, the more he realized it was the ring tone he had for his brother.

Why is Xavier calling me so early? he thought to himself, sleeping in his overstuffed, brown leather chair. But then he looked at the clock setting on the table next to him and it read ten o'clock in the morning. Not so early, I'll give him that.

Grayson sat up and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck, stiff from having slept in a chair all night. The fireplace was still blazing from the night before. Luckily, it was October and cold enough in Estrea to keep him from dying of heat stroke in his sleep. He chuckled at the thought. When he stood, every muscle and bone in his body ached. He silently cursed, vowing never to fall asleep in his chair again. Although it was comfortable when sitting in it, it didn't make for good sleeping arrangements.

The ringing stopped.

Grayson looked around the apartment, and then everything from the night before came flooding back. He had caught Dima with another man in his bed, no less. Even though he had come home earlier than usual, he wondered how she had the guts to do such a thing. She was lucky he didn't kill her and her lover. But in a way, Grayson knew their breakup was inevitable. A woman like Dima was hard to please, and even harder to hold on to.

Where We Belong, by Nick Neblo, Grayson's ringtone for Xavier, blared again. He had chosen that particular song for his brother because he had always been a peaceful, level-headed guy. The fact that Grayson had chosen Crazy Train, by Ozzy Osborne, for his friend Carson Malley was enough said.

After the night he had, Grayson didn't want to speak to anyone, not even his brother, but he clicked his cell phone on. "What's up?"

"Turn on the television. Now." Xavier's voice sounded urgent, uncharastic for him.

Grayson sat up, immediately on alert. "What's going on?"

"Dima."

Grayson sighed. "I'll call you back." He clicked off and turned the television on immediately. He found a news channel and there was Dima, all cleaned up, her makeup no longer smeared down her face from violent lovemaking, and her short, brunette hair was impeccable coifed.

"I was lucky to get out of there with my life!" Dima exclaimed into the camera, dabbing at a forced tear. "He beat me and threatened me with a poker from the fireplace! He's crazy, I tell you! Crazy! I was lucky to get out alive!"

Then a picture of Grayson, holding the fireplace poker, flashed on the screen.

Grayson plopped back down onto his chair again, unable to believe what he was seeing. He had expected some backlash from Dima, but nothing like this. He had known Dima to stretch the truth on occasions, but never to tell blatant lies like she was doing now. It made him rethink everything she had ever told him. Sure, he had carried the poker into the bedroom for protection in case he needed it from an intruder, but he didn't use it on her or her lover. He had no intention to. And he didn't threaten to kill her, although he had been tempted. The fact that she is still breathing was testament to his restraint.

"Something should be done about the Royal Family! Grayson is crazed and his brother, Xavier, is gay!" she screamed at the camera. One thing Grayson could say about her was that she was a good actress. Convincing. He shook his head, unable to believe that she had just outed his brother to the press.

"And what do you have to say about this incident?" the reporter asked someone off camera.

Grayson sat on the edge of his seat, listening.

Then the camera panned to Marcus Pierce, his cousin who wanted the throne so badly he can taste it. Of course, he would use this to his advantage. Grayson knew that Dima must have gone to him. How else would he have found out so quickly?

"I think the royals under Maxwell Pierce have had their reign long enough. Prince Grayson has brought shame to Estrea with his playboy ways, and his brother, Prince Xavier, is no better. No wonder he hasn't taken a wife! With neither prince with heirs, how will the monarchy survive? Something should be done, but it's not up to me. It's up to you, the people." Marcus stared at the camera, his eyes piercing as a crease formed between his eyes. "It's time we consider other possibilities." Although he was hinting, he was careful not to say that the royals should be extricated from their reign. After all, to do so would be treason for interfering with the natural succession of the monarchy.

The camera pulled back to include the reporter. "You do know that what you're insinuating is treason, sir."

He shook his head, smiling as he held up his hands. "I'm not saying we should dissolve their reign. But what I am saying is that we should take a long, hard look at their practices and consider other possibilities."

The camera zoomed in on the reporter with Dima and Marcus standing to the side. "There you have it. Strong words from strong people. Should the practices of the monarchy be called into question?" She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. "You decide. This is Ella J. Scott for WTZN News. Back to you, Jacob." The camera shot back to the studio news anchor.

Grayson picked up the phone and hit speed dial for his brother.

"Yeah?" Xavier said, answering on the first ring. "What do you think?"

"Sorry, man." Grayson let out a deep breath, unable to believe that Dima had just outed his brother on public television. "I think she's got a lot of guts."

"Grayson, I'm coming over." The phone went dead.

Although he wasn't in the mood to see anyone, Grayson would always see his brother, no matter what was going on in his life. Xavier had always been his rock in a vast sea of turbulence.

Grayson was surprised that his father hadn't called him directly yet. He was probably too angry and needed time to cool off.

And as if right on cure, his cell phone buzzed. He looked at the caller ID and it was the publicist for the crown. Yes, his father was too angry to call himself.

Grayson knew it was going to be one of those days.