The headline the next morning, splashed across every tabloid on both sides of the Atlantic, read:
“It’s an act of diplomatic war,” his mother, President Ellen Claremont, said without looking up from the stack of damage reports. Her voice was steel wrapped in velvet. She was in her third year of a tight re-election campaign, and her opponent, Senator Richards, was already using the image as a fundraiser. “A royal rumble,” he’d crooned on Fox News. “Is this the respect the First Son shows our closest ally?”
The question hung between them, red, white, and blue. A flag of their own making. Red- White Royal Blue
“A scuffle?” Alex’s voice cracked. “I had my hand on his—we were laughing.”
Zahra, the White House Communications Director, typed furiously on her tablet. “The Palace is apoplectic. They’re demanding a joint statement clarifying the ‘spontaneous and regrettable physical altercation.’ They want to frame it as a harmless scuffle.” The headline the next morning, splashed across every
Then: “I don’t know. But for the first time in my life, I desperately want to find out.”
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. “A royal rumble,” he’d crooned on Fox News
Henry picked up a blue one. “Tentative allies.”