“What happened?” he asked, his voice strained, a million awful scenarios of how Lukas could be lost to him running through his mind. The part of his brain that was always thinking ahead was going through contingencies for escaping the ballroom while in a full-blown panic, and coming up blank.

“He’s developed a bit of a wild streak,” Linus said, with normal levels of fatherly aggravation. “I just got a call from his school because he got into a fight with one of those American tech heirs.”

Johan waited, chest tight, then asked, “Does he have a concussion? What hospital is he at? Was he shot?”

The king made a startled noise. “What? No. He’s here at the castle, and not allowed to leave his quarters.”

Relief and annoyance danced through Johan’s veins and he slowly straightened. The fabric of his shirt stretched around his chest as he inhaled deeply. “He’s all right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call this all right,” Linus said.

“Forshett—” Johan slammed his mouth shut against the harshness of his tone, not allowing the fear still flowing through him to make him say something rash. He swallowed, though his mouth had gone dry. “You made me think he was hurt. Or worse.”

“I did no such thing,” the king said evenly. “I said, ‘It’s your brother.’ Be sensible, Jo-Jo. I thought you’d outgrown these outbursts.”

Johan almost threw his phone down to the ground. Did Linus really not remember? Because Johan did. He’d been in his dorm room, packing his weekend bag for his visit home with a knot of worry in his stomach when his cell phone had rang. C’est ihre mamm, Linus had said gravely.

He knew from experience that explaining to Linus how three words could send him spiraling into a panic would do no good, so he moved on.

“Why was he fighting?” Johan asked, grabbing at a lock of hair and twisting. All of his fights had been defensive, started by other boys who picked up on Johan’s perceived weakness—emotion. But Lukas wasn’t like Johan—Johan had made sure of that. He was sporty and well liked and didn’t spend all his time sighing about the state of the world and crying over imaginary people.

“It doesn’t matter why. We’re in the middle of a referendum and now he does this? Von Brausteins are known for strength, dexterity, and victory in battle, but this is boarding school, not war.” Linus sighed. “Have you spoken to him recently?”

“I’ve been busy,” Johan lied. If Linus didn’t know that Lukas was avoiding him, he wasn’t going to tell him. Handling his brother was one of the few things Linus saw as useful about Johan. It was one of the few things he saw as useful about himself. “I’ll try to reach him, but I’ll be home in a few days.”

“Yes, always gallivanting about,” Linus said.

“I’m an ambassador,” Johan replied stiffly. “Gallivanting is my job.”

Linus didn’t say anything.

“Has the press picked anything up about Lukas’s fight?” Johan didn’t feel like arguing, and was already figuring out how he could help spin this.

“I don’t think so,” Linus said, then paused. Johan heard the recalibration in that brief silence, and when his stepfather spoke again there was insinuation in his tone. “They have picked up some news about you in Thesolo, though. News that could be helpful.”

“What’s that?” Johan asked, already knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. Linus was using his “cool dad” tone.

“This woman you are flirting with. Nya Jerami?”

Johan had been pacing back and forth in the alcove, but he stopped and pressed his phone closer to his ear.

“Nya is the cousin to the Princess of Thesolo, who is the wife of my best friend,” he said carefully. “I have not been flirting.”

Not really. Offering to debauch someone was a three at most on his ten-point flirtation scale.

“There’s a story in the Looking Glass about the Duke of Edinburgh attending the wedding, and a group photo in which you are most definitely giving this Nya woman a look. The article mentioned that you’ve been turning your charms on her and found yourselves in some . . . situations.”

The cool dad tone had leveled up to “totally cool dad” tone, which was more than anyone should have to tolerate.

“Do you believe everything you read in these rags? You know most of the stories aren’t true.”

“I don’t believe it, but the public apparently does. After that story ran, the royal PR team noticed that our approval rating in the referendum jumped up and talk on social media was more favorable.”

A dull anger throbbed in Johan’s jaw from clenching his teeth so hard. “Forshett. Don’t,” he warned.

“This is your brother’s future at stake, Jo-Jo. He has been raised to be a king. What will he do without a kingdom?”

“Get a job?” Johan wasn’t thrilled about the referendum, or the people who were pushing for the end of the monarchy—those like this Arschlocher guy who were tired of having their greed leashed by rules that prevented Liechtienbourg from becoming a tax haven like other small countries. But it was a constitutional monarchy; the people would vote, and what the people wanted mattered more than even his brother. If the worst came to pass, Johan would be there for Lukas as he always had been.