"We're doing what?" Henry groans over breakfast the next morning, grasping a steaming mug of tea in his hand.

"A This Morning interview at nine, and then children with cancer all afternoon before he leaves tomorrow." Shaan repeats patiently. Across from him, Bea lets out a muffled squeak and tries to stifle a small giggle, attempting to look sympathetic and failing spectacularly.

"He'll meet you at the stables after polo practise. It'll be well photographed, so do try not to kill each other." Henry coughs.

"I don't think there's any chance of that, Shaan." Bea gives him a mischievous look that he pointedly ignores.

"Still. I'll get him to sign an NDA. Alright?" Henry nods, eyes flicking shut for a moment, then snapping back open as an image of Alex rises in his mind unbidden, of him on a plane, on the way to England right now. Suddenly, it feels stifling inside, and he drains the rest of his tea and hastens off, muttering.

"I'm, um, gonna go get...changed."

"You do that." Bea winks at him, as if she can tell what he's thinking.

***

Henry is absolutely useless for the rest of the morning, twisting and twisting the ring on his finger until it leaves a sore red mark. At polo practise, he almost falls straight off his horse when it gives a small buck, impatient with his absent mind; Henry's thoughts keep straying to somewhere across the Atlantic, to a small plane that will be landing just about...now. Shaan signals to Henry, pulling him briefly aside and cuffing him on the shoulder.

"You're gonna do great, kid."

"I hope so." Shaan inclines his head towards him, and Henry urges his horse on, galloping out of the stables and around the corner, sunlight shining in his eyes so that he blinks, disoriented for a moment as he slows, then stops alongside a white picket fence.

And then his searching eyes find Alex.

Cloaked by the setting sun, pearly teeth showing as he smiles lazily at Henry, wild, perfect curls framed by the sky in violet and crimson and ochre. Henry swallows. This is going to be so hard.

"I'm going to throw up on you." Alex says, as Henry swings himself down from the horse, which is whisked away by an eager stable hand, sauntering over to the fence and attempting to lean casually against it, not quite managing to meet Alec's glinting eyes.

"Hello, Alex." Even to Henry, his voice sounds tight, tense. "You look..." He struggles for something to say. "...sober."

"Only for you, Your Royal Highness." Alex bends down in an elaborate, mocking bow, and Henry gives a strangled laugh.

"You're too kind." He extends his hand to Alex, all too conscious of the photographer hovering a little way off.

"This is idiotic." Henry nods his agreement as Alex clasps his hand tightly, then drops it just as quickly, smile broadening. "Let's get it over with." Henry pastes a robotic smile on his face, corner of his mouth curling upwards as Alex throws his head back and laughs handsomely, loud and fake for the camera. The photographer snaps a picture behind them.

"Your Highness." Shaan returns, and Henry lets out his breath in a rush of relief, smiling gratefully at his equerry. "The photographer should have what he needs, so if you're ready, the car is waiting." Henry turns to him and smiles faintly again.

"Shall we?"

***

Sleep tonight is impossible. Henry tosses and turns in bed, coated in a cold sweat, for hours before he finally gives up and pads into the little kitchen he shares with Bea, the tiles icy underfoot and his footsteps echoing impossibly loudly into the silence. He rummages in the fridge, sighing deeply when he finds it empty, then turns and creeps softly out of his apartment. Henry tiptoes along the corridor, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely, earbuds in and shirt rumpled, until he reaches the door to one of the many guest bedrooms in the palace, shouldering it open and entering the small kitchen there.

His tired brain doesn't register the light still on there until the door clangs shut behind him, there's a crackle of static from a phone, quickly cut off, and he finds himself staring wide-eyed up at Alex. He's perched on the kitchen counter, a pair of glasses on his nose and phone in hand. Freezing, Henry considers making a run for it, back to the safety of his rooms, but something stops him. Alex disconnects the call with a clipped beep, and Henry tugs out his earbuds. His mouth is bone dry and he licks his lips before croaking out:

"Hello. Sorry. Er. I was just. Cornettos." He gestures helplessly towards the fridge.

"What?" Henry crosses to the freezer and removes a box, showing Alex the name emblazoned on the side.

"I was out. Knew they'd stocked you up." He feels like slamming his head against a wall. Repeatedly.

"Do you raid the kitchens of all your guests?" Alex hops down from the counter, settings his phone down and cocking his head curiously at Henry, eyes surveying his wrinkled pyjamas and tousled hair.

"Only when I can't sleep. Which is always. Didn't think you'd be awake." He glances at Alex for permission, and he nods, a vaguely bemused expression flitting across his face for a moment, then gone. He should go now, Henry thinks. So of course, he doesn't.

"Have you practised what you'll say tomorrow?" Alex bristles, and Henry shrinks back a little, hating himself for it.

"Yes. You're not the only professional here."

"I didn't mean-" The urge to run tugs at him again, but Henry takes a deep breath, continuing, "I only meant, do you think we should, er, rehearse?"

"Do you need to?"

"I thought it might help." Alex snatches up his phone again.

"Watch this." He points the phone at Henry, snaps a picture: the box of Cornettos on the counter, Henry's hand resting atop it, signet ring just in view, along with a swathe of pyjamas.

"'Nothing cures jet lag," Alex narrates, typing furiously into his phone, "like midnight ice cream with @Prince Henry.'" Henry quirks a smile as he thrusts the screen at him, watching as the comments pour in. "There are a lot of things worth overthinking, believe me. But this isn't one of them." Henry arches an eyebrow, impressed.

"I suppose," he keeps his voice calm, feigning doubt.

"Are you done? I was on a call." Alex snaps, all business again, scowling up at Henry, who blinks and folds his arms tightly over his chest, squeezing tightly.

"Of course. I won't keep you." He turns on his heels and marches smartly out of the kitchen, pausing in the doorframe, eyes dragged back to Alex magnetically; his tousled hair, eyes bleary and sleepy.

"I didn't know you wore glasses." He says finally, then leaves, pressing the door shut behind him, alone in the stifling silence of the corridor again.

***