The Son [ON HOLD]

Chapter One

I suppose you could say I was lucky.

That is one point of view that I hear quite often, one of many. Others include, but are not limited to, that I was spoiled. I was a brat who got whatever he wanted. I was above everyone.

And, especially if you got a few drinks in me, I would probably have had to agree.

I don't blame people who saw me that way. The grounds on which they based this opinion are solid. I was so devilishly handsome that it had to be a crime somewhere. I was heir to the throne of a powerful country. I had wealth that few ever had any chance of acquiring.

So, yes. You could say I was lucky. I was Alexander Gerad Schreave, Prince of Illéa, and I was one hell of a lucky man.

I thought about this as I ran my hands through my hair, looking at my reflection in the mirror. It looked fine, but there was no way I was actually going to arrive at breakfast on time. That defeats the whole purpose of a dramatic entrance.

"You know," Jeremiah said from the doorway, "your dad won't take this whole showing up late thing forever."

I scoffed at him. "Oh, please. Dad hasn't said a word about it in the five years I've been doing this. The old man doesn't have it in him to be harsh. At least, not to his favorite son."

"You're only his favorite because he doesn't have another son to like more."

"Shut up," I said to my friend, chucking my hairbrush across the room at him. Jeremiah caught the brush with one hand.

"Oh, tsk tsk, Alexander. That's no way for a future king to behave," he scolded mockingly. With a waggle of his eyebrows and a smirk, Jeremiah tossed the brush on to my bed and went on his way. "See you at breakfast," he called over his shoulder. "If you even decide to show up this time, I mean."

I rolled my eyes. Were all best friends this annoying?

Jeremiah and I had been friends since we were little. His dad, Gabriel Woodhams, was my father's best friend. Gabriel used to be a guard here at the palace, but once he got too old, Dad hired him as a military strategy advisor. He always said it was because Gabriel was the most fit for the job, but it was plain to see he just wanted a reason to have his friend live with us. When I was four, Gabriel and his wife, Anne, had Jeremiah. The two of us had spent a lot of time together in the playroom. Despite the age difference, we became best friends, practically attached at the hip. He was more of a brother than a friend.

I checked my watch. I could go in four minutes. Then, I'd be officially nine minutes late. Perfect.

This whole game had started when I was thirteen. It was supposed to have been just a one time thing to annoy Dad after we had been in an argument. It was a lot more fun than I'd expected. He got this look in his eyes like he wanted to speak up, but knew it wouldn't make a difference. It was too good to stop. I still felt a twinge of triumph when I saw his mouth twitch as I walked in late. Mom had talked to me about stopping a few times, saying Dad had enough on his plate without me pestering him, but I was stubborn like her.

I twiddled with my thumbs for a while, just waiting for the minutes to pass. When they finally did, I was very glad. My stomach was growling and I needed to eat. I grabbed my jacket, straightened my tie, and headed down the hallway.

I arrived at the dining room right on schedule, nine minutes late on the dot. The guards opened the doors and I stepped inside.

Everyone was already seated, as usual. My spot next to Jeremiah was empty and I took my seat.

"Good morning, Aubree," I whispered to my little sister who sat beside me.

She scowled. "You know I hate to be called by my full name, Alex."