Prince Francis of Sachs-Stormburg has two objectives. One: join the long line of suitors vying to become King Omar’s next gentleman consort. Two: find out anything he can about the natural energy powering his kingdom, especially the fabled solar power which has him called the Solar Sultan across Europe.
Francis arrives at King Omar’s palace in Istanbul, and discovers much to his horror that all suitors must compete in a tournament of skills to win the king’s favour. King Omar, meanwhile, is nowhere to be seen.
When Francis takes refuge from the competition in the palace gardens, he meets a handsome man tending to the palace cats. Francis and the stranger strike up a friendship, which quickly develops into something more. He senses his new companion is hiding something, but Francis himself has not divulged who he truly is, either.
As their romance unfolds, Francis has to choose between his royal duty and abandoning it entirely to explore this new relationship. But perhaps not all is lost, when it is revealed who the stranger really is ...
“Consort to a king?” Francis asked, because he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Yes. Do you want to see him?” Queen Maria chuckled, and held out a gold locket the size of her palm. “Go on, take a look at him.”
Francis took the weighty locket and opened it up. Inside was the expected portrait miniature, beautifully painted.
Francis wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but was pleasantly surprised to see the subject was a handsome young man, probably aged around thirty. He had light brown skin, a dark brown beard cut neatly to show his lips, and deep brown eyes. His hair was completely covered by an azure blue turban with gold detailing.
Maybe it was a special turban, as it was of a grand size. Probably served as a crown.
Francis had never seen sultans before, only in one or two old paintings. His clothes looked wonderful, Francis thought idly.
“I think he’s quite handsome,” she remarked. “You wouldn’t kick him out of bed, would you?”
Francis smiled. “No, I wouldn’t.” He looked at the other side of the locket, surprised to see miniature cats painted there, playing in winding tree branches.
“What are these, Granny?” he asked.
“Oh, cats,” she said. “This fellow has over a thousand of them.”
Francis had always wanted a cat.
“Why does he have so many cats?” he asked.
“I believe they are held in high regard in his society,” Granny replied. “But I’m telling you all the wrong things first. Let me give you his details.” She picked up the narrow reading glasses on a chain around her neck, setting them onto her face as she read out a letter. “King Omar Haşim Akdemir the first. Previously Sultan. Anyway, this King Omar took over from his later father, Sultan Bayazid the third. He’s thirty-five this year, a widower from his first marriage, from which he has two sons and one girl. Plenty of heirs and spares. Another daughter from his second marriage, wife still alive, who apparently manages the new education sector of his kingdom.”
“He’s married?” Francis interrupted. “I thought you said he wanted a consort?”
“Pipe down and I’ll get to that, dear,” Granny said. “The king and his wife have an amicable marriage, living in separate quarters. The king’s great love was known among his court to be one of his male companions, a great poet and painter. He unfortunately died three years ago from illness, at great distress to the king ...”
Francis felt an instant sympathy for the king’s heartbreak. How remarkable that they had both lost their loves within a couple of years of each other.
“Now his period of mourning is over,” Granny continued, “the king is looking for a new companion and is welcoming applications from appropriate households. Stipulations as follows, shared interests a must, et cetera.” Granny set down the letter and removed her glasses to look at Francis. “We can go over the rest later. There’s to be a grand party held at the king’s palace, where he will mingle with the suitors and pick an accomplished young man to be his official consort. I want you, Francis, to get a diplomatic party together, get on a boat forthwith, and be there. And,” she added firmly, “I fully expect you to shine and win him over. No need to thank me. You’ll also be strengthening relations between his prosperous economy and ours. Gustav will meet you there and can handle any trade agreements or things like that.”
“What? Trade?”
“Yes, dear, keep up,” Granny said. “It’ll do us good to make a new alliance, and find out about this solar power of his. You’re doing no one any favours languishing here, so you may as well kill two birds with one stone by consorting with someone important for our benefit. His kingdom have some of the most reputable engineers creating fantastic new infrastructure run on natural energy, you know.”
“Consorting?” Francis repeated, stuck on that part. “In an ... official capacity?”
“Yes! Well, officially there would be some created job or title to have,” Granny said. “Officially you would be a diplomatic attaché, or something along those lines to keep the boring stiffs happy. Unofficially, but in every way that matters, you would be his consort. But let me worry about that, dear boy. All you have to worry about is charming the trousers off of King Omar.” She chuckled again.
“I ... I see.”
“No need to thank me, just get the job done,” Granny said. “Now, let’s toast to your success!”
“Thank you, Granny.” Francis didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t asked for this at all, but Granny had a point. He wasn’t happy here, and he needed to meet new men.
Why not try to charm a king?
