As Benji left the room to bring in my Royal fans, I finally began to consider the situation seriously. I didn't know what exactly I expected from them, but one thing was clear: their coming here was a big deal.
Everyone was aware of my indirect accusations against the Royal pedophile. It had become the biggest scandal involving the Royal family in recent decades, arguably even bigger than the divorce of Charles and Diana.
There had been public outcry across Britain demanding the arrest of Prince Andrew. Still, the Royal Family remained unmoved, refusing to acknowledge the allegations despite an active warrant against him in the United States. I wasn't sure how things were progressing on the diplomatic front, but they couldn't be going smoothly.
For anyone from the Royal family to attend my concert was monumental. This visit wouldn't stay quiet; someone, somewhere, would leak it. One photo snapped by a random fan was all it would take to expose the visit and challenge the official stance Buckingham Palace had maintained.
And I would be pulled into the storm with no way to avoid it. There was a reason I had never publicly named Andrew, even though the evidence overwhelmingly pointed in his direction.
Before I could dwell on it any longer, the door to my dressing room opened again. Benji walked in with three people in tow. The one leading the trio was the youngest, Prince Harry, unmistakable with his ginger hair and mischievous grin. Right behind him stood his older brother, Prince William, whose thinning hairline hadn't entirely surrendered yet. At his side was his stunning girlfriend, Kate Middleton, radiant in a tailored navy coatdress and heels that made her look poised yet effortlessly elegant.
Benji, ever the character, threw on a fake British accent. "Troy," he announced theatrically, "I would like you to meet Prince Harry, Prince William, and the beautiful lady, Kate Middleton."
I barely held back a laugh. My assistant had a sense of humor unlike anyone else I knew.
I stood and gave the three of them a polite nod. "You Royal Highness–es? Is that the correct way to address you?"
William was the first to chuckle. He stepped forward and offered his hand, which I took. "That won't be necessary. We're not here in any official capacity, so just call me William."
"And me, Harry!" the younger Prince chimed in. "Though I have a feeling more people would recognize you as Harry than me."
That… was true. Given the global reach of [Harry Potter], it wouldn't be surprising if my face was the first that came to mind whenever someone heard the name 'Harry'.
"This is Kate," William said, gesturing toward his girlfriend. "She's your biggest fan. It was her idea for us to come to your concert."
Like I hadn't heard that one before. Every other girl I meet is my biggest fan somehow.
"That can't be true," I said with a shake of my head as I took Kate's hand and gently kissed the back of it. "Because after seeing you, milady, I have become a fan of yours. You are a lucky man, William."
Kate laughed, her cheeks flushing a bright shade of red, and her eyes sparkled with genuine delight.
"I can't believe I'm here," she whispered, barely audible, as she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
I didn't respond verbally; instead turned my attention to William. Now that I was paying closer attention, he didn't look entirely pleased to be here. Or was I just imagining things?
"Please, take a seat," I offered, motioning toward the few chairs and the couch pushed up against the wall. "It's not very big, but you know how these concert backstages are."
William and Kate complied with polite smiles, settling onto the couch. But the younger Prince clearly had no intention of sitting down.
Harry stepped forward and slung an arm around my shoulders like we were old mates from school. His grin was broad and boyish, the kind that could charm a crowd, or get him into trouble. "Man, I just loved the song you did, Beautiful Things. It was out of this world. Will you be releasing a music video for it?"
"As a matter of fact, it will be released soon," I replied. "I shot a video when I was in New Zealand last month. It's going to be perfect for the song."
"Cool," Harry said, lighting up. "Hey, would you like to come party with me and my friends sometime? You'll love it."
I probably should have said something neutral or noncommittal. Instead, I responded with something I'm not particularly proud of.
"Partying with royalty isn't really my scene. Why don't you invite Jeffrey Epstein instead?"
The effect was immediate.
All three guests froze. William's posture stiffened. Kate blinked hard and looked down at her lap. For a few seconds, the room was thick with discomfort.
Then Harry burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! That was funny."
"Harry!" William snapped in a sharp whisper, clearly appalled by his brother's reaction.
Harry shrugged as if it were nothing. "What? It was funny."
Silence fell again, heavier than before. It stretched too long, so I decided to break it before it became unbearable.
"Not that I don't appreciate your visit," I said, turning to William, "but are you sure it was wise coming here? If even one person catches a photo of you, it'll be all over the tabloids, and not in a flattering manner for your family."
William exhaled through his nose and looked away, as though weighing something.
Then, in a softer tone, he said, "Kate, Harry, can Troy and I talk in private?" His voice may be soft, but it was unmistakable that this was an order.
Harry's expression turned sour, clearly unhappy with the command. But William shot him a pointed look, and Harry backed off with a theatrical sigh. Kate gave William a brief glance, then rose and followed Harry out without a word.
I turned to Benji and gave him a quick nod toward the door. He hesitated, concern flashing across his face, but left quietly after a moment's pause.
Now alone, I sat across from William, resting my arms on my knees.
"So," I asked, keeping my tone neutral, "how can I help you today, William?"
William hesitated, staring at the floor for a few moments before he spoke. "The Crown wanted to put my uncle's… controversy behind us."
Ah. So that was it.
They sent the ones closest to my age, hoping what? That I'd be flattered? That I'd befriend them? Maybe even take a bribe?
"Okay?" I half-asked, watching him closely. "Why don't you just let the police do their jobs and open an investigation against him? That would clear things up pretty fast."
William raised his head and gave me a flat and unimpressed look. "Really?"
"Nah," I said with a small shake of my head. "Anyone with two eyes can see your uncle is guilty. The only reason he isn't behind bars is because your family's influence is shielding him."
William arched an eyebrow. "You don't respect royalty much, do you?"
His words ignited something in me. Who did he think he was, walking in here and demanding respect?
"You want me to kiss your ass?" I said bluntly. "I don't do that unless you're a hot girl."
"That's not what I—"
"Listen, man," I cut him off. "You and your family are just fellow celebrities to me. The difference is, I worked hard to get where I am today. You didn't. And now you want respect from me? What have you done to actually earn your status or fame?"
He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he inhaled slowly, visibly restraining himself. His royal conditioning kicked in, and when he finally spoke, his tone was calm, but tight with frustration.
"I hate my fame. I never asked for it. And if there were a way to give it up, I would do it in a heartbeat."
I didn't believe a word of it.
That was easy for someone like him to say. He had never lived a working-class life filled with daily struggles. I had. I knew what it felt like to fight for every inch of success. Sure, William and his brother had served in the military, but let's be real, he wouldn't have been treated like a regular soldier or given life-threatening missions.
"Why did you really come here, William?" I asked again, sharper this time. "What do you want from me?"
He met my gaze without flinching and said, "The Crown administration wants to put the animosity behind us. So they were hoping to… make you a Commander of the British Empire this coming New Year's celebration."
What. The. Fuck.
Commander of the British Empire. CBE. The third-highest civilian honor in the UK. Just one step away from an actual knighthood. Like every kid who grew up in Britain, I had once dreamed about being knighted. But after everything involving Prince Andrew, I thought that door had permanently shut.
"Usually, the Crown administration contacts prospective officers directly," William continued, "but they felt I should present the offer to you personally."
A part of me, the boy who used to dream wide-eyed about these honors, wanted to leap up and scream yes. But the man I had become knew better. Accepting it would make me look like the biggest hypocrite on the planet.
"I'm sorry," I said, with genuine regret in my voice. "But I'll have to decline."
William blinked in surprise. "May I ask why?"
"I don't like being used," I said. "Especially not to polish the image of your uncle or the institution that has gone to absurd lengths to protect him."
"He wasn't convicted," William said quickly, like it was rehearsed.
I scoffed. "Do you really believe your uncle is innocent?"
I fully expected him to deflect, to double down, or maybe even lash out. But what he said next genuinely caught me off guard.
"He's my uncle. What would you do in my place?"
I looked him dead in the eyes. "I sent my biological mother to jail when I was eight. And if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't change that decision."
William exhaled slowly and shook his head. "That's different. She abused you."
I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Wow. So you'd only report your uncle if he did the same thing to your cousins, Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie?"
His jaw clenched. The skin around his eyes tightened.
"Of course not," he said through gritted teeth. "You must understand something, Troy. Today, we don't rule Britain. The administration rules us. As you said, we're glorified celebrities with no real power. The administration handles everything, from our PR to picking our life partners. Harry and I only went into the military because we were forced to.
"It really isn't up to me, or even my father, to punish my uncle," William said, his voice quieter now, as if even admitting that out loud was a betrayal. "Maybe my grandmother could, but… it's her son we're talking about. She would never order the Crown administration to arrest him."
My head was beginning to ache from hearing this privileged tale of helplessness. I didn't care if he thought he lived a miserable life. If he truly hated it so much, he could always do what Harry did: step away from the institution, move to another country, and live without the weight of the crown pressing down on him. Maybe that would force the monarchy to look at itself in the mirror for once.
But then, an idea sparked in my mind. A dangerous one. The kind of idea that would get under the skin of every power player in the Crown's orbit. The more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me. It was crazy. But crazy in a good way.
Would the Crown services hate my guts forever if I went through with it? Most definitely.
Did I care? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
"I can help you with that," I said, watching his eyes rise to meet mine in surprise.
"Help with what?" he asked, guarded now.
"Forcing the Crown to move against your uncle," I said evenly. "But only if you really want this. I'll need your help, but no one will ever know you were involved. We can both even sign a confidentiality agreement if that's what it takes."
William looked unsure. "I'll have to think about that. But what exactly is your plan?"
I raised a finger. "I won't tell you unless you sign the NDA. Make up your mind first and sign the document—then we can talk in detail."
He didn't like it. That much was obvious from the tension in his shoulders and the wary glance he gave me. But he nodded anyway, then got up and left, returning to his girlfriend and brother outside.
It would've been foolish to tell him the plan right then. Even if he had signed a nondisclosure agreement on the spot, I wouldn't have shared it. The idea was still raw, half-formed, and it needed refinement before I could even begin to execute it.
As the door closed behind him, Benji re-entered, brows furrowed with concern. "What was that about?"
I let out a tired sigh and rubbed my temples. "That's the result of the pot I stirred with Epstein."
Benji gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head. "Forget it. Let's go home."
(Break)
Troy lay shirtless in bed, spooning Scarlett from behind. She wore a tank top and shorts, her breathing soft and even in sleep. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, his gaze resting on her with quiet adoration. That's when the song began to play.
~For a while there, it was rough
But lately I've been doin' better
Than the last four cold Decembers
I recall~
His eyes flicked briefly to a framed photo on the bedside table—his family, smiling: parents and brother. A fleeting warmth passed through his expression before his attention returned to Scarlett.
~And I see my family every month
I found a girl my parents love
She'll come and stay the night
And I think I might have it all~
The video transitioned to a self-shot montage of Troy and Scarlett outdoors, immersed in nature. The camera swept across a sprawling landscape of green hills with snow-capped mountains rising in the distance. The sheer beauty of the view was enough to make the video compelling on its own.
Then came a playful moment. Troy stood at the edge of a crystal-clear lake, his shirt unbuttoned and fluttering in the soft breeze. Scarlett, grinning mischievously, sprinted toward him after placing the camera at a distance. She leapt onto his shoulders like a child mid-laughter. Instead of catching her gracefully, Troy lost balance and toppled backward into the water with her. The splash was loud and unexpected. Both of them surfaced a second later, soaked and laughing uncontrollably. A moment later, Troy pulled her close and kissed her, slow and passionate.
The chorus kicked in.
~Mm, please stay
I want you, I need you, oh God
Don't take
These beautiful things that I've got~
The montage continued with clips of them exploring nature: hiking near waterfalls, running through wildflower meadows, lying in grasslands under the open sky. What stood out wasn't just the scenery, but the genuine emotion captured in every frame. There were no dramatic camera movements, no artificial lighting, just raw, unscripted moments. It was clear the footage was filmed by Troy and Scarlett themselves. And that was what made it beautiful.
The video came full circle, ending where it began, back in their bed. After a long day of laughter and exploration, they lay together once more. Troy pulled Scarlett closer, eyes heavy with sleep, and closed them. The camera slowly panned out, the screen fading to black.
This was the tenth time Serena had watched the video, and it still wasn't enough.
To her, it was a piece of art. She had never seen a self-made music video look so cinematic, so emotionally rich. Its authenticity put even the most high-budget productions to shame.
Then there was the song. The lyrics were tender, personal, and so full of love that it made her heart ache. She felt herself falling for Troy all over again. And though she hated to admit it, she was extremely jealous of Scarlett, because the actress had something rare: a boyfriend who loved her enough to write songs like that.
SereneDreamer: Does anyone else think Scarlett got extremely lucky to bag Troy? If someone ever wrote a song like Beautiful Things for me, I'm never letting them go. I don't care if I have to go to jail for illegal imprisonment.
LunaBliss: Couldn't have said it better myself. The way Troy looked at her in that video was straight out of a fairy tale.
NovaKnight: Don't let all the mushiness distract you from the actual masterpiece: the song itself. I've had it on repeat since it dropped exclusively on Spotify. Also, did anyone notice Troy removed all his tracks from iTunes and made them exclusive to YT and Spotify?
PixelWarrior77: Duh! Spotify's basically under the same umbrella as YouTube now, and it's all owned by Troy. Every music video on YT has that new green button to stream the song directly on Spotify. Honestly, I prefer Spotify over iTunes. The interface is way cleaner.
DarkMatter69: Where the fuck does he even get all this talent from? First I thought, "Cool, he's a solid actor." Then came his Joker reveal and he just… ascended. And now Beautiful Things? I give up. There's no one like Troy. He's a one-in-a-billion kind of talent.
QuantumFox: I don't get how you're still surprised. Hasn't it been obvious for years that Troy is just beyond us mere mortals? Isn't that why we joined the army? To serve our supreme leader?
PatAttack: Hear, hear! Long live the Supreme Leader!
lol
Jokes aside, Beautiful Things touched my soul. I wish it were me Troy was holding in that video.
FireStarter12: Okay, hear me out: let's start a religion. Call it Armitalogy. Make Beautiful Things our sacred anthem. If Tom Cruise can start Scientology, why can't we do this?
LunaBliss: Tom Cruise didn't start Scientology!
FireStarter12: IDGAF about Tom Cruise. So… religion, anyone?
Serena could only laugh.
This ragtag group of internet strangers might have been a little unhinged, but in the best possible way. Every time she joined their late-night comment spirals or meme-stuffed threads, she felt connected. Connected to the music. To Troy. And strangely, to them too.
________________________
AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com