If you ain't cheating, you ain't trying, which is exactly why I invited Tim and Cheryl from the Alzheimer's Society Board to the royal estate for a grand tour a week before the adventure team vote. One thing I've learned about Maren during our various interactions is that she likes to win, just like me.

"As you can see," I say, "we have lots of buildings that could be used to store equipment or that can be renovated for a particular purpose. We have the boat launch straight into the ocean for paddling practice. If I was a team member, I have no doubt my family would throw the full weight of their support behind me and the cause."

"King Alexander has approved this?" Tim gazes around the huge empty barn.

No, he hasn't. Has no idea I've even suggested it. Or that I want to be part of the adventure race team. I might have slid the word donation into a conversation the other day. While Alex will ultimately have the final say, finances and facilities are who I'll have to speak to about my plans. My oldest brother has more than enough to worry about between negotiating the referendum laws, teaching Rory how to be royal, and raising my niece.

"It won't be a problem," I say.

Cheryl shifts on her feet. She's been uncomfortable since she arrived. I invited her because she's the one most likely to side with Maren in a vote. The less dissention at the table next week, the harder it'll be for Maren to stick to her disapproval. My skills might not be on par with other team members, but I bring money, influence, and a lot of potential media attention. Normally, that last one is a negative, but I'll milk that cow if it's the only advantage they'll accept.

"What do you think, Cheryl?" I ask.

"You're being very generous." She crosses her arms. "But Maren has a lot of experience training teams. She's raced for years, and if she thinks there isn't enough time to train you, I can't, in good conscience, put the other team members in danger to stroke your ego."

That's very candid, if inaccurate. I can see why she and Maren get along. "Which I could completely understand if I'd never done any of the adventure race skills. But in Patagonia, I took a wilderness first aid course, in Wales I paddled extensively through the Snowdonia region, and I've rock climbed in Kalymnos, Greece. While Ms. Tucker would love to paint me as a novice to anyone who'll listen, it's far from the truth." A day or two of all those activities hardly makes me an expert either, but I'm hoping my bravado will steer them away from digging too deeply. I'm capable of mastering those skills even if I haven't yet.

"You've done all that?" Cheryl narrows her shrewd gaze.

"I've done all that, and if I took more time, I could probably come up with other relevant skills I've acquired. From watching the other seasons of this show, I'd say adaptability coupled with a will to win are the most important character traits. I have both in abundance, and that's not all I bring to the race table." I gesture to the space around us.

Cheryl and Tim exchange a glance, and I decide not to press any harder. At least I've countered Maren's amateur narrative, and by the time I've finished the tour and alluded to all the money and exposure I could throw behind the event, I'm confident next week's vote will fall in my favor.

After our tour finishes and as soon as they're both ensconced in their vehicles, I make a bee line for Alex's wing of the palace. Since I've now promised something I'm not sure I can deliver, I need to secure some support in that area too.

At the door to Alex's suite of rooms, Kane, my brother's Head of Security, holds up his hand.

"Quick chat with Rory," I say. "Five minutes. Tops."

Kane checks his watch. "Nap time ends in ten minutes. Come back then."

"Oh, come on. She'd see me if you told her I was here."

"King Alexander's orders. Rory has been very tired. She's not to be disturbed during Grace's naptime."

I turn around to head back to my wing of the palace, and I slide my phone out of my pocket to fire off a text to Rory. More than one way to get access to my sister-in-law.  As I go through the main foyer, Nick comes from the direction of the kitchen, and he's eating a scone.

"Have you talked to Alex about the state of the assisted dying law or whatever we're calling it?" Nick asks.

Like always, Nick's tone whenever he brings up the law is vaguely disapproving. Although he's agreed to go along with the referendum outcome, and he's okay with our father having choices and options, he's not completely on board.

"Nothing," I say. Last time I booked a meeting with Alex to discuss it, he said he'd tell me when there was news. The longer it takes for the law to be finalized, the trickier it might be to have our father qualify for it. Unlike Nick, I am fully behind the creation of assisted dying legislation. Already our father is experiencing a surprising number of memory issues. Makes me wonder if our parents hid the diagnosis even longer than they've let on.

"How long are you in Bellerive this time?" I ask.

Nick and Julia have been spending so much time in Tanzania lately that I'm never completely sure when they're in the country or out of it. Their uniform initiative to help send girls to school is a passion project for them, and Alex has opted to let them run with it rather than forcing them to engage in more outreach here at home.

"A few weeks," Nick says. "I heard through the Tucker grapevine that you're trying to get on the Alzheimer's charity adventure race team? What the hell is that about?"

"That just happened this morning," I mutter. The Tucker grapevine is extensive with deep roots across the island, and Nick is friends with Maren's older brother.

His question about why I'm so keen isn't one I want to dig into. At the moment, I've got more time on my hands than I likely should, and I could ask Alex for more Bellerive work. But I need something that's going to occupy my body and mind. When left to my own devices, I spend far too much time stewing over our father's diagnosis, his downward spiral, our impending loss. While I might be okay with the concept of assisted dying, and I might even believe it's an important choice for our father to make, the reality of him making it is hard to consider.

"Have you run this past Alex?" Nick asks.

"Well." I squint at him. "Rory seemed like the better person to speak to."

"Still makes the best cream tea." Nick chuckles and shoves the last bite of his scone in his mouth.

"Seems unbelievable that she bakes while nursing Grace," I say.

Alex could not have chosen someone more opposite to him, but they work. There's no doubt our brother, who was once so rigid and hard to read, loves her deeply. As the eldest, he was always the most likely of the three of us to get married, but I never thought he'd marry for love. With Nick and Alex paired off, and already an heir to the throne, the pressure to do any of that is completely off me. I figure I've got years to coast before anyone bothers to wonder why I've never married.

One woman for the rest of my life is a big nope. My heart is too wild to be tamed by just one. I've sampled all the flavors, and none have enticed me to limit my menu. Why drag something casual into a long-term arrangement because that's what society expects? Much better to let other people fall fast and hard while I stand on the sidelines laughing. Nick and Alex seem happy enough now, but I've seen them both at rock bottom over a woman. That'll never be me.

My phone beeps, and I do a fist pump to see Rory has texted me. She's been a great addition to the family.

"Must be the queen," Nick says with a grin. "I'm supposed to meet Jules to go look at suppliers for the J.J. Bellerive Foundation. We're trying to keep everything as local to Tanzania as possible, but I feel like we're getting hosed on a few of the items."

"Dolla' dolla', everyone holla. Good luck," I say before I head toward Alex's wing again.

"You're the one who needs it," Nick says with a laugh.

This time when I get to the door, Kane lets me in without even a murmur of protest. Rory must have come out with the big queen energy when she woke up, which she would have done if he'd told her I stopped by in the first place.

When I knock on the door to the main bedroom suite, Rory tells me to come in. I stride into the room, hell bent on securing her help to bring Alex around to my newest plan.

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa." I skid to a halt and hold up my arms to cover my face.

"It's a boob, Brice. With a baby attached to it. I know you've seen a breast before—lots of them if the rumors can be believed."

"Yes, but I came in here to prevent Alex from murdering me, and I fear I've stumbled into something sure to get me murdered."

"There is now a burping cloth covering my breast. You're safe." Slowly, I lower my arms and Rory's green eyes are tired but amused. "Such a wimp. My boobs are currently glorified bottles."

"Murder, Rory. Fratricide. No one wants that." I fall into the armchair opposite the one she's in near the fireplace that isn't switched on. "Do you happen to know Alex's plans for the outbuildings on the estate?"

"No," Rory says. "But you could ask Alex yourself and then you'd know."

"I wanted to borrow one for the next..." I calculate the length of time between now and the race. "Six months. For a charity race."

"Nick told me he'd heard you were vying for a spot on Bellerive's adventure race team. What's that about? Isn't it on some streaming service?"

Fucking Nick selling me out. "Do you think Alex has heard that as well?" In theory I came to ask Rory to break the news to Alex and ask for the use of the outbuilding closest to the water's edge for storage and whatever else we can cobble together quickly.

"Does Alex need to approve your participation? Is the race dangerous?"

Yes and yes. "Queen Aurora, I am trying to defer to your wisdom."

"And I'd like to stay happily married. Go talk to your brother. I am not your go-between." She stares down at Grace, my niece, as though I've been dismissed.

I must say, she's become a lot more assertive since she became a queen and a mother. Posey still enjoys my nonsense, and since her boyfriend has become one of my best friends over the years, I could work that angle. Posey has Rory's ear about anything she wants, and I have Brent's. It's the long way around, and I much prefer a shortcut.

"Go talk to Alex." Rory lets out a deep sigh. "Actually," she holds up a finger, "explain to me why you want to do it."

I ease my hands over my face and lean my elbows on my knees. It would be easy to give her the pat answer, the one I'll likely give anyone who asks from here on out. My father has Alzheimer's, and it's a cause close to my heart. But that's not why I want to do it. Or at least that's not the driver.

"If I tell you the truth, will you talk to Alex?"

"You don't think you can talk to Alex about it?" Her green eyes soften.

"I don't want to." Alex has Bellerive. Nick has his project in Tanzania with Jules. I want this race, but I'm not in the mood to have my dedication or skillset questioned, which is exactly what Alex will do. Most of the time, he isn't critical on purpose; it's just his nature.

Maren Tucker, on the other hand, takes great delight in picking holes in me. She'll be one person who'll never get the real reason I'm keen to do this.

"Tell me," Rory says, and she gives my foot a gentle kick with her own.

"I'm afraid Alex won't get the law for Dad sorted in time, and I'll be stuck watching our father deteriorate while Alex and Nick are consumed by other things." I peer at the blanket covering Grace. "Other people."

Silence sits between us, but I can't make eye contact. That's more candid than I intended to be, but there is something about Rory's softness that draws out an answering tenderness in other people.

"You want use of the outbuilding and you want permission to participate?" Rory readjusts Grace under the blanket. "I'll mention it to Alex, but I'm sure he'll want to speak to you about the risks involved."

"I'll be trained," I say. "Maren Tucker is training us, and she's been doing these races since she was a kid."

"Maren Tucker." The name rolls around Rory's mouth. "Isn't she the Tucker who doesn't like you?"

"Correct." I bark out a laugh. "Being on the team serves a third purpose. She doesn't want me there."

Rory readjusts herself under the blanket and brings Grace to rest against her shoulder before she starts patting her on the back with rapid taps. "I'm no expert on parent-child relationships." She tips her head at where Grace is curled onto her shoulder. "But sometimes being there for someone you love is all you can do, the best you can do. Don't bury yourself in this race and miss out on time with your dad."

"It's a healthy distraction and a good cause." But it also gives me a chance to be away from the main house for hours at a time, to leave the estate to train when our father's noticeable decline wears on my soul. My mother is already discussing the modifications to their suite of rooms that will need to be made to keep my father safe as the disease progresses.

"I'll chat to Alex." Rory cradles Grace in her arms and wipes her mouth. "Baby snuggles?"

"Oh, go on then." I rise and take Grace from her, wedging her into the crook of my arm like a rugby ball. "If I'm going to be the favorite, fun uncle, I need every advantage over my competition."

"Tattooed bad boy Prince Brice cradling a baby." Rory digs her phone out from the side of the chair. "Hold still. PR will be so pleased I remembered to take a photo they can release to the public."

I chuckle and give her a grin while raising Grace so her tiny face is visible. "As long as they hashtag it Nanny Brice, I'm all for it."

Rory snorts as she closes her phone. "I'll let them know. Seeing you holding his daughter might soften Alex a little too."

"I'm winning all over the place." Stealing the hearts of the public, softening my brother's tough outer shell, and becoming this little one's top contender for uncle of the year. As long as the Alzheimer's Board votes me onto the race team, I'll be on my way to carving out my own sliver of happiness. A new adventure awaits.

Update: Thursday

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