Henry is in turmoil. He has half a mind to just walk away now, before he says anything he's going to seriously regret later. It's Alex, he thinks- being this close to him is intoxicating, and his head is spinning wildly. He can't quite get the feeling of being stuck on a runaway train, helpless and about to crash, out of his head. Obviously, he's not smart enough to leave it at that, so he continues, feeling increasingly doomed.

"Have you ever noticed I have never once approached you and have been exhaustively civil every time we've spoken? Yet here you are, seeking me out again." Henry drains his glass, smiling against the rim. "Simply an observation."

"What? I'm not-" Alex stammers, cheeks turning fiercely red, "You're the-"

"Have a lovely evening, Alex."

Henry steels himself, making up his mind and turning away, making a beeline for his sister. He's just raising a hand and opening his mouth to call out to her, when Alex reaches out to him and tugs sharply on Henry's shoulder, pulling him back. Henry lets out a little gasp, whirling around, ready to confront Alex again, and then Alex trips backwards, stumbles over a table and teeters on the brink for a second that seems to last for years. He grabs Henry's arm to steady himself, but it's too late, and they crash backwards together, into the table, which Henry notices with widened eyes holds the enormous, tiered, £75,000 wedding cake.

The cake topples over, and Henry watches from the floor in slow motion, a fistful of his suit still clutched tight in Alex's hand, as it comes crashing down on top of them in an avalanche of sugared roses and buttercream.

He realises distantly that his champagne glass has smashed around them, and that a thin snake of blood trickles down his cheek from a cut there. The next thing he realises is that hundreds of pairs of eyes are fixed onto them in shock. A trail of expletives that he doesn't notice are loosed from his mouth. And then the bright flash of a camera goes off.

***

"Henry. What the actual hell?" Shaan, Henry's equerry, towers over him, face like thunder, waving a fat wad of newspapers in his face. It's been all over the headlines; The £75,000 stumble; BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Henry and FSOTUS Come to Blows at Royal Wedding; CAKEGATE: Alex Claremont-Diaz Sparks Second English- American War. Each article is accompanied by a large, colour printed photo of himself and Alex; smeared with buttercream, a cut slicing down Henry's pale, wide-eyed face- it still hasn't healed- champagne in their hair and Henry's suit clenched in Alex's sweaty fist, surrounded by a ring of horrified onlookers. He lets out a groan, tugging at his hair, hiding his face in his hands.

"I'm so sorry, Shaan. I just- we just..." Henry gives up trying to speak, trailing off and peeking hesitantly up at Shaan, who takes one look at his tear-blotched cheeks and tousled hair, and softens instantly. He tosses the papers down on the table with just a touch too much force.

"You okay, kid?" Henry starts to nod, then slowly changes it to a brief, firm shake of the head.

"Look, I'm sorry. Just...tell me how I can fix this." Shaan slumps into the chair opposite him, letting out a weary sigh.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do. Your family and our new American friends are going to release a joint statement saying what happened was just a big accident. Play the clumsy, drunk friends card."

"That...doesn't sound too bad, actually." He drops his hands away from his face, but Shaan continues, voice growing grim now, a frown ghosting across his lips.

"-and this is where it gets worse. Your new best friend Alex is coming to England this weekend. Arriving Saturday evening, leaving Sunday. You're gonna have to make nice with him, Henry." Henry plants his face back in his hands again.

"Oh God." He doesn't think he can face seeing Alex again, with his infuriatingly perfect smirk and razor-edged wit.

"I'm sorry." He waves Shaan's apologies away.

"I'm fine. Can I...have some time, please? Alone?"

"Just one more thing. You're going to need to learn this." Shaan places a last sheet of paper on top of the newspapers already on the table, adding, under his breath, "Good luck, kid."

As soon as the door closes behind his equerry, Henry slumps down in his seat. Alex. Coming to England. It's all too much. He gets that their families have to maintain their image, and that Alex is probably going through a lot worse than he is right now, because he doesn't hate Alex. He has no problem with him. Maybe even less than that. Alex, on the other hand, is probably planning to fake his own death right now, just to avoid seeing Henry again. It stings more than a little, to be honest.

But Saturday. He's coming on Saturday. What the hell is Henry going to do? Henry's bleary eyes fall on the paper Shaan left for him, seizing it gingerly and scanning the title with a frown: FSOTUS FACT SHEET. Great. Just great. Not only has he caused an international incident and jeopardized his family's entire career, but he has homework as well. Thanks a lot, Shaan

***