Chapter 11
Ricard
The citrus-scented steam still clung to my skin as I watched Theo, with unguarded fascination, lift the jade face roller from my vanity as he investigated my collection of grooming products neatly arranged on the marble countertop.
Steam still hung in the air from our shower, fogging the edges of the mirror as we stood side by side, towels knotted around our waists.
“Seriously? You need all of these?” Theo picked up my facial toner, examining it with exaggerated skepticism. “There's like fifteen bottles here, Your Grace.”
“Ricard,” I corrected gently. “And yes, each serves a purpose.”
“This one too?” He held up my imported French serum, squinting at the label. “What does this even do?”
I plucked it from his fingers. “It hydrates and firms the skin. Something you might appreciate in twenty years.”
Theo snorted. “I wash my face with bar soap.”
“Barbarian.” I dabbed a small amount of moisturizer onto my fingertips and turned toward him. “May I?”
“Feels sticky.” He leaned into my touch anyway, eyelids fluttering when I smoothed the excess along his jawline.
I memorized the path—the dip beneath his earlobe, the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow.
Vulnerable. Precious. Mine to tend. “Close your eyes,” I murmured, dabbing around the delicate skin beneath them.
He complied, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Is this part of the royal treatment?”
“Consider it an educational experience.” My thumb traced the curve of his lower lip, lingering perhaps longer than necessary.
When I finished, I reached for my styling cream, working a small amount through his damp, tousled hair.
He stilled, lips parting. Another surrender. Another gift.
I combed my fingers through the strands, arranging them in a way that emphasized his natural waves rather than fighting them.
His reflection watched me work, my hands gentler than they'd been hours ago when I'd bound him, marked him, fucked him raw.
“There,” I said softly. “Presentable enough even for my father's court.”
Theo's eyes fluttered open, glancing at his reflection with surprise. “Huh. Not bad.”
I followed Theo into the kitchen, unable to resist letting my hand brush against the small of his back as he passed through the doorway ahead of me. Such a simple touch, yet one I'd denied myself for years. Here, in this sanctuary, I indulged freely.
“Coffee?” Theo asked, already moving toward the sleek machine with practiced efficiency.
“Please.” I leaned against the counter, content to observe him.
There was something captivating about watching him navigate my temporary domain; the way he opened cabinets with casual familiarity, how he stretched to reach the mugs on the upper shelf, revealing a strip of skin where his shirt rode up.
He caught me staring and smiled, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to admit how domestic this felt, how right. “Just enjoying the view.”
The coffee machine hummed to life, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. Theo prepared my cup exactly as I preferred—black with a whisper of cream, then we stepped onto the stone patio, the morning air crisp against my skin.
The canyon stretched before us, bathed in the golden light of dawn. Shadows retreated from the valley floor as the sun climbed higher, illuminating the rugged landscape in breathtaking detail. A hawk circled lazily overhead, riding thermal currents with a flap of its wings.
“Magnificent,” I murmured, settling into one of the cushioned chairs.
Theo sat beside me, legs crossed beneath him. He blew on his coffee, creating ripples across the surface before taking a cautious sip. I noticed how he held the mug with both hands, as if savoring its warmth; a small, endearing gesture that spoke of simple pleasures appreciated.
A comfortable silence settled between us as we watched a hawk circle lazily overhead. “Different from home?” he asked.
“Different, but equally beautiful,” I replied, sipping my coffee. “Avaline is mountainous, with deep valleys and crystal-clear lakes. The palace is nestled against the side of a mountain, with views of the capital city below and the peaks rising behind it.”
“Sounds like something from a fairy tale.”
“It can feel that way sometimes.” I shifted closer, our shoulders nearly touching. “Especially when winter comes and snow covers everything. The palace was built hundreds of years ago, with great arched windows specifically designed to frame the mountain views.”
“I'd like to see it someday,” Theo said wistfully, then seemed to catch himself, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “I mean, it sounds beautiful.”
I watched him carefully, noting the way he averted his gaze, focusing on his coffee cup.
An awkward silence fell between us, the first since our initial meeting.
I found myself wanting to break it, to assure him that I would love nothing more than to show him Avaline, to watch his face as he saw the palace for the first time.
Instead, I reached for the coffee pot, refilling his cup before my own, a small, unconscious reversal of protocol that would have scandalized the palace staff. In Avaline, I was always served first, a hierarchy maintained even in the most intimate settings.
“Tell me about your home,” I said instead, redirecting the conversation to safer ground. “What was your life like before The Ranch?”
Theo's expression shifted, a shadow passing over his features.
“Nothing special. I grew up in a small town outside San Diego called Julian. My mom dipped when I was a kid, then my dad died when I was fifteen—car accident. Casey had just graduated from college by then, so he came back home to take care of me.”
The casual way he mentioned such profound loss struck me. “I'm sorry,” I said, inadequate words for such tragedy.
He shrugged, though I could see the tension in his shoulders. “It was a long time ago. Casey gave up a lot for me. That's why...” He trailed off, taking a sip of his coffee.
“That's why you're here,” I finished for him. “Taking care of him now, as he took care of you.”
Theo nodded, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “He's all I have.”
The simple statement hung in the air between us, weighted with implications. I thought of my own family—complicated, frustrating, but always there. I couldn't imagine being so alone in the world, having only one person to rely on.
“What about you?” Theo asked, clearly wanting to shift focus away from himself. “What's it like being a duke? Do you have like, royal duties and stuff?”
“Yes, I have ‘royal duties and stuff.’” I couldn't help smiling at his phrasing.
“Avaline is small but proud of its heritage. My father is the reigning monarch, which makes my brother Remy the crown prince and heir. As duke, I handle diplomatic relations, charity patronages, cultural initiatives. The less glamorous aspects of maintaining a modern monarchy.”
“And do you like it? Being a duke?”
The question gave me pause. No one had ever asked me that before.
My title wasn't a job I had chosen or could resign from.
It was my identity, my birthright, my burden.
Ministers, advisors, even close friends approached me with deference, their questions always carefully framed to acknowledge my position, never to question it.
Yet here was Theo, in his borrowed robe with tousled hair, asking me directly about my feelings as if I were any other person. As if my answer mattered not because of what it might reveal about state affairs, but because he genuinely wanted to know me.
“I've never known anything else,” I said finally. “But I find satisfaction in service, in using my position to effect positive change.”
“That's not really answering the question,” Theo pointed out, his gaze direct and challenging in a way few people dared with me. No hesitation, no careful diplomatic framing. Just honest observation.
In Avaline, such directness would be considered impertinent, even from senior officials. Yet from Theo, it felt refreshing rather than offensive, a reminder that here, I was valued for my humanity, not my title.
I laughed, surprised by his perception and my own reaction to it.
“No, I suppose it isn't.” I considered my answer more carefully, feeling strangely liberated by his straightforwardness.
“There are aspects I enjoy. The travel, meeting people from different cultures, supporting causes I believe in. But the constant scrutiny, the lack of privacy, the expectations...” I shook my head. “Those I could do without.”
“Like having to hide who you really are?” Theo asked quietly.
His insight caught me off guard. “Yes,” I admitted. “Exactly like that.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“It is,” I agreed, finding unexpected relief in the simple acknowledgment. “In Avaline, I am always the Duke, always performing the role expected of me. Here...” I gestured to the space between us. “Here, I can just be Ricard.”
“I like Ricard,” Theo said, his smile soft and genuine. “He's pretty cool.”
The compliment, simple as it was, warmed something in me. “Thank you. I like him too, when I get the chance to be him.”
We fell into a comfortable silence, sipping our coffee as the morning light strengthened around us. A gentle breeze carried the scent of desert sage and distant rain. In this moment, with Theo beside me, I felt a peace I rarely experienced, a sense of being exactly where I belonged.
“What about your brother?” Theo asked, eventually. “What's he like?”
I sighed, setting my empty cup on the small table between us.
“Remy is... complicated. Charming, charismatic, beloved by the public. He can walk into a room and make everyone feel like his best friend.” I shook my head, remembering countless state functions where Remy had worked the crowd while I stood stiffly by.
“But he's also reckless, impulsive, with little regard for consequences.”