Chapter 19 #2
And yet, watching him walk away with those men awakened a possessiveness within me. I wanted to follow them, to claim him, to declare to everyone present he was mine and mine alone.
The intensity of this territorial impulse shocked me. It was foreign to my diplomatic nature, a violent discord in my carefully composed existence.
I took a larger sip of champagne, trying to wash away the bitterness that had risen in my throat as the image of Theo with those men remained, vivid and tormenting in my mind. I struggled to regain my composure despite the burning sensation that wouldn't subside.
“Your Grace.” A deep, resonant voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
I turned to find Ibrahim Nassar standing at my side, his presence commanding even in this gathering of powerful men.
Unlike others, he wore no mask, his striking features fully visible—a statement in itself, perhaps, that he had nothing to hide or that his role transcended the evening's masquerade.
His attire, white leather that gleamed under the lights, set him apart.
“Master Ibrahim,” I acknowledged, grateful for the distraction despite the awkwardness of the recognition. “A pleasure to speak with you again.”
A slight smile curved his lips. “The pleasure is mine, Duke d'Moncloud. You’ve made quite an impression during your stay.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Thank you,” I said, surprised by the hollow quality of my voice.
Ibrahim’s gaze followed mine to where Theo had disappeared with the two men.
His expression revealed nothing, but I sensed he had been watching this tableau unfold, perhaps expecting my reaction.
“I've been meaning to have a proper conversation with you.
I understand you've been enjoying our hospitality.”
The emphasis he placed on “enjoying” sent a flush creeping up my neck, something about his look making me feel vulnerable. “Dove Canyon is exceptional,” I said. “In every respect.”
Ibrahim nodded, accepting my diplomatic response.
“We pride ourselves on creating experiences that transcend the ordinary.” He gestured toward a quieter corner of the plaza, guiding our conversation toward privacy without explicitly requesting it.
As we moved, he continued in a lower voice, “I've observed many clients during my years here, Your Grace. From billionaires to celebrities, power brokers to aristocracy. Each arrives seeking something they believe they cannot find elsewhere.”
He paused, his expression becoming serious.
“I've noticed patterns, especially among those in positions similar to yours. Men who live their lives bound by expectation, protocol, public scrutiny. They often find certain connections here that feel... transformative. Authentic in ways their daily interactions rarely achieve.”
His insights were uncomfortably precise. I felt exposed, vulnerable. “And you believe I fall into this category?” I asked, unable to keep a slight edge from my voice.
“I believe you found something you weren't seeking,” he replied. “But even in a place dedicated to fantasy, certain realities must be acknowledged.”
I tensed, sensing the conversation was shifting. “Oh?”
“Our rules may seem harsh,” he continued, his gaze fixed on the doorway through which Theo had just disappeared. “Particularly to guests who form attachments during their stay. But they exist to ensure the safety of all involved, physically and emotionally.”
So, this was it. A gentle warning about getting too close to the merchandise.
I should have felt offended; instead, a weary resignation settled over me.
Of course they had noticed my preference for Theo.
I'd hardly been subtle. And in a place where discretion was the primary commodity, such attachments were undoubtedly monitored with vigilance.
“I understand,” I said quietly, my gaze drifting to another companion in a peacock-feather mask, laughing at a guest's whispered words.
“I see my feelings are... foolish. Our worlds are too far apart for such dreams.”
Ibrahim studied me. “Do you?”
My internal conflict writhed at his piercing gaze. “I suppose I am aware of it. But it doesn’t lessen the desire.”
He continued to watch, and irritation boiled within me. “What do you expect me to say, Master Ibrahim? That I will forget Theo the moment I leave?”
“I expect you to consider the consequences of such feelings,” he replied, his voice calm yet firm. “Theo is scheduled to see you tomorrow. Do you still wish for that appointment to proceed?”
The thought of seeing Theo again, of holding him, of knowing it would be our last time together, it was both tempting and devastating.
But leaving without saying goodbye felt unbearable.
“Yes,” I nodded, internal conflict thickening my voice.
“But it will be the last time. I’ll be leaving immediately afterward. ”
Something that could have been approval flickered in his eyes. “Very well. I hope you’ll see us at Dove Canyon again someday, Your Grace.”
I didn’t answer, but in my heart, I knew the truth: I would not return to this idyllic wonderland where I had found happiness I hadn’t known was possible, regardless of what decision Remy made.
As I left Ibrahim to mingle with the crowd, I felt strangely bereft, as if our conversation marked the official end of something precious.
I finished my champagne, placing the empty glass on a passing server's tray while reclaiming control.
The party continued around me, an extravagant swirl of color, sound, and movement, all of it now seeming distant, as if viewed through a pane of glass.
The masks that had seemed whimsical and liberating mere minutes ago now struck me as somber reminders of the facades we all maintained, the lies we told ourselves about who we were and what we truly desired.
For a brief, reckless moment, I considered following Theo and those men, fabricating an emergency to interrupt whatever he might be involved in. But what would be the point? He was fulfilling his role, embracing the very reality I had accepted.
My jealousy, possessiveness, and longing—these were mine to manage, not his. The weight rested on me alone.
Instead, I moved toward one of the quieter corners near a small fire pit, settling onto a cushioned bench.
The flames danced hypnotically, casting flickering shadows on those nearby.
No one paid particular attention to my arrival, which I was grateful for.
I allowed the warmth of the fire to seep into me, counteracting the chill of jealousy and loss that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the hollow ache spreading through my chest.
As I watched the sparks flicker upwards, I couldn't shake the thought of what awaited me back in Avaline.
The medieval palace with its protocols and hierarchies.
A Council of Ministers who would scrutinize my every move if I became heir apparent.
Royal apartments in the east wing that would become my prison, larger and more luxurious than most homes, yet bounded by security measures and constant surveillance that made true privacy impossible.
Maybe I could reconcile my duty and my feelings. Maybe there was a way to keep both worlds intact. But as the flames flickered, I realized that even if I tried to maintain that balance, it would forever remain at risk of being consumed.