Chapter 23
Ricard
Ireached for him in the darkness, fingers stretching across the cool sheets.
Theo's warmth beckoned me closer, a beacon in the emptiness I'd carried with me since our parting.
Breath against my neck tickled my skin, teasing the fine hairs at my nape.
His fingers traced delicate patterns across my chest, each touch igniting a primal urge within me.
“Your Grace,” he whispered, voice like velvet against my ear.
“I've been waiting for you.” There was no formality in his use of my title, only the gentle teasing that had become our private language, a reminder of the absurd distance between our worlds that somehow, in his presence, had ceased to matter.
Desperate to see his face and lose myself in those haunting eyes, I turned. But as I reached for him, my hands grasped nothing but air. The warmth dissipated, leaving behind only cold sheets and the hollow ache of longing in my chest.
My eyes snapped open, heart pounding against my ribs like a prisoner demanding release. For a disorienting moment, the dream clung to my consciousness, and I reached toward the space beside me, my body remembering what my mind knew was impossible.
The elegant hotel room came into focus. Too impersonal, devoid of Theo's presence. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the plush carpet.
Another day in my gilded cage. Another day without him.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ornate ceiling as the dream faded, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of what could have been. This was my reality. Waking up alone, reaching for someone who would never be there.
Is this what the rest of my life will be?
The question hung there, demanding an answer I wasn't prepared to give. Day after day, year after year, until the memory of him became a ghost, a whisper of what might have been.
I pushed myself up from the bed, running a hand through my disheveled hair. The dream still clung to me like a second skin, Theo's phantom touch haunting my nerves.
What would life be like without the weight of the crown?
Without the expectations that had been placed upon my shoulders since birth?
I'd told Theo I could live a quiet life somewhere, that I'd be content with simplicity.
The words had flowed so easily then, a beautiful fantasy shared in the intimacy of our stolen moments.
But was it true?
I walked to the window, looking out at the Dallas skyline.
Who was Ricard d’Moncloud without his title?
Without his family name? A man who had never booked his own flight, never worried about mundane concerns like electricity bills or grocery shopping.
A man who'd been trained from childhood to rule, to command, to exist within the rigid framework of royal protocol.
I'd spent years complaining about the restrictions of my position—the endless meetings, the scrutiny, the lack of privacy—yet those very structures had defined my existence. They were the scaffolding upon which I'd built my identity.
Could I function without them?
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. An ordinary life, perhaps in a modest apartment, working a regular job, coming home to Theo each evening, held an undeniable appeal. The simplicity of it, the honesty. No more performances for the public, no more political chess games.
But I'd be lying to myself if I pretended it wouldn't be a seismic adjustment.
The privileges I'd taken for granted: the staff who anticipated my needs before I voiced them, the doors that opened simply because of my name, the financial security I'd never questioned.
They were part of me, embedded in my DNA as surely as my blue eyes and blond hair.
I moved through my morning routine mechanically, each gesture perfected through years of practice. Shower, shave, dress. The motions comforted me even as my mind wandered back to lazy mornings with Theo, with his sleepy smile, the way his hair stood at odd angles, the feel of his skin against mine.
I adjusted my tie in the mirror, the man staring back exactly as he should—poised, controlled, every inch the Grand Duke of Avaline. No one would guess that beneath the immaculate suit beat the heart of a man who had glimpsed freedom only to see it snatched away.
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. “Your Grace?” Sébastien's voice was always respectful. “Prince Remy is expecting you for breakfast.”
“Thank you, Sébastien.” My voice sounded hollow. “I'll be there shortly.”
One last look in the mirror. I schooled my features into the mask of the perfect younger brother, the dutiful son, the responsible royal. A role I had played for so long that sometimes I forgot it wasn't who I truly was.
But I knew better now. I had tasted freedom; Theo had shown me what it could be.
And I had thrown it away with both hands.
The thought sent a jolt through me, not just regret, but a sudden clarity. Was I really going to accept this loss without a fight?
Two guards stood at attention outside Remy's door. They nodded respectfully as I approached, one opening the door without a word.
Remy's presence was evident. Scattered belongings: a half-empty coffee cup on the table, the newspaper folded haphazardly beside it, a jacket thrown over a chair. My brother had never been one for tidiness, a trait that drove our mother to distraction.
I moved to the window, gazing at the sprawling Dallas skyline, all steel and glass, a stark contrast to the timeless beauty of Avaline.
“Ricard!” Remy's warm voice pulled me from my reverie. He emerged from the bedroom, his hair damp from the shower, smile bright as ever. “You're early. Or am I late?” He glanced at his watch, a rueful expression crossing his face. “The latter, it seems. My apologies.”
“No need to apologize.” I forced a smile, the practiced one that never quite reached my eyes. “I've only just arrived myself.”
Remy studied me, head tilted. “You look terrible,” he announced, his blunt honesty shining through. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Enough,” I lied, thinking of the dreams that had haunted me, of warm eyes and laughter, of a connection I had walked away from. I moved away from the window, taking a seat where breakfast was laid out. “More importantly, did you?”
“Like a baby.” Remy poured himself coffee, then offered the pot. “One of the few benefits of hitting rock bottom. There’s nowhere to go but up.” He filled my cup, then set it down with a sigh. “Besides, I have you here now. Everything will be fine.”
His casual confidence sent a chill down my spine.
How easily he assumed I would fix everything, that I would stand beside him as I always had.
And why wouldn't he? This had been our pattern since childhood: Remy creating chaos, me restoring order.
It was a dance so familiar that neither of us had ever questioned its steps.
“Remy,” I began, measuring my words carefully. “About your plan—”
“I've been thinking,” he interrupted, suddenly enthusiastic, blind to my internal shift. “We should issue a joint statement when we return to Avaline. A united front. The people love you, Ricard. If they see you standing by me, it'll smooth things over.”
I took a sip of my coffee, gathering my thoughts.
“And what would this statement say? That you're sorry for embarrassing your wife and children?
You regret bringing shame to the monarchy?
That it won't happen again?” I set my cup down, meeting his gaze squarely.
“Because we both know those would be lies.”
Remy's smile dimmed, hurt flickering before resignation took its place. “You're angry with me, and I understand. I've made a mess, and now I'm asking you to clean it up.”
“I'm not angry, Remy.” It was true. The emotion churning in my chest was deeper, complex and painful. “Have you considered what I might want in all this? What my life will become if I step into your role?”
Remy blinked, startled by the question. In our thirty-plus years of brotherhood, I realized with sudden clarity, he had rarely, if ever, considered my desires separate from his needs. Not from malice, but from the entitled perspective of someone who had never been asked to consider another's path.
“I'm tired. Tired of watching you make the same mistakes. Tired of picking up the pieces. Tired of sacrificing my happiness for a family that has never accepted me.”
The words hung between us, heavy with years of unspoken resentment. Remy stared at me, shock evident, as if he were seeing me for the first time.
“Ricard, I—”
“Let me finish.” I held up my hand. “I will support you, but there are conditions.”
Remy's brow furrowed. “Conditions? What sort?”
I leaned forward. “I'm tired of hiding. Tired of pretending to protect a reputation you're determined to destroy.”
Understanding dawned in Remy's eyes, followed by alarm. “You want to come out? Now? The timing couldn't be worse. With everything happening—”
“The timing will never be right,” I cut him off. “There will always be crises, scandals, reasons not to live honestly. What I won't accept is being told that my nature is more shameful than your repeated infidelities.”
Remy flinched as if I'd struck him, his face paling. “I've never said that. I've never thought that.”
“Haven't you?” I challenged, the words bitter on my tongue.
“You've never once stood up for me when Father made his disapproval clear.
Never questioned why my private life is considered a potential embarrassment to the monarchy while your public indiscretions are treated as mere inconveniences.
You've never asked why I should hide who I am when you've never had to hide who you are.”
Remy's expression crumpled, guilt washing over him. “You're right. I've been selfish. I've taken your support for granted.” He reached across the table, covering my hand. “I'm sorry, Ricard. Truly sorry.”