Chapter Forty-Four
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Michel threw his dinner jacket on his bed and stepped out onto the balcony, facing the inner courtyard of the palace. The view of the elegant fountain surrounded by a neatly manicured garden usually relaxed him, but he couldn’t draw a proper breath tonight.
He thought he would lose his mind when Emma left him. Her parting words had played over and over in his head, drowning him with shame, until he came to his decision to abdicate. Because she was right.
It was true he had asked her to give up everything while he risked nothing. In all his privilege and entitlement, he had never once thought he could be the one to sacrifice everything. Now he knew he would give anything to have Emma back.
But when he decided to abdicate, he realized that he truly wanted to rule Rouleme. He realized too late that he wanted to be a good king like his father. It would be a privilege to sit on the throne, not a burden. He loosened his tie with an impatient tug and ran his fingers through his hair. Leaving his people behind would be like ripping out a vital part of himself, but Emma was worth the sacrifice. He wouldn’t be whole without his country, but he would be nothing without her.
Emma had been wrong about one thing. She’d accused him of keeping his engagement a secret as a backup plan when he never made a conscious decision not to tell her. In truth, he had been so focused on winning her over that he’d all but forgotten about his engagement to his childhood friend.
And she’d been wrong to suspect that he would’ve married Isabelle if she refused his proposal. He could never marry anyone else—duty be damned—because his heart would always belong to Emma. It wouldn’t be fair to Isabelle, and it wouldn’t be fair to him. He wanted to kick himself for not telling her that before she walked out of his hotel room.
But God, he hoped Emma would have him. He hoped he could prove to her that she would always come first for him. He would not have survived the last few days if he hadn’t come up with a plan to win her back. Now that he’d decided to abdicate, he felt as though he was making his way back to her. The unbearable pressure in his chest had eased just enough to let him breathe. He wouldn’t be whole until he was by her side again, but the hope of winning her back gave him enough strength to function—enough strength to carry out his plan.
Michel just prayed that it wouldn’t kill his father to hear his decision. The longer he waited to tell his father, the more anxious he became, and he desperately needed to be done with it. But every time he tried to speak to his father alone, some peculiar obstacle would appear. It would usually be Sophie or Antoine with some urgent matter that needed Michel’s immediate attention, which ultimately turned out to be a false alarm.
Their obvious interference was extremely vexing. Yesterday evening, he found his door locked from the outside when he tried to go to his father. When he texted Sophie, she came to his chamber without delay, then proceeded to apologize for nearly half an hour as she worked with Antoine to fix the allegedly broken lock. They ignored his suggestion to retrieve the palace caretaker and spent another half an hour saying Almost there . By the time they got his door open, his father had retired for the night.
With an aggrieved sigh, Michel turned his back on the courtyard and stepped into his chambers. Staring out into the night wasn’t going to solve anything. He needed to speak with his father. As he steeled his nerves and reached for the door handle, a firm knock sounded at the door. His brows furrowed in confusion, but he finished opening the door as he’d intended.
“My… prince.” Sophie seemed taken aback to have her knock answered so quickly, but gathered herself with a brisk shake of her head. “I mean… Do you have a moment to talk, Michel? As a friend?”
“Of course.” It was his turn to be surprised, but his shock swiftly morphed into suspicion. This had to be another delay tactic. “Please come in.”
He led her to his sitting room with the sky-blue wallpaper and dark wood trim. The soothing decor should make a nice backdrop for their friend talk. They sat down at the opposite ends of a long sofa. When Michel turned toward her and arched an eyebrow, Sophie cleared her throat.
“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” She drew a deep breath. “It has been an honor to serve you and Rouleme, but my place is by Gabriel’s side.”
His mouth fell open, and he sat gaping at his royal guard until she squirmed in her seat.
“Now would be a good time to say something, Michel,” Sophie said dryly.
“My God,” Michel murmured, finally closing his mouth. He reached across the sofa and clapped her shoulder. “You two have finally worked it out, then?”
“Yes.” She ducked her chin with sudden shyness. His suspicion that this was another interference ploy evaporated. “I’ve already spoken with my parents. They are disappointed, of course. Our family has served yours for generations, but my happiness comes first for them.”
“Did Gabriel ask you to move to Los Angeles?” For some reason, Michel held his breath as he waited for her answer.
“No, he didn’t.” Sophie deigned to roll her eyes, but a soft smile curled her lips. “That fool said he’d give up his tenure at USC to come back to Rouleme with me.”
“He did?” Of course he did. His cousin was a better man than he was. But Michel intended to remedy his shortcomings as soon as he obtained the opportunity.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t hear of it. What is he going to do in Rouleme? Resume his role as the tabloid’s favorite international playboy? Like hell he is,” she growled, her hands fisting on her lap. Michel leaned away from her out of self-preservation instincts. But she continued in a soft voice, “He built an amazing life for himself in Los Angeles. I was resentful at first, but I’m so proud of everything he’s accomplished.”
“But what about your accomplishments here? Are you at peace with uprooting your life?”
“Believe it or not, I find being your royal guard quite stressful,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m excited to start a new life with Gabriel in Los Angeles. And I… I want to start painting again.”
“I thought being a royal guard was your dream.” He stared at her with wide eyes.
He remembered from their childhood that she was a talented artist. But her life seemed to revolve around preserving his own, and he’d conveniently assumed she had lost interest in painting.
“It was my parents’ dream,” his friend said without resentment. “I chose to follow that path because I wanted to make them proud, but now I realize they would rather see me happy.”
“I’m glad you have a chance to follow your own dream now.” He meant every word even though he would miss his dear friend. Sophie and Gabriel deserved a happy ending after a decade of heartache.
“Thank you, Michel,” she said, squeezing his hand. But when her mobile buzzed, she shot to her feet, defaulting back to formalities. “I’m sorry, my prince. I have something to attend to. I thank you for your time.”
Before he could ask her what was happening, his royal guard walked out of the sitting room at a fast clip, her thumbs flying over her mobile screen. He stayed where he sat for a dazed moment, digesting all that Sophie had shared with him. But he pushed off the couch, remembering he had to speak with the king.
He stepped out of his chambers into the burgundy-carpeted hallway with embossed white walls and gold-tipped sconces. The wing that housed the royal apartments had a warmer, more intimate feel than the rest of the palace. But tonight, it offered him no comfort as his insides quaked with worry and regret.
By the time he made his way into the main halls of the palace, his heart pounded in time with the echoing clack of his footsteps against the marble floors. The thought of disappointing his father and his people tore him apart, but Michel had to make a choice he could live with—and that meant choosing Emma above all else.
After a few inquiries, he discovered that his father was in the throne room, of all places. What was he doing there? The throne room was the most opulent, formal hall in the entire palace, meant to convey the strength and power of the royal family—of the country as a whole. They only used that room for formal occasions. But in some ways, it was fitting that Michel renounced the throne in there. He suppressed the nervous laughter bubbling up his throat and braced himself for what must be done.
The throne room was dimly lit, the gold brocade walls darkened into bronze in the shadowed evening light. It took a moment to locate his father, standing by one of the windows lining the grand room. He was as tall and broad as Michel, but his hair had turned silver, and his gray eyes were feathered with lines, etched by years of laughter and worries. The king now gazed wistfully at the dais and the single throne that sat upon it—the twin had been removed when Michel’s mother passed away.
“Father.” Michel walked up to him, his footsteps ringing in the nearly empty room. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all, my dear boy.” His father smiled warmly at him and motioned him closer. “I was merely reminiscing as old men are wont to do.”
“About what?” Michel followed the king as he strode toward the dais.
“The years I spent sitting on that throne.” His father sighed deeply. “Wondering if I did my best for my country. For my people.”
“Of course, Father. The people of Rouleme love you.”
“That speaks more of the generosity of our people than of anything I have done to deserve their approval.” The king chuckled. “Rouleme is not perfect, but it is a country I am proud to call my own. Our people are fair-minded and possess true decency. That is a great deal more than many countries can say about their own.”
Michel felt his chest constrict with guilt. Rouleme was an amazing country, and the goodness of his people humbled him. And his father was a great king. He had often wondered whether he could be half the ruler that his father was, but now… he would never know.
He steeled himself and opened his mouth. “Father, I need to tell you—”
“My king. My prince.” Sophie appeared at the entrance. “May I present to you Ms. Emma Yoon.”
“E… Emma?” Michel breathed. Even as he doubted his eyes, he drank in the sight of her, his throat tightening with tears. He hadn’t allowed himself to wonder when he would see her again, but her absence had been gnawing away at his soul. He would’ve run to her if his legs hadn’t felt too weak to hold him upright.
She was exquisite in a long-sleeved emerald-green dress that fell halfway down her calves, and her gleaming hair hung in artful waves past her shoulders. How was she here, looking so beautiful? Then again, she was always beautiful. His brain remained unhelpfully blank as he stared at her like she was his salvation.
Emma glided across the throne room with her innate grace and sank into a curtsy before the king. “Your Majesty.”
And where did she learn to curtsy like that? It looked as effortless as though she’d been doing it all her life. Was that really the question he should be asking himself? He shook his head to clear it. Only then did he notice Emma’s furtive glance his way. Merde . She couldn’t get out of her curtsy. He finally broke free of his paralysis and helped her rise with a gentle hold on her elbow.
“Ms. Yoon,” his father said, not unkindly, but shot a confused frown at Michel. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Your Majesty.” She cleared her throat softly. “I promised Michel… that is… Prince Michel, that I would be by his side when he told you about our engagement.”
“Our engagement?” Michel repeated louder than he’d intended. He had no idea what was happening. What was she doing here? What did she mean our engagement ? “Of course… Yes… Father, I need to tell you that… that is to say…”
He blindly grabbed Emma’s hand, then lost his train of thought when he felt her ring scrape across his thumb. He glanced down—terrified and full of hope—to find that she was wearing his mother’s ring. When he raised his gaze to her face, her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and she mouthed, Yes . He wanted to grab her and kiss her until they both forgot what it meant to breathe.
“My son.” His father’s voice held a hint of reproach. “What exactly is it that you need to tell me?”
“Father, please allow me to introduce my fiancée, Emma Yoon.” Strength infused his voice. Emma was by his side, and she had agreed to marry him.
“This is… highly irregular,” the king said stiffly. “Please pardon me, Ms. Yoon. I mean you no offense, but I need to speak to my son in private.”
“Yes, Father. We do need to speak. At length,” Michel agreed readily. “But first, I need to speak with Emma.”
“Michel.” The look his father gave him would’ve withered him on the spot if he hadn’t been exploding with happiness.
“I assure you, my king, the news I was about to share with you before Emma came would’ve been much worse than an unexpected engagement.” Michel laughed. “Allow me to have an hour with my fiancée. I will come to your chambers and answer all your questions after.”
“Michel.” Emma glanced between him and his father. “Speak with your father. I can wait.”
“Well, I can’t.” He grabbed her hand and ran out of the throne room in the most undignified fashion and didn’t stop until they reached the privacy of his chambers. He pulled her inside and locked the door behind them, hoping it was in working order.
Their chests rising and falling rapidly, Michel and Emma stared at each other. When silent tears slid down her cheeks, he jolted into action. He gathered her into his arms, breathing in her scent and glorying in the feel of her soft body against his.
“You’re here,” he whispered, still afraid that he would wake from this wondrous dream.
“Yes.” Her voice broke on the single word.
“And you’ll marry me?” His arms tightened around her as his blood pounded in his ears.
“Yes.” When he pulled back to search her face—checking to make sure she was really here—a watery laugh left her. “Yes, Michel. I’ll marry you.”
“How?” He enveloped her in another embrace. He quite literally never wanted to let her go.
“Gabriel and Sophie,” she said simply.
“I don’t know how to repay them, but I will try.” He swallowed. “I can’t believe they brought you to me. If it wasn’t for them—”
Emma suddenly pushed him away, hard enough to make him stumble back, leaving his arms unbearably empty.
“What. Were. You. Thinking? ” she shouted with such outrage that he cringed away from her.
“I… about which part?” He’d made so many mistakes, he couldn’t figure out which one she was angry about. Maybe all of them?
“Abdicate?” she screeched. “How can you even think about abdicating? What about your father? What about your people?”
“How?” The tension and agony of the past few days combusted into anger in his veins. “How do you think? I thought I’d lost you. I thought it was the only way to win you back.”
“For me?” She poked a finger at her chest. “You would’ve turned your back on your birthright? For me?”
“Yes,” he roared. “I would’ve done anything if it meant I could have you back. You. Come. First.” His anger seeped out of him. What right did he have to be angry? “Don’t you see? Nothing matters if I can’t be with you. I am nothing without you.”
Emma’s face crumpled, and he caught her in his arms as her legs gave out. He carried her to his bed and sat down with her in his lap. He gathered her against him, tucking her head under his chin. She was crying into his chest with sharp, broken sobs.
“Shh.” He kissed her forehead. “Hush, darling Emma. I love you. Everything will be all right. Hush now.”
“I… I love you, too.” She hiccupped. “And I didn’t… I didn’t mean what I said about you not sacrificing anything. Love isn’t about measuring how much we give up for each other.” She cut him off when he tried to argue. “ It isn’t . Love is about being there for each other in the best way we can. It’s about making sure that we are happy together .
“Getting angry at you for having Isabelle as your backup plan was just an excuse.” She buried her face in his chest. “Who am I to judge you when I told you that you were just my ‘break’ from matseons?”
“I wouldn’t have married Isabelle even if you wouldn’t have me,” he said in a rush. “You’re the only one for me, Emma.”
“And there is no one for me but you.” Fresh tears filled her eyes as she gazed up at him. “I was so afraid of our love fading—so afraid of losing you—that I… I ran away. But I’ll never run away from our love again. I belong to you as you belong to me. That will never change.”
She cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes with such love that there was nothing he could do but kiss her. The soft, tender brushes of their lips soon became hungry and greedy. He drove his tongue into her hot, wet mouth and claimed her. Mine, mine, mine. And she claimed him right back to his great satisfaction. He was hers. All hers.
Michel laid her on the bed and covered her body with his, taut and aching. He needed to make her come. First, on his hand. Then against his tongue. He grabbed at her dress with fumbling fingers, but she clamped a hand over his. Stopping immediately, he rose onto his elbow and stared down at her flushed face.
“What is it, my love?” he asked, his breath coming in rough pants.
“Your father,” she said, equally breathless. “You told him you’d go talk to him.”
“Yes, of course.” With great regret, he lifted his body off hers and lay down next to her. “But remind me. What was I supposed to talk to him about?”
“Tell him that neither you nor Isabelle want to marry each other.” She explained his own mind to him with great patience. “Tell him you are in love with me, and you intend to marry me and no one else.”
“Oh?” He turned his head to the side and grinned at her. “Is that all?”
“No, that is not all,” she said primly, although she couldn’t stop her dimple from winking enticingly at him. “You must also tell him that a brilliant botanist—namely, my father—will be coming to live with us in the palace.”
“That’s wonderful, Emma.” He reached out to run the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Your father is agreeable to moving to Rouleme?”
She nodded with tears in her eyes. “I talked to him on my flight over. He said he would be happy anywhere as long as he had me and a garden to tend.”
“He can have as much land as he wants,” Michel said promptly, grateful beyond words to his future father-in-law.
“Actually, my dad would be a great asset to the organic farming initiatives you want to implement.”
His eyebrows rose. “How do you know about my organic farming initiatives?”
“I eavesdropped on all your calls to Rouleme.” She smiled mischievously. “Did you really think I had no interest in who you were?”
“I didn’t know what to think.” He tapped her nose. “I could only hope—hope that you would agree to be mine.”
“You’re making it really hard for me not to kiss you again.” She crinkled her nose in an adorable scowl. “But you would never make it to your father’s chambers in time if I did that.”
“We could be quick.” He grinned rakishly at her.
“Not on your life,” she said sternly. “We’re going to take our sweet time with our makeup sex. Now, shoo. Off you go. Go talk to your father.”
“Anything else I should mention?” He grudgingly got off the bed and straightened his clothes.
“That’s up to you.” She sat up with her legs folded beneath her. “But at no time—now or later—will you ever utter the word abdicate in any shape or form. Understood?”
“Understood. Thank you, Emma.” For choosing him. For not making him choose between her and his people. For loving him. All words he would save for later when he could properly express his gratitude. “Are you going to be all right while I’m gone?”
“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed his shirt and kissed him hard once before pushing him away. “Be gone, temptation. Sophie and Marion are going to be here in a minute to give me a crash course on palace etiquette.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Did Sophie have to bribe my cousin?”
“No, she volunteered.” Emma laughed. “Marion loves me, you know.”
“Of course she does.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My people are going to love you, too.”
“And I’ll do everything in my power to deserve their love,” she said solemnly. His heart felt as though it would burst with his love for her. “I don’t know much about being a princess, but I will do my very best to be a good one.”
“With jeongseong.” His voice came out in a husky rasp.
“Yes,” she whispered with a tender smile.
“And I will love you with jeongseong.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“That’s the only way I know how to love.” Tears filled her eyes again, but her lips tilted up in a wobbly smile. “Maybe that was why I was so afraid to admit to myself that I loved you. I knew I couldn’t give you just a piece of myself. But now, I trust you with all of me. I love you with everything in me.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He knelt at her feet and cupped her face between his hands. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you with all my heart.”
“I’d like that very much.” She pressed her forehead against his.
He blinked away tears of happiness. “Are you finally ready to admit that we are compatible despite our many differences?”
She threw her head back and laughed, light and joyous. “Yes, Michel. We are a perfect match in every way.”