Was he right? Had I been hiding behind duty and tradition, using them as shields against the terrifying prospect of defining my own path? Or was his perspective too simplistic, tooAmericanin its emphasis on individual happiness over collective responsibility?
I had no answers, only questions that circled like vultures as I made my way to Remy's suite precisely at eight o'clock.
“Ricard!” Remy exclaimed as I entered, rising from his seat by the window to embrace me. “Thank God you're here. I've been climbing the walls waiting for you to arrive.”
I returned his embrace, noting the tension in his shoulders and the slight dishevelment of his usually perfect appearance. Remy had always been the more handsome of us, with our mother's golden coloring and easy charm rather than our father's austere Nordic features which I had inherited.
Most telling was the absence of his habitual confidence; the charismatic poise that had charmed diplomats and citizens alike seemed to have abandoned him, leaving behind a man diminished by his circumstances. “You look terrible,” I said frankly, stepping back to assess him. “When did you last sleep?”
His laugh held little humor. “Sleep? What's that? With the press hounding me, Father's constant demands for explanations, and Helene's lawyers circling like sharks, I’m lucky if I get three hours a night.”
He gestured toward a table set for two by the window, where a bottle of wine breathed quietly. “Come, let’s eat. Everything's falling apart, but at least we can have one decent meal while we discuss it.”
I followed him to the table, accepting the glass of excellent red wine he poured for me. Remy had always had impeccable taste. Like clockwork, a server appeared, delivering the first course: a delicate salad of local greens with candied pecans.
I picked at my salad to give him space to unfold his thoughts. Remy had always needed that; it was one of the qualities that made him popular as a crown prince—his openness, his willingness to share struggles.
Our first courses were cleared, replaced by perfectly seared steaks, roasted vegetables, and a potato gratin that could have been delicious if my appetite hadn’t vanished. I cut into my steak mechanically. “You mentioned considering abdication,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Is that still your thinking?”
Remy looked at me, his expression notably serious. “I’m not just considering it, Ricard. I’ve decided. I can't do this anymore—the scrutiny, the expectations. I’m anything but perfect.”
A cold weight settled in my stomach as Theo's accusation echoed in my mind:You're afraid to stand up to your family, afraid to demand the right to your own life...Was that what Remy was doing—having thecourage I lacked to choose his own path? Or was he simply shirking responsibility, leaving others to clean up his mess as he had so many times before?
“Think about this, Remy. It's not just about you. It involves Avaline, centuries of tradition.” Even as I spoke the words, I could almost hear Theo's sarcastic response, could almost see his eyes rolling at my deference to tradition over personal fulfillment.
“I have thought about it,” he interrupted, leaning forward. “Ever since Claudine first contacted me. The more I mull it over, the more certain I become. I'm not fit to be king. I’ve been going through the motions because it was expected.”
I set down my fork, feeling hollow. “And your children? Have you thought about what this means for them? For Alexis and Sophie?”
A flicker of pain crossed his face. “Of course. But wouldn’t they be better served by a father who models integrity rather than living a lie? They'd still be royal, part of the succession… just further down the line.”
There it was, the unspoken implication: after me. The weight of that pressed down, suffocating in its enormity.
Remy looked uncomfortable. “I know it's not what you wanted. But you'd be so much better at it. You're responsible, diplomatic. You care about the policies and the politics, not just the pageantry.”
I laughed bitterly, anger surging. The casual way he discussed my future, a loveless marriage and children born of duty, cut deep. “Listen to yourself. You’re asking me to sacrifice my chance at genuine happiness for the sake of a crown you’re too irresponsible to wear.”
Remy flinched as if I'd struck him. “That’s not fair,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “I’m not asking you to be miserable. Consider what’s best for Avaline.”
“And what about what’s best for me?” I demanded. “Has that ever factored into your calculations? Or am I just a convenient scapegoat for the problem you’ve created?”
A tense silence enveloped us, punctuated only by the soft clink of silverware as the server cleared our plates. We fell silent until dessert arrived. “I'm sorry,” Remy finally said, subdued. “I didn’t mean to… I just thought…” He paused, trying again. “I’m grateful that you came, Ricard. I don’t know what I’d do without your support.”
His expression of gratitude softened my anger. For all his faults, he was still my brother. We had grown up together, navigating the unique pressures of royal life, shielding each other from our father's stern disapproval and our mother’s anxious hovering.
“I'll always support you, Remy,” I said gently. “But this decision—it affects too many people for you to make it hastily. Promise me you'll take more time to consider, to explore other options.”
Remy’s expression was wary, but he nodded slowly as he finished the wine in his glass. “I promise. No hasty decisions. We’ll talk more, think it through together.”
I nodded, knowing it was the best I could hope for at the moment. The rest of our dinner passed in lighter conversation, reminiscences of childhood adventures, gossip about mutual acquaintances, and careful avoidance of the thornier issues we’d broached earlier.
By the time we parted for the night, Remy seemed more relaxed. He embraced me again at the door to his suite, mumbling another ‘thank you’ against my shoulder.
“Get some sleep,” I told him, patting his back awkwardly. “Things will look clearer in the morning.”
But as I returned to my own suite, I wondered if that would truly be the case.
Unable to sleep despite the lateness of the hour, I stood at the window of my suite, staring out at the Dallas skyline. The city glittered below me, a constellation of lights stretching to the horizon. Somewhere out there, people were living ordinary lives—falling in love, pursuing careers they'd chosen, making decisions based on personal desire rather than dynastic obligation.
