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 togo 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.”
