Before I could respond, a blur of movement caught my attention, followed instantly by the shocking cold splash of ice against my chest.
“Shit! I'm so sorry!” A young man collided with us, the contents of a champagne bucket cascading down my linen shirt.
For a suspended moment, I stared into the most expressive dark eyes I'd ever seen—wide with mortification, framed by impossibly thicklashes. My gaze involuntarily traced the lines of his young face down to his bare torso, taking in the lean definition of muscle under smooth skin that glistened with exertion. Unlike the polished perfection of many companions I'd seen thus far here, there was something raw and authentic about him, a vulnerability that caught me off-guard.
He bit his lower lip, a gesture so unaffected it seemed foreign in this realm of practiced seduction. His hand reached out to brush my chest, then froze midair as though suddenly remembering his place. He withdrew it quickly, and before I could speak, he backed away, apologies still tumbling from his lips, before turning and disappearing around a corner.
“Your Grace, I deeply apologize,” Vincent said, bending to retrieve the fallen champagne bottle. “That was one of our newer employees. I assure you he'll be spoken to about proper attention to his surroundings.”
“No harm done,” I said, unable to tear my gaze from where the young man had vanished. Something about that brief encounter had sparked an unexpected hunger within me. “Who was that?” I asked, aiming for casual interest but hearing the edge of eagerness in my voice.
Vincent's expression shifted, something calculating flickered behind his eyes. “That was Theo. He's recently joined us and is still... acclimating to our standards.”
“Is he available?” The question escaped before I could temper it with the restraint I prided myself on. I inwardly cringed at my eagerness, the same eagerness I'd chastised Remy for countless times.Be measured in all things, our father's voice echoed in my mind. Yet something about those startled eyes had bypassed decades of careful training.
Vincent's pause was barely perceptible. “Not at the moment,” he said. “But I assure you, Your Grace, we have several companions whoseskills and attributes would perfectly align with your preferences.” His smooth redirection was practiced but unmistakable.
“I see,” I said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment from my tone.
“Shall I arrange for company this evening?” Vincent offered.
“Oui.Yes,” I replied, though my mind still lingered on that brief encounter. “I look forward to it.”
It was, after all, why I was here.
Vincent grinned. “Excellent. I'll ensure your first evening with us is memorable.”
With that, he departed, handing me the champagne—an excellent bottle—and leaving me alone at the entrance to my villa. I slipped the key card into the lock, hearing the soft click as the door swung open to reveal my private retreat.
The interior was a masterful blend of luxury and understated comfort, natural materials in rich earth tones created an atmosphere of masculine elegance. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a private infinity pool that seemed to merge with the landscape beyond, offering both spectacular views and complete seclusion.
I moved through the space, trailing my fingers along fine leather furnishings and hand-carved wood. The bedroom contained a massive bed draped in sumptuous linens, with discreet cabinets that, upon inspection, contained an impressive array of toys and implements for pleasure.
My private rooms at Château Bellerive, my official residence, though opulent, had always felt more like a museum. The portraits of stern ancestors lined the walls, their judgmental gazes following every movement. Here, the bedroom invited indulgence, promised fulfillment without judgment.
The attention to detail was remarkable. Everything I might desire had been anticipated.
The pool beckoned through the glass doors, its surface shimmering in the late afternoon sun. I stepped outside, the heat enveloping me after the cool interior. Kicking off my shoes, I rolled up my trousers and lowered myself to the edge, submerging my feet in the water with a sigh of pleasure.
For a moment, I simply existed in the present—no duties, no demands, no family legacy weighing on my shoulders. Just the sensation of water against my skin and the vast blue sky above me.
The persistent vibration of my phone shattered the illusion of escape. I’d been told that while I could not send messages or use my personal phone to make calls while on the resort grounds, I could receive messages and use the internet to search for news.
With reluctance, I pulled it from my pocket, Sebastien's name glowing on the screen. My momentary peace evaporated as I opened the link he'd sent.
The headline blared across my screen with garish urgency: “CROWN PRINCE'S LATEST SCANDAL: LOVE CHILD ALLEGATIONS ROCK AVALINE.” Beneath it, Remy's face smiled back at me, caught mid-laugh at some gala, oblivious to the chaos he continued to create.
A familiar bitterness rose in my throat. While I hid my true self behind duty and decorum, Remy flaunted his indiscretions as if they were achievements. While I carried our family's reputation on my shoulders, he seemed determined to tear it to shreds.
“Merde,” I muttered, my fingers tightening around the phone until my knuckles whitened. This wasn't merely another mistress or dalliance. A child changed everything. The implications for succession,for our family's already tenuous public standing, for the monarchy itself...
In that moment, something inside me snapped. Without conscious thought, I hurled the phone into the depths of the pool.
The splash was deeply satisfying, a small act of rebellion against the prison of obligation I'd lived in my entire life. I watched as the device sank to the bottom, water claiming the last tether to my life beyond these walls.
A startled laugh escaped me, part liberation, part disbelief at my impulsiveness. For the first time in years, perhaps decades, I was unreachable. No crisis summoning me back to duty, no scandal requiring my attention, no family depending on my discretion to balance my brother's recklessness.
For one week, I would be only Ricard—not His Grace, not the Duke, not the responsible second son who always cleaned up the messes others made.
