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He’d been watching the pompous dick for about 15 minutes, staring at him as he paraded around the grounds with his suited guards trailing his every move. How the two of them were related he didn’t know. Pascal was nothing like his brother. Superior in looks for a start, and definitely more capable of carrying off that European verve that this fuck wasn’t managing. He sat quietly, waiting for Pascal to find him eventually, and continued to stare at Fabrice through the trees hiding him. The guy was meeting several people, all of them whispering in corners like Nazi cunts threatening the truth.

A sigh left his nostrils, the flare of fogged air clouding his judgement with the same breath. What the hell were they all going to do now? It couldn’t carry on. Pascal knew it as much as he did. These grounds separated them, lifting Pascal above their relationship and into something he would need to be focused for. No more flitting between countries. No more late night drinking, all of it involving smiles, or screams. Those damned ledgers Lilah had found proved everything.

He looked at a pathway, imaginingClaire. She would be brought here now, Roxanne’s opinion on the matter not tolerated. And then there would be no reason for New York at all, London even less. Elizabeth. He glanced up at the palace, wondering how Lilah was managing her. Probably correctly. She would have told Pascal to come, made him deal with this situation rather than allowing him to send her instead. She knew him so well. Perhaps it was time for Elizabeth and he to back away entirely, perhaps then the balance would find itself. Relax. Either way, this conversation needed talking through rationally, like a business meeting, and Pascal wasn’t going to like it one bit.

Alex was almost done. Had been on that knife edge for a while. It made sense now he’d admitted it to himself, or had had it pushed from him. He was tired. Tired of holding them all up. Tired of getting little in return for that weight he bared for them all. Worry. Concern. Constant thought on them all. Where were they? Who were they with? Were they safe, happy? Content? Would this next baby live or die? He just needed space. Perhaps go back to business and lose himself in that rather than overload his emotions constantly. He wasn’t capable of it, never had been. And they poured it on him without even knowing they were doing. Perhaps not Lilah, but the other two did it all the time.

“How old are you now?” He smiled, weakly, at the sound of Pascal’s voice behind him.

“Too old.” A snort sounded, one that should be described as amused. “Still younger than you, though.” Another snort. This time disgusted.

“Hmm.” The man arrived in his eye-line, then sat on the bench next to him and looked towards Fabrice. “He is a cunt, no?” Alex nodded. He was a cunt. A snivelling little backstabber who he’d once found fucking around in Pascal’s backyard before. That time to do with coercing information from Pascal’s secretary. “I have no choice but to remove his innards and feed him to the wolves, hmm?” Alex nodded at that, too. Not the words Pascal said, but the sentiment behind it. He had no choice. He did in reality. He could renounce the title and let Fabrice keep it, but it wasn’t in him to do that, just like it wouldn’t have been in himself either. This palace was Pascal’s by birth right, and the only reason they had ever even met was because of that little cunt up there having the title in the first place.

“Don’t kill him, though.” Alex said, watching as the men all huddled together and discussed more ways to try and beat Pascal’s claim. There wasn’t any. If Lilah had said it was true, it would be. Her talent wouldn’t bring anything to the table without having the evidence to back that up.

“Hmm. Would you oblige for me?”

“No.”

“Most unhelpful. You have become impolite in your abstinence of slaughter.”

Alex sighed and looked at his own hands, wondering what had become of him this last year. It should have been perfect, some litany of unspoilt harmony, and yet it was anything but.

“I’ve become tired.”

“You have become dulled, my love.” Alex frowned and stared back at the mob as it gained two new members. “I should apologise.” He should? Alex looked at him. “Hmm. This is all my fault.” Alex didn’t understand. “Somewhat at least.” Still he couldn’t work out what Pascal was saying. “You were too old when turned. And too …” He lay his cane down between them, his hand then swatting the sky for the words that would come next. “…unstable. Unable, hmm? I used you for my own needs, and then took your challenge from you.”

There was nothing to say to any of that. It didn’t matter whether he was or not, or whether Pascal had or not. He wouldn’t have changed a thing anyway. He smiled to himself and remembered the first time sitting together, the first time really talking. Pascal had been a lightning bolt at the time, one that filled him with desire and need and a future he’d never contemplated before.

“You don’t need to apologise. I knew what I was doing.”

“You did not. You were young. Malleable. A rather easy target, no?”

“I don’t think your skin or bones have found anything easy these last few years.”

“Hmm.” Pascal looked at the mob some more, his eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms and stretched out his legs. “Do you honestly feel guilt when you strike me?” Yes.

“No. Not while. After.”

“Fascinating. Not quite the sadist I assumed.”

“Would you like a reminder?” Pascal snorted.

“Very much so.”

“Slut.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately,” he picked up his cane again and stood, pointing it at the crowd of lawyers and sycophants gathering in the distance. “This, requires attention first. We shall hunt, yes?” Alex stood, too, his hands inches from touching the man’s shoulders. He shook his head at himself and backed away a few steps, creating a distance he didn’t want in the slightest. It was necessary, though. It was time. And this war wasn’t his to have. It was Pascal’s.

“No. You will hunt. I’m going home. With Elizabeth.”

Pascal’s posture stiffened, his head not even attempting to turn and look back, but he knew what was happening, and the stamp down of his cane proved the sentiment. He would stand on his own again. Choose his own path without direction. He had to. This wasn’t Alex’s to direct anymore, couldn’t be. And no amount of them talking would make that change.

He studied Pascal’s frame one last time. Took in the beauty of him, letting the passion he’d amassed turn itself over and over in his mind until it took hold of his hands too, tightening his fists. All the shouts of pain, all the words echoed between them over these last few years. Honour. Some sense of respect that only they would ever understand. He hurt inside, could feel it welling tears in the back of his eyes, dragging emotion and longing to the fore. It would pass, though. It would have to.

This was done.

He sighed and backed another step away, one last glance at the sharp structure of Pascal’s jawline, and then turned and left him to walk back to Elizabeth. A family was what she needed. A family and the hope of the everlasting she asked for. And that’s exactly what she’d get. No more confusion for her, no more worries about who, and when, and where. He would stand by her side and give her everything she needed, no thought to anything else but her.

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