Diamond in the Rough

Summary: Remy gets some important correspondence from his parents, and everything changes.

Author’s Note: Thanks, Beej!!! Also, big hugs to anyone reviewing or enjoying this story, I appreciate having my insanity indulged and enabled so kindly.

Logan sometimes moved more quietly than anyone gave him credit for, since he was so sturdily built. He crept past his own bedchamber to his abandoned guest suite, but not before peering briefly inside his door.

Remy’s back was to him as he sat back in a richly upholstered chair. He was reading what looked like a scroll by firelight. Logan couldn’t see his expression from his vantage point, but the set of his shoulders looked tense. The scroll bore the red wax seal of Shade and Sweet Water. Logan easily guessed what it was.

Logan wasn’t ready to face whatever announcement Remy had in that regard yet.

In the meantime, he was rank. Logan danced at the inn until half the maidens begged exhaustion, but they were thrilled to have him back. He drank Bobby under the table and won several games of cards with Hank and Warren. But it did nothing to heal the empty feeling inside him, and Logan didn’t have any answers as to what would. Or at any rate, any feasible alternatives to the one solution that he could name.

Logan retreated to the guest chamber. As though they had read his thoughts, Jean-Paul and Pietro appeared, watching him in confusion.

“Sire? Are you needing anything?”

“Bath,” Logan grumbled.

That was all they needed to hear. They hurried away, almost stumbling over themselves in their haste.

Logan began building the fire in the grate himself and lit several candles. Once he was surrounded by their cheery glow, he began unlacing his boots and shucked his cape, hanging it on a peg.

Logan weighed his options. All he needed was an heir, in the grand scheme of things. He wanted a partner, but he could accomplish the former without the latter, if need be. His mother told him to think out of the box. Logan wondered now if they’d been going about it all wrong, all along.

Etienne deserved a mother. As much as Logan had come to care for the boy, he couldn’t allow himself to grow too attached.

But he’d grown accustomed to his laughter filling the halls and feeling that pair of eyes watching him, so much like his father’s.

Pietro and Jean-Paul gathered together the items for Logan’s bath while Paige and Jubilee filled the tub with pails of steaming water. Once they finished, Jean-Paul floated several sprigs of lavender on the surface, filling the room with that fragrance.

The removed his boots and handed them off to the boot black.

“You were out late, sire.”

“That’s nothin’ new,” Logan shrugged.

“Er…it’s been less common, lately, your Highness. You’ve been spending more of your evenings in.”

“Last time I checked, I was allowed to leave my own castle,” Logan snapped. Pietro blanched, feeling he might have stepped on his sovereign’s toes.

“I spoke out of turn, Highness.”

“Don’t get used ta me turnin’ in early, either. I’ve got it in mind ta make up for lost time,” Logan warned him as they helped him out of his clothes. Jean-Paul wrinkled his nose at the sweat-drenched shirt and took it away.

Moments later, Logan was leaning back as Jean-Paul rubbed the knots out of his neck. He groaned in pleasure while Pietro followed suit with his feet, massaging away the soreness left from so much dancing and excess. The heat of the tub lapping at him coupled with exhaustion and the whisky made his limbs feel lax. Logan’s eyes drooped shut as he was cleansed and massaged.

Jean-Paul’s fingers felt wicked as they kneaded behind his ears and found delicate pressure points at his temples. Logan moaned in rapture, and the sound evoked a strong response in his groom, whose mouth went dry. He washed his hair next, and it felt decadent, working the foam through handfuls of Logan’s soft, thick waves.

*

Remy sat back and stared into the flames, watching them flicker and dance, throwing shadows over the walls.

In light of his parents’ determination to see him wed, he shouldn’t have pretended that it wasn’t inevitable. The scroll lay unrolled on the side table. Remy was tempted to cast it into the fire.

He had to tell Etienne. And he had to tell Logan.

Remy wondered when Logan planned to return to his chamber, but he was restless and frustrated.

The discussion couldn’t wait. Remy wasn’t going to stare at the walls until they began to talk to him.

He left, leaving the scroll behind.

He was about to head downstairs when he spotted Paige and Jubilee in the corridor, arguing over a garment. They sprang apart and straightened up, giving him their best smiles when he approached.

“Evening,” he offered. “Have y’seen his Highness about?”

“Prince James?” Jubilee said, her arched black brows drawing together. “He’s taking a bath.”

“We could have Pietro or Jean-Paul know you’re looking for him,” Paige suggested.

Panic seized Remy, followed by flames of jealousy licking over him.

“Where?” he demanded.

“Where, sire? Why, is it urgent?”

“It isn’t for you t’question why,” Remy reminded Paige. “Where?”

“H-he’s down the hall, sire, in his spare room.

“He didn’t say he wanted his things moved, but he just wanted some privacy, so he wouldn’t disturb you, sire,” Jubilee said meekly.

“So he wouldn’t disturb me,” Remy muttered through gritted teeth. He closed his eyes and exhaled in annoyance, tendons in his neck standing out with the urge to kill Logan. Or at the very least, to smack him. That would be enough…

He composed himself and faced them again, remembering his manners. “Merci, petit.” He swept away, leaving them befuddled and staring after him.

He heard their voices inside, specifically Jean-Paul’s.

“Is the water warm enough, sire?”

Logan’s rumble of agreement was sensual and content. Remy’s gut clenched and his face felt hot.

“If you lean forward, sire, I can get your back-“

The door nearly flew off the hinges when it connected with Remy’s fist. Jean-Paul and Pietro both jumped back from the tub, eyes round with surprise. They looked guilty, Remy noticed, and his glare said as much.

“Sire! This is…unexpected,” Pietro said, swallowing.

Remy wasn’t in the mood. Logan stared up at him like he’d passed gas. A bemused smile teased the corners of his mouth.

Remy had only two words.

“Off!”

“But, sire-“

“OUT!”

“Yes, sire,” Pietro said meekly.

“As you wish, Highness, let us just gather up-“

“Get it later,” Remy growled.

“Yes, sire,” Jean-Paul agreed quickly. Both men nearly ran past Remy, almost stumbling into each other as they backed out of the room.

Logan watched Remy as he sat up straighter in the tub, pulling his feet back now that Pietro was finished with them. He sighed heavily.

“Can’t a man enjoy his bath?”

“Depends on who’s doin’ the bathin’.”

“Just came in t’wash the dust off.”

“Dat ain’t what it looked like.”

Logan huffed in amusement. He leaned his elbows against his knees and let his fingers dangle into the water. Beads of water glistened on his bare shoulders and plastered the layer of dark hair down against his muscular arms.

Remy was in a fit of pique, and seeing Logan in a state of undress was doing unreasonable, unfeasible things to his body.

“What d’you care, Highness?” Logan knew that was the whisky talking, but it felt too good to let his tongue release the words bubbling in his chest.

Remy’s fingers twitched, then balled themselves into fists at his sides. Before Logan could say anything else, Remy whirled around and strode to the door.

He slammed it shut and bolted the lock.

“Damn,” Logan muttered. “Got somethin’ on yer mind?”

“Oui,” Remy said, a hint of warning in his voice.

“And what might that be.”

“You.”

“Wait…what?”

Remy crossed the room to the tub and knelt beside it, snaked out his arm and captured Logan’s nape, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Remy almost laughed at Logan’s surprised intake of breath.

He was rewarded by a low moan of surprise, then satisfaction as Logan’s lips yielded, parting for him. Remy’s were soft but firm, and he dominated Logan’s mouth, that broad, sensual mouth that was made for rakish, lopsided smiles.

Logan’s hands drifted into Remy hair, stroking it and running his fingers through it as though he’d sorely missed the privilege since the day he brushed it by the fire. The onslaught of true passion and need carried him away as they shared breath.

Nothing else made sense before that kiss; now everything was so clear and sharp that it hurt.

They broke apart just long enough to draw air, but Remy’s lips still tingled with the rough contact of Logan’s stubble. Logan’s eyes were dark with need, dilated and probing Remy’s, looking for answers.

“Why?” Logan croaked.

“Why not?” Remy mused. His hand was trembling as he released Logan, just long enough to stroke his cheek, then cradle it in his palm.

That rugged face with its charming irregularities had grown so dear to him, and those hazel eyes were now roaming over Remy and eating him up. There was an odd tightness around Logan’s mouth, and he cleared his throat.

“I…I don’t…”

“What, chere?”

There was that nickname, one Logan noticed that Remy had only started using recently. It sounded suspiciously like an endearment, but he didn’t want to press the issue, not when things between them had been so tenuous.

“I don’t know what ta say about this,” Logan uttered. “Forgive me fer bein’ confused.” His tone was accusing, and Remy admitted to himself that he had been to blame.

“D’ya need me ta help ya feel less confused?”

“You just kissed me.”

“Oui.” And he looked pleased about it. Logan’s lips still felt hot from the contact.

“But you…we…” Logan’s hand motioned limply to Remy, then back to himself, indicating an imaginary string between them anchoring them together. “I don’t suit. I ain’t what ya came here for.”

Remy sighed. “Yer gonna make dis hard, non?”

“I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Den don’t.” Remy let his fingers drift down the column of Logan’s throat and trail lazily over his nipple, already stiff from the dampness of his skin and the cooler air of the suite. Logan’s eyes shuttered in pleasure, and he arched into his teasing touch.

“That ain’t fair. I’m…naked, fer heaven’s sake, and ya just bust in…here…” Logan’s voice trailed off as Remy leaned in and barely brushed his lips over Logan’s collarbone, inhaling his scent. “Just because…yer…a prince, that doesn’t mean ya can…just do whatever…”

“Non?” Remy murmured, letting his tongue lap a particularly sensitive spot along Logan’s throat. Logan’s breathing grew choppy and harsh, chest heaving and shuddering with the sensations the younger prince was causing with gentle touches and his very, very talented mouth.

“Yer takin’ an awful lot of liberties, Highness.” Was that his voice, Logan wondered, sounding so choked and desperate?

“Chere?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t call me Highness.”