Diamond in the Rough

Summary: Remy and Etienne return home to their kingdom to meet his prospective bride. She may not be all she seems.

Author’s Note: Okay. This is the fun part, aside from the previous lemon, for me to write. I’ve been imagining how this would go from the inception of this story. I have a very silly imagination, if you haven’t already guessed. One more chapter from here, possibly with an epilogue, will follow and finish this. Thank you so much for reading and visiting me.

Etienne was uncharacteristically quiet.

“I think he’s actually grown a bit taller even over the past month,” Nanny murmured, breaking Remy’s reverie as he watched the scenery roll past.

“T’ink you might be right, Nanny,” he agreed absently. Etienne toyed with a loose thread on his breeches until Remy stilled his hand.

“Papa, I wanna go home,” he complained sourly.

“I know, petit. It will feel good, non, t’see Papa and Maman again?”

“I want my room. I want my toys,” he supplied, giving Remy a laundry list of deficiencies. “I want to go out and shoot my arrows.”

“Prince James had a shooting field. He told me ‘bout it while I was still laid up in bed a few weeks ago.”

“I didn’t know!” Etienne accused, pouting. Remy ruffled his hair.

“Ya didn’t ask him.”

“I like shooting,” Etienne continued.”

“We can do dat when we get settled in, petit.”

“It would be nice to pick back up where we left off,” Nanny interjected, eyeing them sharply over the rims of her glasses. She was purling a neat row from yarn of worsted wool to keep herself entertained on the carriage ride.

They neared a valley Remy only vaguely remembered. His thoughts wandered a dark path as he remembered the loss of his footman and groom. Remy’s return to his homeland was bittersweet.

He had his son. And if all turned out well, his son would have a mother. And Remy would have a wife.

Things would be back to normal.

*

Jean-Luc sat at his escritoire, reading a volume of literature and sipping a goblet of brandy.

He looked up from his book upon hearing his wife’s soft voice.

“We’ve had word; Remy’s nearly out of the valley. He stopped at a small inn, and they sent a courier to give us the news.”

“Good, good,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. He reached out to her, beckoning for her to join him. Candra rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and entered their chamber. He moved his seat back from the desk and took her hand, tugging her forward until she had no choice but to stand between his parted knees.

“’Tis hardly proper, husband.”

“We’re hardly children anymore, love,” he reminded her, taking further liberties by tugging her down to his lap. Candra tsked but accepted his kiss, sighing slightly at the feel of his warm lips and the faint taste of cognac. His large hand caressed the small of her back, and she nearly purred at the gesture and how right it always felt. There were benefits to being the queen.

Jean-Luc wanted this for his son most of all, even though he would have Remy believe his focus was to secure future heirs to the throne and a wife to help him oversee the kingdom. No, what Jean-Luc desired most was for his son to have a partner, one who loved him and whom he treated as his equal, a confidante, lover and friend who knew him and accepted him fully. Royal warts and all.

Candra had believed his definition wasn’t flexible enough, hence her missive to Queen Eliza of Towering Trees. The women enjoyed a friendship via frequent correspondence, and due to more recent events, occasional visits planned out for warmer weather and better traveling conditions.

Jean-Luc acknowledged his son’s unique qualities and needs in resignation. While he couldn’t relate to his…personal preferences, he still loved Remy without reservation or condition, and he admired that his son hadn’t made any hasty decisions thus far in his choice of a second wife. His grandson deserved the best, and Remy owed it to Etienne to follow through, not to settle.

Jean-Luc regretted that Prince James would have to search further for the ideal consort, now. The arrangement had seemed so feasible before, even if it was, as Candra and Eliza so quaintly put it, “out of the box.” Despite himself, Jean-Luc liked the almost…feral seeming prince and his gruffness and honesty. He struck him as intelligent and kind, a man who neither doled out nor suffered any nonsense. If he wasn’t perhaps the most comely man, he still had a certain appeal; the women in his own court seemed to approve of him when he’d strode to the dais the day of their meeting.

Jean-Luc wondered how the two men weathered their time together under King Jonathan’s roof. Part of him was still concerned for his colleague’s lack of an heir. But there was nothing he could do about it, now. Once their sons abandoned the prospective engagement, Prince James’ status was no longer Jean-Luc’s concern. Finding Etienne a mother, however, was.

And he had. He smiled smugly at this achievement as he tightened his embrace around Candra’s waist, still narrow after childbirth and many years of marriage.

“What’s that smile for?”

“What? Nothing,” he insisted. Candra snorted.

“You’re still patting yourself on the back, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.”

“Bah!”

“I’m merely a humble king looking out for my son’s best interests,” he insisted, but she saw the mischief in his eyes. She swatted him with her closed fan.

“She is lovely,” Candra agreed. “But still…I just don’t know.”

“What’s not to know?”

“Are you sure they will suit?”

“Darling, she’s turned down as many bids for her hand as Remy has, if not more. You’ve met her. She’s perfect.”

But Candra had her doubts.

*

The next afternoon, the kingdom was a flurry of activity as the servants rushed about, cleaning and airing out Prince Remy’s rooms and preparing the evening banquet. The kitchen released succulent, delectable aromas as Jeanne-Marie, his chef, rode roughshod over her scullery girls and produced dish after amazing dish in preparation for Remy’s return. Like the rest of the kingdom, she adored Remy and Etienne, and she wasn’t the least bit sorry that his engagement didn’t work out, if it meant he would remain in his own kingdom.

Soon the gates opened and bells clanged in fanfare as the imperial guard rode back into city limits, heralding the arrival of Remy’s carriage. The villagers and members of Prince Jean-Luc’s court swarmed into the courtyard, anxious for first sight of him after so many weeks of absence.

Jean-Luc stood on the dais, waiting with Candra by his side.

“May I wait with you? It’s such a lovely day, I hated to remain inside.” The voice behind them was smooth and feminine, and very welcome to Jean-Luc’s ears. He turned and beckoned to its owner.

“Come, join us, my dear. Indeed, it is too lovely to stay inside, and it would be a shame to hide away such beauty, as well, by keeping you behind closed doors.”

“You’re too gracious, Majesty.”

Candra’s face lit up moments later when the carriage rolled up and the footman jumped down to open the door. The crowd cheered when their sovereign climbed out, garbed in his nation’s colors and looking robust and healthy. Remy’s skin was still golden from his time outdoors and getting fresh air and exercise with his host and son. He waved to the crowd, and he turned around to let his son out of the cab. The footman helped Nanny out next. She turned and bowed to Remy and took her leave, once he confirmed for her that Etienne didn’t have to return to his chamber.

Candra rushed forward, forgoing decorum, and Etienne immediately ran into her arms.

“My babies,” she crooned, kissing his auburn head and reaching for Remy, too. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!” Her eyes were slightly damp. Remy kissed her brown cheek.

“Missed you too, Maman.”

“I’m hungry,” Etienne complained. “Can I eat lunch with you, Grand-mere?”

“Of course. Look at you, I think you’ve gotten bigger!” she teased. Then she turned to Remy. “Come. There’s someone you need to meet.” Remy indulged her with a smile, but his eyes looked troubled. “It’s all right,” she assured him. Candra preceded him to the dais, arm wrapped around Etienne’s shoulders. He, too, looked apprehensive, but he obeyed her urging to stay with her as she made the introductions.

Jean-Luc stood waiting for his turn to hug Etienne, and his grandson didn’t disappoint him, also giving him a crushing hug. He buried his face in his grandfather’s robes and was reluctant to budge, even when Jean-Luc patted him to get his attention.

“He’s a bit bashful,” he chuckled to someone standing behind him.

“Oh, there, there, I won’t bite,” a lilting voice giggled. Its direction changed, now hovering over Etienne’s head. “Hallo,” she greeted him, laying her hand on his shoulder.

“Go ‘way,” Etienne mumbled.

“Non,” Remy chided him, “dat’s no way t’greet a guest, mon fils.”

“Perhaps I should start with you, then,” she decided.

“Remy, this is Anna Marie Raven, crown princess to our kingdom to the north, Rippling Seas.”

She was well trained, and Anna Marie gave him a graceful, low curtsy with a flourish. Remy tapped her shoulder gently, and she peered up at him with dancing green eyes.

“Enchante,” he greeted her.

She was certainly beautiful, he would give her that. She rose to her feet, and Remy gave her a once-over.

Anna’s skin was creamy, fair and without blemish, and she had shining ripples of auburn hair that reached her waist. She was medium height and built on voluptuous lines, with small hands and feet. Her gown was a lush green silk, laced and belted with silver braided cord. Anna Marie had small, classic features, and her eyes stood out the most.

He didn’t have to know that she’d emphasized them a bit with makeup; that could remain her secret.

They went inside for the evening meal. Anna kept Remy occupied with polite questions about his trip, distracting him from painful memories of leaving Logan behind.

*

Dawn, two days ago

Nanny knocked as gently as she could on Prince James’ chamber door. She waited patiently for a reply. When Remy answered it, the interior of the room was still dark, except for the low glow of the flames in the grate.

“Sire, I have packed all of Etienne’s things. Jean-Paul already loaded his trunks into the carriage.”

“Merci,” he told her. She was surprised to see him so alert at the early hour, but she declined pointing that out.

“I will go see about breakfast for him, then. Would you like me to have anything sent up?”

“Non. Let Clementine know I’ll be takin’ my fast downstairs.”

“Very good, sire.”

Remy was grateful to watch her retreating back. He closed the door and returned to the bed sat back against the headboard.

Logan lay unmoving beside him, facing the wall.

“Chere…”

“So that’s it. There’s yer wakeup call,” he rumbled. His voice was still full of sleep, and he sounded resigned.

“Didn’ sleep much anyhow,” Remy mused. He untied his robe and stood just long enough to hang it over a nearby chair.

The bed sagged beneath Logan and he felt Remy’s warmth against his back as he stretched out beside him.

“Ya have ta get ready,” he reminded him.

“Nanny can wait a few minutes. Ain’t much point in bein’ de prince if it don’ come wit’ certain privileges.”

“Does it?” Logan countered. He felt Remy stiffen slightly, but then his lean arm coiled possessively around his waist and pulled him close. Remy’s warm breath tickled the hair at Logan’s nape and misted over his neck. He shivered.

“Yer makin’ dis hard, chere.”

“It shouldn’t be. At home, ya’ve got a future queen. Here, ya just have-“

“You,” Remy interrupted. “Please…”

“What, Remy? Whaddya want me ta say? That I’ll miss you?”

“Will you?”

Logan sighed gustily, then rolled over to face him. His hazel eyes held irritation in their depths.

“Yes, damn it. I’m gonna miss you. Satisfied?” Remy’s eyes crinkled and a smile toyed with the corners of his mouth.

“Oui.”

“Glad one of us is.” Logan reached up and cradled Remy’s cheek in his palm. “Why the hell did ya have to do this? Why…” His words died away.

“Wuz’nt supposed ta happen dis way,” Remy explained, looking just as frustrated.

“I don’t think I can do this. Rem, we need a clean break. Ya need ta forget this ever happened. When ya meet yer bride, don’t think about me.” Remy scowled.

“Sure. Lemme jus’ wipe ya right outta my mind, mec. Poof!” he gestured, waving his hand. “Dere. All gone. Who’re you?” he quipped. Logan made a noise of disgust. Remy sighed and snuggled down against Logan’s chest, taking his arms and wrapping them around himself.

“Presumptuous,” Logan muttered.

“Ya can lie dere an’ fuss at me, or ya can let me hold you until someone notices we ain’t up an’ about yet, chere. Take yer pick.”

Logan’s arms tightened around him and their legs tangled together. Remy felt the faint brush of his lips against his forehead.

“Of course Remy’ll t’ink about you,” he murmured. “Don’ t’ink fo’ a minute dat he won’t.”

“Ya’d be better off lettin’ this go, Remy.” He stroked his supple skin, noticed he was slightly chilled, and then pulled the covers over them both.

“Dat’s gonna be mighty hard,” he said. “Logan…chere, I love you.”

He heard Logan’s sharp intake of breath and felt him stiffen beneath him, caressing hands stilling.

“It’s true.”

“No, it ain’t. And I don’t want ya tryin’ ta convince me that it is.” Remy looked up and saw anger etching itself over Logan’s features.

“Chere-“

“Don’t,” Logan snapped. “Save it. Yer not gonna fill my ears and my head with this now. If ya care about me at all, yer gonna pretend those words never left yer mouth.” Remy sat up and stared down into his face.

“I can’t help how I feel,” Remy said.

“Then try!”

“I don’t want to,” Remy groaned.

“Rem…ya can’t love me. Ya just can’t. Ya can’t love me, and then leave.”

A silvery tear streaked down Remy’s cheek. Pain knotted itself in Logan’s chest as he reached up to flick it away with his thumb.

“Ya can’t just love me, and then leave,” Logan repeated sadly. “Because that’ll break my heart.”

“Desole, chere.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m sorry.”

“Desole, then. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Stick wit’ English, chere.” Logan smothered a chuckle at the barb.

“Let me know when ya want Jean-Paul and Pietro ta help ya pack yer things.”

“Didn’ bring much, remember? Never planned on a long stay in de beginning.”

“Nah. Ya didn’t.”

Remy settled against him again, and Logan’s embrace was greedy.

“I want the best for Etienne,” Logan said after several moments. “And that means takin’ him home, where he’s missed.”

“He’s startin’ ta like it here.”

“I know. But home’s where his family is.” Logan ran his fingers through Remy’s long, sleep-tangled hair. “And he needs a mother.”

“And you need a wife,” Remy pointed out. Logan squeezed him.

“I know.”

“Yer gonna find someone, mec.”

“Sure. Sure, I will.” Logan watched the shadows from the fire dance over the walls. “Plenty of fish in the sea.” Remy hated his defeated tone.

He leaned up and kissed him, just a brief stamp of his lips. “Ya will. And dat someone’s gonna love ya like ya deserve ta be loved.”

“Remy-“

Remy silenced him with another kiss which, this time, made his toes curl. Logan groaned in protest when Remy’s mouth crushed his, blatantly taking ownership of it. Then he yielded to him, allowing his tongue entry to stroke his.

It took Logan some effort to regain his composure. “Don’t think that lets ya off the hook-“ Remy’s smile was wicked as he kissed him again. Logan’s fingers curled into his hair, cupping the back of Remy’s head and pulling him closer despite his best intentions. Damn, the kid could kiss…

Remy drew back long enough to let them both breathe. “I’m serious, Remy…aw, God!” he shuddered, back arching when he felt Remy’s lips steaming his throat, nipping his pulse. His tongue lapped his flesh lazily, tasting him and painting him with scorching heat. “No fair,” Logan complained half-heartedly, but Remy wouldn’t heed him, focusing only on how Logan’s solid body felt bucking and rippling beneath him. Remy was hard as a rock from their prolonged embrace and hearing the desire in Logan’s voice.

They moved together, arching and sliding against each other’s hardness. Every time Logan rasped or moaned Remy’s name in the dark, he imprinted his memory with the sound. Remy knew he’d never sleep again without that sound in his ears, haunting him, not when Logan felt so right against him, so perfect.

Remy possessed him with every touch, ruining him for anyone else, and Logan wanted to hate him for it. But he craved him. He longed for it to never end, knowing that it was the last time made it more precious, more vital.

Logan stroked and caressed him, kneading his long, lean back and smooth, firm buttocks.

“Oui, chere,” Remy whispered when he felt Logan gently probe the tiny pucker within the crease, stimulating those nerves and creating so much pleasure. Remy’s hips thrust against him in time with the press of Logan’s finger as he pushed inside his heat.

Logan was swiftly losing control. He wanted to stop before they went too far; he knew making love to Remy now would just cause him more anguish in the long run when they said goodbye, but he was already falling over the edge, and Remy’s eyes were full of passion and a need that was as undeniable as his own.

“Damn it, Remy,” Logan pleaded. “I don’t want to want this. I don’t want to need you.”

“Hate me if ya want,” Remy offered, “but love me now.”

It was all Logan needed to hear. He extracted his hand, making Remy moan in complaint. That changed to a grunt of surprise when Logan rolled him to his back.

“Wait-mmmph,” he moaned when Logan kissed him deeply. He stared up at him in a bleary daze. “Never mind…”

Logan found the small pot of cream on the side table and dipped his fingers into it. It felt cool and slick, shocking Remy as he eased his fingers into his opening. But Logan’s fingers warmed it as he slid them in and out, savoring how silky and snug Remy felt around them. Remy’s thighs were splayed wide open while Logan primed him, lying beside him while Logan leaned over him while he worked.

“Want ya inside me.”

“Are ya ready?”

“I wuz ready de moment I woke.” Logan’s eyes burned into him as he covered him, and Remy wrapped his legs around his waist, fitting perfectly against him.

“Take me, then. Take all of me.” Logan entered him in one smooth thrust, making Remy gasp, then moan with pleasure. He stretched and filled him, and Remy fit Logan like a glove as he moved inside him.

“Oh, God,” Logan groaned. “Remy.”

“Chere,” he whispered. “Feel so good, chere.”

“Yer like silk. Just like hot silk.” Remy clung to him, arms wrapped around Logan’s neck as he thrust inside him, taking him harder, deeper, faster. Remy felt unbelievable, squeezing and tugging on him with more friction. His erection was sandwiched between their bodies, which were growing slick with sweat. Pressure built up within Remy’s swollen, aching flesh, and Logan reached between them and grasped it, pumping him to give him relief, but it was torture. His hand was still slippery from the cream, and it was almost too much, the pleasure too intense as he gripped him, stroked him, pounded into him and hit that sweet, tender spot inside him again and again-

“Please, chere! Oh, God!” he whimpered, blunt fingernails scraping down Logan’s back as he reached his fulfillment. His orgasm claimed him, throbbing out of him. Thick, white seed flowed from his aching, turgid cock, spraying both of them.

The sight of Remy’s face, lost in bliss, and feeling his hot flesh pulse in his hand pushed Logan over the edge. Remy squeezed and milked him, and the tremors of his climax triggered Logan’s fall.

“Remy!” he cried. His seed erupted from him in long, hot spurts, warming Remy’s insides. His hips jerked and spasmed and his face was strained with the exquisite pleasure and pain of trying to make it last. “Remy,” he moaned again.

He went limp and began to tremble until Remy urged him to relax and lie against his chest. They panted and sighed, filled with awe that it could feel so intense.

“You should eat. I’ll help ya finish packin’.”

“Jean-Paul and Pietro can take care of it.”

“You sure?”

“Oui. Remy ain’t done sayin’ goodbye.”

*

But he’d said goodbye, and it nearly killed Logan.

They parted with a clasp of hands and a hug from Etienne that made Logan’s eyes water.

“I’ll miss you,” he mumbled into Logan’s vest.

“I’ll miss you, too, bub. Be good.”

“I will.”

“Take good care of yer papa. Don’t let him get scared.”

“I won’t.”

The exchange nearly broke Remy’s heart.

Between Etienne’s despondency and his own frustration, Remy had a hard journey home.

*

Dinner went about as Remy expected, but this time, his parents were gave Anna Marie rapt attention. She chattered up a storm.

“…Ah studied in Paris for two years. Ah adored the Louvre,” she told them. “I was in awe over all that amazin’ art work. It just…humbled me.” Candra nodded eagerly.

“I can imagine! Isn’t that something, Remy? The Louvre!”

“And we went to Italy the following year,” she added. She turned to Remy. “But have you ever had French cuisine?”

“Oui,” Remy murmured absently.

*"Je trouve leurs desserts plutôt doux, mais toujours pas aussi doux que je vous trouve,” she quipped. That caught his attention.

”Vous parlez du français?”

"Oui, oui. C'est un de mes langues préférées."

"De combien de?” he inquired, impressed.

"Pas tant. Juste huit, jusqu'ici. Je ne suis pas comme aisé dans le Tchèque." Her smile was coy. "Soigner quelque soupe de tortue?"*


*

Etienne was a harder sell.

He’d gone into hiding again, which had Remy worried. One moment he’d say hello to him on the stairs or in the private study adjoining his bedchamber, and the next, he’d have disappeared into thin air. His absence always coincided with Anna Marie making her appearances.

Remy wanted to tell himself that it was just a matter of time, but already she’d been within castle walls for roughly a week.

Her disposition was…polite. Agreeable.

Almost too agreeable.

On Monday, they went for a leisurely carriage ride over the hills with his parents.

On Tuesday, they took in a play put on by the local villagers. Remy was bored to tears, but she clapped her hands and squealed with delight at the pageantry and colors. He indulged her, since she looked pretty when she smiled.

On Wednesday, she read to him from a volume of poetry she’d written herself. In French.

On Thursday, Anna Marie suggested they take charcoals and parchment and draw by the lake. Naturally, she didn’t object when he asked her politely to be his subject.

By Friday, Remy was going out of his mind.

He rapped on the door of the guest chamber; her chaperone answered it, giving him a bright smile.

“Majesty,” she greeted him. “Would you like to speak with her Highness?”

“Oui. Remy’d be honored to share an audience wit’ her, if she isn’t…indisposed?”

Her maid was swiftly elbowed out of the way. “Not at all! What did you have in mind?”

“Erm…a walk?”

And off they went. Anna Marie’s chaperone followed them at a distance through the garden. Anna Marie wore a lightweight cloak with a hood trimmed in ermine to shield her delicate skin from the sun. Remy was polite enough not to voice that it seemed a bit like overkill.

“Remy was wonderin’…what kinds of expectations did ya have from marriage ta Remy?”

“Expectations, milord?”

“Oui.”

“Well…the usual ones, Ah think.”

Remy’s smile faltered, and he raised one auburn brow. “The usual ones, meaning…?”

“Um. Hmm…how should Ah describe that? Well, the usual ones. The things that wives do. And that queens do.” She began to tick points off her fingers. “Attend the royal court. Travel with you. Host visiting royals here at the palace. Be in charge of my ladies in waiting-“ He stopped her. She hadn’t said anything about him yet.

“Do yer own parents have a happy marriage?”

“Ah suppose so. Mother has her own interests. Father is a good king. They’re both happy.”

She hadn’t said they were happy together.

“So what are yer own interests, if ya don’t mind my asking?” Her eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands.

“Ah love doing things like this, walking in the royal rose gardens. Ah like bein’ in charge of decorating, too.” Remy’s eyes glazed over. “Ah’ve redone mah chamber three times so far, it’s darling. Green velvet and gold silk.”

“To match yer eyes, I imagine?”

“How did you know?” She gave his arm a light swat.

“Jus’ a guess…”

“Let’s see, what else…Ah like art.”

“Making things? Painting? Sewing? Tapestry?”

“Oh, nothing that complex! I can barely mark a piece of paper with a quill. Viewing art work. Like Ah did at the Louvre,” she reminded him.

“How d’you feel ‘bout huntin’, petit?”

She wrinkled her nose. “How dreadful.”

Remy hadn’t realized he’d been keeping a list of traits a potential queen would have until she slowly erased each one the more she spoke.

They walked along for a bit, and Anna Marie began humming a simple little tune. Her voice was pleasant, for which he was grateful. At least she wasn’t shrill.

“Ah love to sit for portraits, too,” she pointed out gaily. “Ah’m a very patient person. I can sit peacefully and just enjoy the scenery and think of nothing at all.”

“Do ya have any ambitions, any dreams?”

“Oh…like what? To work?”

“Well, above and beyond your duties as queen,” he suggested. “Perhaps study something? Some charity work?”

“Ah believe in charity,” she agreed. “Ah give away mah used ball gowns and day dresses that Ah don’t wear anymore.”

“What about feeding the citizens of Rippling Seas?”

“Well, what about it? I have no problem with anyone wearing one of mah dresses to market to buy food,” she shrugged, her tone easygoing.

Remy felt a headache building over the bridge of his nose.

He dropped the final hint. “Have ya t’ought about children?”

“Ah think about them sometimes,” she said.

“And?”

“Ah’m a bit young for them. I’ve heard they ruin your figure.”

“Um…might not have dat problem, petit, wit’ Etienne.”

“Ooo. His name’s French!”

“Oui.”

*“Quel âge est le petit chéri?”

“Il est sept. Il est très brillant.”

“Il est certainement beau comme son père.”* She stopped him for a moment. Her fingertips traced his collarbones lightly, and her smile was coy.

“Perhaps ya oughta get ta know him a little better,” Remy suggested. His face flushed slightly and he felt uncomfortable. This courtship wasn’t going as he planned.

Maybe she would at least get along with his son. Yes, that was it; children might bring out nobler qualities in her, appeal to her women’s nurturing instincts.

*

It took some effort to corner him. Etienne hid out in the stables with Julien, his uncle on his mother’s side, and Mattie, Remy’s head housekeeper. She was like another member of the family, taking care of all of them for as long as Remy could remember. She was dark-skinned like Candra, but small and plump. Her dark eyes twinkled like stars, and she had a huge, boisterous laugh.

Anna Marie was apprehensive about visiting the stableyard in her delicate satin slippers, but Remy assured her that it was well-maintained and that she wouldn’t track through anything unsavory. She still made a face at the smells of horses and their various by-products the closer they came.

Mattie’s face lit up. “Good mornin’, Majesties! Don’ ya make a pretty picture? Isn’ dat somet’in? Look almost like bro’ter an’ sister, two peas in a pod!”

“Papa doesn’t have a sister,” Etienne grumbled under his breath. He stabbed a tiny knife into a piece of wood that Julien was teaching him to whittle. He sat on a hay bale with a small dish of nuts and dried fruits beside him, which he snacked on while his uncle told him tall tales.

Anna Marie sidled up to Etienne and smiled down at him. “Ooo, what’s that you’re making, shoog?”

“I don’t know yet,” he snapped, then looked away, resuming his work with the knife.

“That looks sharp. It could cut you,” Anna explained, as though he were three.

“I’m not a baby, I know how to do it!” he blurted. Anna Marie’s smile faltered a mere fraction, but she recovered quickly. He was scowling, and Remy’s expression chided him. He beckoned to him to stand beside him.

“Please don’t be rude, petit. She’s just making a suggestion, and she was only t’inkin’ ‘bout yer welfare.”

“Okay,” he grumbled.

“Um…what kinda things do you like, sweetheart?” Anna Marie asked.

“Different stuff,” he mumbled to the ground.

“Oh. How nice.”

Remy decided they weren’t getting anywhere fast.

“How about we go inside and see what Jeanne-Marie has for lunch?”

*

The next few days didn’t yield much success.

Remy tried to engage Anna Marie to try some of the things he and Etienne liked. They went on nature walks with Etienne’s tutor. Anna Marie tried to acquiesce, but she had limited clothing for such expeditions. Candra sent her seamstress to make her a more practical riding habit out of dark green muslin, which pleased her somewhat. They also tried horseback riding.

Anna Marie was out of practice. Her seat was awful, and she complained at length about the duration of the ride through the hills.

“Whose idea was this?”

That was one of many complaints that Remy catalogued during their trek. Her graceful gait devolved into limping when she was out of the saddle.

She complained about the unseasonal heat and the flies. She complained about the hard boulders they found to sit on while they rested. And apparently she didn’t like anything that involved sweat.

Or wildlife. Anna Marie shrieked when a small chipmunk skittered down from a tree and darted over her feet.

Etienne giggled at the sight of her leaping to her feet, crying out, holding up the hem of her skirt in an attempt to shoo it away, even after the creature was long gone.

“Easy now, chere!’ She was in a fit of pique.

“It was horrid! Wretched little vermin!” Etienne took exception to that.

“They’re tame. They’re just like squirrels. There are different kinds. I like black ones best.” Remy smiled, also remembering Logan and their journey through Towering Trees’ woods. The vision of the man amidst the forest creatures, bathed in sunlight and communing with his surroundings made Remy wistful.

Anna Marie suffered through Etienne’s nature lesson, looking less than entertained as they continued their ride. Remy was proud of his son’s effort at interacting with her.

The next days yielded more of the same.

Anna Marie tolerated tennis, as long as Remy was her partner. She nearly took out Remy’s field man with her faulty aim on the archery grounds. And she refused a hunting trip, disparaging Remy in the process.

She was an able dancer at court. That was one of her graces, at least. But she glowed almost too much beneath all the attention from visiting dignitaries and dukes, batting her lashes and smacking them with her fan whenever they bent to kiss her hand. Remy watched in irritation.

She was making his decision easy.

There was one more factor to consider.

Remy headed upstairs to kiss his son goodnight.

He was already in bed. Remy thought he was asleep until he bent to kiss his brow. Etienne’s eyes popped open, and he gave him a broad smile.

“Papa, are you scared?”

“Why?”

“That the monsters will get you?”

“Non, petit.” He stroked his son’s soft hair. “Why do ya ask?”

“In case you need me to protect you.”

“Hmmm…mighty brave of ya, mon fils.” He tickled his son’s armpits, making him squeal. “So ya t’ink Papa needs protectin’?”

“Uh-huh. And you might get lonely.”

“Not while I have you, Etienne.”

“Papa?”

“Oui?”

“Does she have to stay here?” He put strong emphasis on “she” and his features twisted like he drank sour milk.

“Her visit isn’t quite over yet, petit.” But Remy was relieved to hear his son’s thoughts, which seemed to mirror his own. “I want t’give her a chance, petit.”

“Didn’t we do that already?” he whined.

Hmmmmm…

“Etienne…what d’you t’ink Papa needs in a wife?”

“Games,” Etienne said. “She needs to know how to play fun games. She has to like horses.”

“Dat sounds nice,” Remy agreed.

“I don’t like it when Anna pinches my cheek.”

“Duly noted.”

“She smells too girly.”

Remy silently agreed.

“Anna Marie doesn’t do anything. She just sits around.”

Remy sighed, then gave in. “Oui.”

“Can we tell her to leave?”

“Dat ain’t very polite, Etienne.”

“Papaaaaa,” he whined. Remy kissed his forehead again.

“Might have t’plant de suggestion,” Remy said. He bade him goodnight and began to formulate a plan.

*

Anna Marie slept in longer than usual, which was fine with Remy. He was an early riser, and he took his fast with Etienne in the kitchen for a change, to Jeanne-Marie’s delight.

“Have another sweet roll. Would you like more juice, chere?” she asked Etienne, who had a mouthful of bacon.

“Mm-hm,” he garbled back. She laid another cinnamon bun on his plate with a flourish.

“What are your plans, sire?”

“We have a full day ahead of us,” he told her cheerfully. “I hope she’s rested.”

“Oh?”

“Oui,” he grinned.

“Oh, ho,” she chuckled. “I wager she’s had her share of beauty rest, that one.”

“Off the record, chere…what d’ya t’ink of Princess Anna?”

“Well…meaning no disrespect, sire…”

“None taken,” he said, beckoning to her.

“She’s a bit…flighty. High maintenance.”

“Dat hasn’t escaped me, chere.”

“So no match, then?”

“Don’ t’ink so.”

“You’ve had so many presented to you, sire.” She watched him with sorrowful blue eyes. He reached for her hand and kissed it with aplomb.

“Remy has all de family he needs carin’ about him right here, petit.”

Her expression was guarded as she continued her cooking, setting a pot of beans to simmer. Etienne finished his glass of juice and jumped down from his chair.

“Not so fast! What’re ya forgettin’, petit?”

“May I be excused, Papa?”

“What else are ya forgettin’?”

Etienne kissed his cheek and gave him a crushing hug. Remy swatted his tush as he ran out.

“You need a wife,” she pointed out. “He needs a mother.”

“Remy’s learnin’ t’be flexible in dat regard.”

“How ‘flexible’ are we talking, sire?”

“A mot’er doesn’t exactly hafta be a wife,” he said. “A mot’er could be a husband, if need be. If de love’s dere.”

Understanding lit up her face. “I’m not against it, sire. My twin brother, Jean-Paul, leans in that general direction.” He raised his eyebrows at the familiar name.

“Oh?”

“He is a groom for the prince of Towering Trees. Imagine that, you almost ran into him!”

Remy nearly choked on his tea.


Footnotes:

For the first part of Remy’s conversation at the dinner table, here is the translation, thanks to my friend Sisterwine:

*”I find their desserts rather sweet, but still not as sweet as I find you,”* she quipped. That caught his attention.

“You speak French?”

“Oui, oui. It’s one of my favorite languages.”

“Out of how many?” he inquired, impressed.

“Not so many. Just eight, so far. I’m not as fluent in Czech.” Her smile was coy. “Care for some turtle soup?”*
And this was the conversation from their walk:

“How old is the little darling?”

“He’s seven. He’s very bright.”

“He’s certainly handsome like his father.”