Diamond in the Rough

Summary: Reap what you sow…Remy deals with the outcome of his cruelty.

Author’s Note: Both of these guys might seem out of character for the time being, but remember, this is a fairy tale and alternate ‘verse. *shakes fanny, narrowly avoids spanking and runs*

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Logan sat upstairs in his chamber, staring into the grate and watching the flames dance. The sky outside his window was blanketed thickly with stars. The moon looked as lonely as he felt.

He knew it wouldn’t work. Shame burned him, making his dinner taste bitter.

*

“I’m sorry, my boy, I didn’t quite hear you?” King Jonathan demurred, stepping forward. “How was your journey? I trust you were comfortable?”

“Aye,” Remy offered, but he steadfastly ignored the king’s pleasantries. His gaze was still pinned on Logan, taking in Pietro and Jean-Paul’s careful efforts with his grooming. “Tried t’dress you up, but dere’s only so much silk can hide, eh, chere?”

“I don’t have anything ta hide,” Logan rumbled, narrowing his eyes.

This young upstart dared to insult him in his own courtyard? When his father extended his hospitality?

“And I think my father asked ya a question. Ya might do well ta give him yer ears, and yer respect.”

“Desole,” Remy said, turning to Jonathan. The king looked perturbed, and Eliza’s ladies in waiting were still attempting to revive her a few feet away.

“Does that mean yer sorry?”

“No French, chere? Oui. It means Remy’s sorry.” Logan snorted. His ego was astounding. He even talked about himself in the third person…

His irritation still warred with his attraction to his physical presence. This prince had a lilting baritone with sexy rough edges that were more prominent when he used phrases in his native tongue.

“M’sorry my parents wasted my time, but some of the blame lies at your feet, too, Majesty,” Remy sniffed. His red eyes pinned Jonathan and he sighed. “Dis won’t work.”

“My son,” Candra interjected, “a word.” She swept over regally and took her son’s arm, crooking her own through it. She took him on a brief stroll toward the gates.

“I know this is unorthodox-“

“Aye, Maman.”

“But we enjoy a good relationship with the kingdom of Towering Trees. They’ve aided us time and again through famine and blight, and they’ve helped secure our borders and waters against vagabonds and pirates. It might not seem like much, but this is a rich, thriving land full of good people. The folk here are loyal to their king.”

“But why dis union? Look at him, Maman. He’s old. He looks dried up and shop-worn.”

“That’s very unkind of you, my son.”

“M’just bein’ honest.”

“Such honesty in this instance does not become you.”

“Someone who’s stayed unmarried dis long must not’ve had many prospects. Lemme guess…I’m his last resort?”

“Remy!” She was aghast.

She knew it was a losing battle.

*

Her only son had been spoiled over the years, that much she knew, but Queen Candra still held out hope. She adored him, after all, and only wanted him to be happy.

He had already provided her with an heir, bless his heart. Remy’s young bride died in childbirth a month before her due date. Prince Etienne came crying weakly into the world and was laid upon his dying mother’s breast.

“Remy…marry.”

“Quoi?” he asked, voice trembling.

“Marry…again, my love. And…love him…” she rasped.

He held her hand until her flesh turned cold.

*

He’d grown so hard.

Remy swaggered, enjoying the crowd’s stares. His eyes enthralled and intrigued them. He possessed a charm that bore into them like sweet poison. His mother sighed.

“Prince James is rumored to be kind and intelligent. He’s very involved with his father’s rule over his people.”

“Gonna tell Remy he’s got a great personality next, Maman?”

Candra had just about had it.

“Look…enough. You’re my son, and I love you, Remy. But this family deserves an answer today. I won’t force you into this marriage-“

“Can ya even call it dat? Marriage,” Remy snorted. “Handin’ me over t’dis so-called prince as his groom? Or is Remy de bride?”

“You’d be his consort, yes. He’d be our son-in-law with all of the same privileges of a royal bride. He’d be like a second son to us,” she pronounced bluntly.

“Don’ want another daughter-in-law?”

“You haven’t made any overtures to that effect,” his mother said. “And…I was under the impression that you weren’t averse to male companions, my son.”

Remy flushed. His smile faltered.

“Maman…”

“So this union could be feasible, if you would open your mind to it.”

“Maman…”

He took her hands and squeezed them.

“I can’t.”

Queen Candra was very sober as they returned to the dais.

“Prince Remy,” King John said gravely, “may I now announce an engagement between you and my son, Prince James Logan?”

“Nay,” Remy replied. “Not now.” He turned to Logan, eyeing him with contempt. “Not ever.”

“So be it.” Logan shrugged, then rubbed his nape thoughtfully, not caring about the careful styling of his thick hair. Remy felt a strange sense of satisfaction, seeing that tiny gesture.

He was meant to look wild. His dress and forced neatness didn’t suit him, not at all.

But then again, it wasn’t up to him, was it, what the prince of Towering Trees did with his appearance?

Logan had only one more word for him.

“Godspeed.”

He turned on his heel and left with no further salutation.

*

News of the prince of Shade and Sweet Water’s snub at the royal court traveled far and wide. King Jean-Luc and Queen Candra remained two more days within Towering Tree’s gates before taking their reluctant leave. Jonathan and Eliza showed them lavish hospitality and gave them full access to the castle.

Both kings enjoyed chess. They wiled away many hours in front of the fire after supper, moving the polished pieces over a gaming table inlaid with ivory and black marble.

“You’ve raised a kind son,” Jean-Luc remarked.

“He caught that stag,” Jonathan mused, nodding to the mounted head over the fireplace. It was an impressive specimen, a rare white buck.

“Impressive.”

“He spends a great amount of time outdoors. He hasn’t much patience for matters of business in the board room, but my son listens to our people’s concerns.”

“Remy was an excellent student as a child. He loves mathematics, earth sciences, agriculture, astronomy and accounting.” They brooded over their wine. “They might have made a fine match.”

“Equal partners,” Jonathan sighed.

There was no help for it.

*

Remy dozed in the carriage, already tired of the journey home. The weather outside was more humid and sultry than it had been on their earlier ride through the woods. Clouds above were beginning to obscure the moon and stars. Remy wondered if it would rain by morning.

He called up to his coachman, Samuel.

“Want my cloak?”

“’Tis warm enough out, sire.”

“Might rain,” Remy chided him. “Smells like it.”

“I don’t smell anything yet, Highness.”

“It’s best to think ahead. No point in getting caught in the rain, non?”

“I’ll worry about it when it rains, sire.” Remy sighed, rolling his red eyes heavenward. He’d done the widow Guthrie a favor when he brought her oldest son into his employ as a second coachman. He spelled his senior man, Nate, on the long journey to let him rest. The boy meant well, but he wasn’t very bright.

Throughout his journey, Remy thought of the prince, standing in his foolish regalia. He looked like a wild animal masquerading as a man, and as a noble, at that. He was so rough-hewn…

His features were all at odds with Remy’s definition of conventional beauty. That high, square forehead with its widow’s peak was interrupted by thick, shaggy, arched brows. His nose was craggy, too sharp to even be aquiline. His skin bore no scars, but he had a hint of shadow over his firm, square jaw, as though no razor could truly tame his whiskers.

His eyes and mouth almost redeemed the rest of his face. His lips were thin and well-shaped, and his mouth was broad, promising a wide smile. But he hadn’t smiled once. Remy supposed he hadn’t given him much reason.

Those eyes…animal’s eyes. They were hazel, such a provincial color. Fine lines fanned out from the corners, announcing his age plainly. Remy was young, and he felt he deserved a young bride.

The situation was laughable. Remy only regretted that he’d traveled so far for such a disappointing outcome.

“No! NO! PLEASE! SIRE, THERE’S A-“ Sam’s voice rose to a shriek of fear and pain, then became a sickening gurgle. The entire carriage jerked, dashing Remy against its walls.

“SAM! NATE! Bloody hell??”

He no sooner got his bearings before the carriage was rammed again. Remy heard Nate cursing and struggling to his feet in the dry brush.

“What’s going on out there?”

“I’m finding the lantern, sire…NNNNNGGHH! AAAAAAAHHHHH!” Remy heard a rush of movement, followed by a sharp crack.

“NATE!”

It was too silent.

Then, Remy heard a rush of activity in the woods around him. He peered out the window.

The trees seemed to come alive…

Remy tried to remain still. His heart was pounding. He reached for his belt, finding his small knife. It was all he had; he’d left his sword and scabbard at home, entrusting it to his son’s care as a means of comforting him in his absence. He was growing so fast.

Suddenly Remy was afraid he might not make it home to tell him how proud he was of him…

Remy needed the lantern. He heard nothing from Nate or Sam. If he could free one of the horses from the harness, he could make his way out to the main road-

The decision was taken out of his hands. What sounded like several thumps against the side of the carriage barreled along the left side, and Remy felt the entire cab rock dangerously. He clung to the window ledge, but to no avail.

The horses whinnied and screamed as the carriage was bowled over in its entirety.

*

“Let me get this straight,” Bobby pondered, freeing one finger from the whisky glass he clutched to point at Logan, “your mother and father arranged a marriage? To another prince?”

“That’s what he explained already, Robert,” Hank murmured. He munched on a drumstick and licked his clawed finger. Warren sighed.

“It doesn’t matter that he was a prince. It matters that he was a bastard,” he said. “Logan’s better off without him.”

“No one else here thinks this is odd?”

“Sometimes ya hafta think outta the box, Bobby,” Logan told him. He brooded over his drink. Maidens approached him for dances, but he politely declined, pleading exhaustion. They pouted and sulked, wishing he’d change his mind.

“Think out of the box? What does that even mean?”

“It means be open-minded and flexible and consider different options.”

“It’s my own damned fault,” Logan grumbled. “Could’ve tried a little harder ta fit the bill for what some of the previous ones were lookin’ for.”

“And you would’ve been trying to be someone you aren’t,” Hank pointed out.

“Like that’s ever worked so well for anyone we know,” Warren added. “Buck up. He sounds dreadful.”

“The king and queen were pleasant enough,” Logan said. “Father and Mother are fond of ‘em.”

“Good. I hope this doesn’t mar their relationship.” Hank finished this meal and poured them another round of whisky. “Here’s to mending broken hearts.”

“My heart ain’t broken,” Logan argued, but he clinked his friends’ glasses. Victor strode over, interrupting them.

“Sire, it’s getting late.”

“Then go home if ya need yer beauty sleep. This bottle ain’t empty yet. I’m gonna help close the tavern tonight.”

“The Queen wouldn’t approve.”

“I’m hardly a child. My subjects would agree with me. A certain young prince thinks I’m positively ancient.”

“The hell with the stuck-up little bastard. Granted, ya ARE old, Highness, but sometimes it’s an old shoe that’s the most comfy, eh?”

“You’re such a comfort in Logan’s time of need, my friend,” Hank drawled.

“I need some air,” Logan said, rising from the table. He was back in his rough garb, a shirt made from dark brown homespun and snug leather breeches for riding. The women watched him longingly as he strode out, Victor in tow.

“’Bout time. Let’s head back.”

“I’m not ready,” Logan informed him curtly.

“Wouldn’t kill ya ta try an’ pick yer own bride,” Victor huffed. They both leaned against a post and watched the dark clouds roll across the sky.

“Lemme just whistle up another princess outta thin air, Victor.”

“Naw. Not a princess. Just a fine, lovin’ woman who knows her place. Why worry about a princess who worries more about how ta walk and what gown ta wear in court, when ya can find one who sets a fine table at supper and knows how ta warm yer bed at night?”

“Gads,” Logan groaned. “That’s nice, Victor.”

“You’re always welcome, sire.”

*

Remy only knew pain.

His arm felt broken. He could still wiggle his fingers, and he tried to reach for his knife. It was futile in the cursed darkness. Remy feared his lantern had been extinguished.

His body throbbed as he flipped himself over and crawled from the wreckage, thanking the gods that he hadn’t broken his neck.

“Nate…Sam…” he moaned. He heard no reply. Remy began to believe the worst.

A low, bone-chilling growl crept toward him. Remy feared the beasts in the thicket could hear his heartbeat and smell his terror. Birds screeched overhead, and Remy caught small paws skittering in the leaves.

Eyes. They glowed out from the darkness, piercing him. Boring into him. Measuring him.

A wolf added its howl to the bear’s growls as Remy caught its enormous, grim silhouette against the brush.

“Shit,” he grated out.

It was all the provocation they needed. The beasts attacked.

*

“I’m about done,” Logan told Hank, squeezing his shoulder companionably.

“Come and see me soon,” Warren offered, standing to embrace him. His grip on his was firm. Bobby sighed.

“Might as well. You’ve no wife to keep you from it.”

“Maybe it’s just as well.”

“Tell yourself that if you like,” Hank said, pulling him back into the hug. “You’re a good man, and you’ll make a fine king.”

“I don’t look forward to it.” And he didn’t. His parents were getting on in years, and Logan dreaded the inevitable. “That burden carries a heavy price.”

“It’s a child’s duty to outlive their parents,” Warren reminded him. “Even if it’s not to our liking.”

“It’d be nice if you didn’t have to do it alone,” Bobby complained.

“I’m touched,” Logan snarked, punching him in the arm.

“Ow…”

Logan stopped at the barkeep’s stand and took out his pouch of coins.

“On the house, Highness.”

“Please, take something for yourself, for the fine hospitality you’ve shown me.”

“It’s an honor, Highness,” he said with a smile, carefully pushing the pouch back across the bar to him.

“Ya serve a fine ale.”

“It’s a pleasure, both to serve it, and to brew it from the fine harvest we enjoyed this spring.”

“Lively crowd tonight.”

“I hope it serves as a fine distraction, sire…” He cut himself off, clapping his mouth shut.

“A distraction from my failed betrothal? Aye, things didn’t quite work out the way I’d planned.”

“You didn’t plan them,” Victor chimed in.

“True enough.”

“His Majesty and his men stopped through two days ago; I’m guessing that was the first leg of their journey?”

“Really? I’m surprised he didn’t just ride through the night to save time. He was in an awfully big hurry to leave.” Logan donned his cloak, glad to have it as the night chill crept over him. It felt like rain was coming.

“He left a generous tip.”

“As well he should have,” Hank muttered. “Least he could do.”

“It’s not my place to speak ill of the crown, even if it isn’t my land’s crown,” said the barkeep.

Logan bade them goodnight, forgoing goodnight kisses from his admirers for a change. He mounted Maverick and led the way from the inn’s stables. Victor grumbled behind him from his large mare.

“Could’ve had your pick of any woman in there.”

“There was nothing stopping ya,” Logan remarked.

“It’s my duty to see you home.”

“It’s your duty to rain on my parade,” Logan corrected him. “Yer doing a fine job of it.”

They rode on toward the woods until Logan noticed an odd formation of birds, flying fast from the north, as though something startled them.

“That ain’t natural,” he murmured.

“Eh?”

“Vic. That way.” He pointed away from their trail. “Somethin’s up.”

“It’s none of our business, sire.”

“If it’s happening within our borders, then it is our business.” Logan clucked his tongue, beckoning Maverick into a gallop. Victor made a noise of disgust and rode after him. He was grateful that he enjoyed sharp night vision, just as strong as his king’s. He didn’t pity any man or creature at a disadvantage in the darkness.

*

Remy’s flesh burned as warm blood seeped from his wounds. His knife lay useless on the ground, several yards away from him and glinting in the moonlight.

The denizens of the forest lost interest in him. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or upset that they hadn’t put him out of his misery.

He was alone. He hung onto life and wondered how long he had, if he would last until morning light.

Forgive me, Maman.

For the first time since he was a boy, Remy wept. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, mingling with dirt and blood streaking his skin.

His carriage was ruined, and one of his horses managed to get away, while the other was mauled to death. He had little hope of making it out of the forest in time to find help, and he was lost.

He heard the approach of hooves through his delirium, unable to believe that his prayers had been answered.

“Please,” he groaned raggedly. “Please…help…please help me!” he called out weakly.

“Who’s there?” a voice boomed in reply.

“I’m hurt!” he cried.

Two shapes loomed in the darkness. Remy saw the figures dismount from their horses, but his vision was failing him, blurring from loss of blood.

The shorter one hurried toward him while the other hung back.

“Sire…wait…don’t get too close, he might be shamming!”

“Don’t give me that shit,” growled a familiar voice as he approached. Large, strong hands took hold of him, turning him as gently as he could. “Ya all right?”

“Please,” Remy whispered. “Hurts. It hurts.”

“I know,” the voice soothed. The man’s face was obscured by a cloak. He gathered Remy close against the heat of his body.

“This is a bad idea.”

“We’re two men. And when ya get a good look at this one, bub, yer gonna agree with me that we’ve got the advantage.” Logan smelled blood on the young man in his arms, and was puzzled when he noticed another scent. Herbal, almost like cologne. He tried to place when he’d smelled it before.

“Let’s go,” Logan ordered. “He can ride along with me. Check his carriage and see if he left anything important behind.”