Diamond in the Rough

Let Me Entertain You

Summary: Logan runs into a few more challenges as host. A young guest unwittingly breaks the ice between him and Remy.

Author’s Note: *sigh* It’s just gonna get sillier. This is diverting from the original fairy tale “The Long Nosed Princess” somewhat (not just because it’s slash), since the princess and prince were the only real central characters in that story. But, whatever. I’m the boss in charge, a claim I’ll make even if this sucks. *ducks rotten tomatoes*

Queen Eliza’s gown rustled and flapped behind her as she hurried down the hall to her son’s makeshift chamber. Her knock was brisk, and the small scroll in her hand felt like it was burning her, wanting to be passed on to its intended recipient as quickly as possible.

She heard a scuffle inside, then her son’s characteristic heavy footsteps as he answered the door. He looked mildly disheveled, with one half of his hair combed and shining with pomade. Behind him, Jean-Paul was tutting and brandishing a hairbrush.

“Sire, I’m not finished!”

“That’ll be enough out of you,” Logan snarled over his shoulder, before he faced his mother. His face settled into only slightly more agreeable lines for her sake. Eliza chuckled.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Good for some,” Logan muttered, but he leaned over the threshold and kissed her soft cheek. She reached up and patted his fondly.

“Here.”

“What is it?” He took the scroll and noticed the pink wax seal was already broken.

“We’re due to have more company soon.”

“Who?”

“Read it. I’ll give you some time to get settled. See you at breakfast.”

“Mother-“

“Button yourself together, James!” she admonished, giving his arm a little slap. “Take care of him, Jean-Paul.”

“Easier said than done, Majesty.” Logan’s sigh was long-suffering as his mother swept out and his valet nearly strong-armed him back into the room, shutting the door before Logan could escape.

He nudged him back into his chair and continued to work on his hair, enjoying the thick, soft feel of it as he ran his fingers through it.

“Yer enjoyin’ yerself too much,” Logan groused as he impatiently unrolled the scroll.

“I live to please, and to serve, sire.”

“Maybe I should buy ya a little dog for ya ta boss around and fuss over.”

“Hmmph…” Jean-Paul rolled his eyes and shook his head as he brushed the stubborn hair into submission. At least his hands felt good.

Pietro was elsewhere in the house, helping to freshen Logan’s own bedroom. Right now, it was Remy’s quarters, as Logan had chosen the path of least resistance and moved out for the duration of the prince’s visit. He was on the mend, but his presence was unsettling and he and Logan constantly rubbed each other the wrong way. Being in close quarters didn’t help. Logan spent any time they shared in the room practically forcing his hands to stay in his pockets, to avoid errantly, absently caressing him or just smacking him outright.

He needed time to breathe and center himself. The past two days found Logan throwing himself into his duties, checking on local crops and speaking with law officials about his townspeople’s safety and well-being. He also spent time hunting with Victor, and his bodyguard was pleased as punch to be included in the offer, since he took lusty enjoyment in the pursuit and the kill. It felt good to be out in the open air, breathing in the scent of the pines and loam and running Maverick until the horse was almost lathered after their prey.

Logan felt restless and craved more time outside, or at the inn with his companions. But he wouldn’t abandon his guest, even if he was by turns cranky or derisive.

But now, his eyes roved over the letter, unfamiliar with the elegant handwriting.



James,

I would like to extend my thanks for your continued hospitality toward my son, and the excellent care I know you’ve been giving him. My husband and I have been concerned for his health, and we are grateful that you have kept him within the walls of your lavish home all this time.

My concern now is his son, my grandson Etienne. He’s young and particularly vulnerable in light of the fact that his mother was taken from us upon his birth. His father is his entire world, and they are both ours.

I would like to propose that Etienne be allowed to see his father, perhaps even stay with you during Remy’s recovery. I don’t wish to inconvenience you in anyway, James, but I feel that it is in the lad’s best interest to be near his father while he is recuperating.

He is a charming, bright, beautiful child, and is also exceedingly well behaved. He will pose no trouble.

I look forward to your response. We are anxious to reunite our son with his child.

Candra’s signature was delicately curved at the bottom of the page.

“You look troubled, sire.”

“Get another guest suite ready.”

“Why?”

“We’re havin’ more company. And Prince Remy’ll be stayin’ with us a while longer.”

Mentally, Jean-Paul cheered.

Logan caught the gleam in his valet’s light blue eyes.

“Get that thought outta yer head, bub.”

*

Remy lay in bed, propped up on several pillows and reading. He felt stronger today, but too much exertion still wore him out, and it wasn’t easy sleeping in someone else’s bed. He missed the comfort of his own chamber, and he missed the sound of his son’s breathing and the warm, scant bulk of his body curled up against him whenever he ran to his father’s room in the middle of the night to escape the boogey man.

The only consolation to be had was not having to make himself handsome for any prospective brides or put on airs for their entertainment. It wasn’t for lack of effort on Jean-Paul and Pietro’s part, however. They still fawned over him, perhaps more so now that Logan wasn’t sharing his quarters, but they still darted off in separate directions when Logan returned to check on him.

The burly prince seemed to have that effect on his staff…

The night in the dining room had yielded interesting results, and that was how Remy ended up the lone occupant of the prince’s chamber.

*

A wise man wouldn’t have provoked Logan in his current state.

His chest was heaving as though he was out of breath. Clearly, he was in a fit of pique. His dark eyes held a dangerous glint, and they pinned Remy in his seat.

“Soup?” Remy inquired, voice smooth and rich as syrup.

Logan peered down at the half-empty bowl, then back up at Remy.

Remy was glad he was holding the plate, or it would have bounced off the table. Logan banged his fists against the elegant cherrywood, making the silverware clatter. Out of the corner of his eye, Remy saw Jubilee and Paige scamper out of the doorway.

“So this is how yer gonna spend yer time? Distractin’ my staff? Gettin’ up outta bed when yer still not well?”

“Feelin’ better,” Remy sniffed, shrugging.

Logan fumed. His scowl was dark and he ran his hand through his hair in frustration, a gesture Remy was beginning to associate with him.

“Have ya had that dressing changed yet?” Logan’s tone was accusing, more than unfriendly.

“Non.” He wouldn’t tell him that his leg throbbed slightly. He hadn’t thought to ask Clem if she could help prop it somehow before she lumbered back into the kitchen. But Logan read his body language and saw the strain cross his features, flirtatious smile evaporating as he winced.

“Ya’ve overdone it!” he flared.

“Remy’ll be fine. Don’t get yerself in a lather, Prince James.” Remy was pushing his seat back from the table with some difficulty.

Logan was having none of it.

“Don’t tell me how not ta get,” he muttered on a snarl. “Yer gonna slow yer healing if ya keep messin’ around and go too fast.”

It was on the tip of Remy’s tongue to tell him that he couldn’t speed his healing fast enough to leave this blasted place, but Logan left him little room to argue.

His hands were on him, hoisting from his seat.

“What de hell…?”

“UP!” Logan barked as he shouldered himself beneath Remy’s arm and anchored him firmly against him. Logan’s arm clamped around his narrow, firm waist and he assisted him back toward the staircase. Remy was barely supporting his own weight at all as Logan practically dragged him where he wanted to take him.

“Dis ain’t necessary,” he pointed out, irritated.

“The hell it ain’t.”

“So, what? Jus’ gonna lock me away until I’m well?”

“Don’t tempt me. It ain’t nice ta tease someone with what they don’t have a prayer of gettin’, Highness.” Remy briefly stumbled, banking his foot on the stairs.

“Merde!” Pain lanced up his leg, and Logan felt guilty.

“Hold on,” he chided him. Logan took a different tack. He grunted as he rearranged Remy, sweeping his arm beneath his legs and scooping him up. They were a comic sight as he climbed the stairs, carrying the much taller prince, who was cursing and gaping at him like he’d grown a third eye.

It wasn’t easy. Remy was injured, but he wasn’t weak. He struggled against him, feeling awkward with his long calves dangling over Logan’s arm.

“Ya’ve gotta be kiddin’,” Remy hissed.

“Quit fidgetin’, we’re almost there,” Logan said impatiently. “You’re not exactly light, despite the fact that ya look so skinny anyone’d think they could snap ya like a twig.” He flinched as Remy clouted him with his fist.

“Who’re ya callin’ ‘skinny?’”

“I didn’t say puny,” Logan huffed. Remy glared at him then.

“Guess anyone’s puny when ya built like a tree trunk,” Remy muttered under his breath.

“It’s part of my charm. I ain’t short, I’m ‘sturdy,’” Logan corrected him crisply. Nonplussed, he stalked back to his bedroom and kicked open the door.

He deposited Remy more gently than he wanted to. “Where’s the salve?” he demanded gruffly. Remy pointed to his vanity.

“Over dere, where yer valet left it.”

“Bet he was all over himself ta help ya with it,” Logan grumbled to himself.

“What wuz dat, mec?”

“Nuthin’…”

Remy laid up on his elbows, watching Logan as he opened the jar of salve and stalked over to the bed with a length of bandage and a couple of rags. He poured some water from a pitcher into a small bowl, one Pietro thoughtfully left for the purpose of Remy’s ablutions.

He set the items on the side table and his hands were on Remy again, rearranging his pillows and the prince himself above them. Remy felt like a doll in the hands of an errant child.

“What de hell d’ya t’ink yer doin’?”

“Yer leg needs ta be propped up, right?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Then I’m proppin’ it up,” Logan explained snappishly as he took a thick, finely upholstered bolster and tucked it beneath one of the fluffy bed pillows, then grasped Remy’s ankle from underneath, careful not to jar the tender muscle. Remy still sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, but Logan laid his calf down, and it was a more comfortable angle so his blood flow wouldn’t pool in the sore limb the way it did when he was sitting upright. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes.

“Ya overdid it,” Logan grumbled sourly as he began unwrapping the soiled bandage. Remy’s pantsleg was rolled above his knee, giving Logan easier access to his injury. The wound had begun to scab nicely, but the lacerations and bruises were still an angry purple. Logan ran his fingertips over the wound, carefully probing it.

“Does it still pain ya? Are ya havin’ a hard time with it?”

“Oui,” Remy admitted, breathing in short sips through his lips. Logan was right; he had overdone it.

“Might help if ya behaved yerself.”

“Where’s de fun in dat?”

“You’re just all about fun,” Logan muttered.

“T’ink so, eh?” Remy narrowed his eyes at Logan, but Logan ignored it as he dipped a rag in the cool water and deftly wrung it out. The first contact of the damp cloth against his leg made Remy hiss in discomfort, but eventually cooling the wound helped, numbing the pain. Logan was unfailingly gentle, something that still surprised Remy, when he seemed so gruff and hard on the surface.

Logan swabbed the cloth over Remy’s tender flesh carefully, cleansing the wound. He made a thoughtful sound in his throat.

“Yer feet are cold. Why arentcha wearin’ any slippers?” Logan accused.

“Someone knocked ‘em off my feet when I was dragged back upstairs,” Remy countered, amused. Logan could have sworn Remy stuck out his tongue at him when he wasn’t looking, but he was focused on cleaning his injury, mouth set in grim lines.

“Yer healin’ nicely,” he remarked casually. “Ya won’t hafta stay here too much longer if yer arm follows suit. And yer fever’s gone.”

“Mebbe it’s cuz ya scared it away. Ya were awfully hard on yer scullery girl downstairs, mec.”

“She was dawdling. And ya were distractin’ her. Not everyone has the time ta just wait on ya hand an’ foot.”

“That’s why they’re called servants,” Remy reminded him. Logan looked annoyed.

“That how ya spend yer time in yer own palace?”

“What’s it t’you how Remy spends his time at his own castle?”

“Nuthin’. That’s what it is t’me.”

“Good.”

“Fine.” Logan opened the jar of salve and scooped out a generous amount. He spread it over Remy’s wound, careful not to apply too much pressure. Remy sighed in relief, settling back into the pillows.

Logan ran his fingers absently over the scar. “This might not even leave a mark. That oughta make ya happy.” Remy cracked open one eye.

“Ecstatic,” he murmured, then closed it again. Logan huffed and wiped his hands on a dry hand towel.

Remy moaned in pain. Logan frowned in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Cramp. Been in bed too long.”

“Where?”

“Foot,” he complained.”

“Hn,” Logan grunted and examined his foot. There was nothing wrong with it at first glance as he turned it slightly, trying not to jar his leg.

“Gimme a sec.” Logan rewound a clean length of bandage around his calf and tied it in place, tucking in the ends. “There. Don’t let it get reinfected.”

“Oui, Maman,” Remy quipped. He sobered briefly. “Shoulda been someone’s mot’er,” he said.

“Like that’ll ever happen,” Logan said sourly. “Dream on.” He took Remy’s foot and began to knead it, pressing his thumbs into the ball. Remy gasped, then let out a shuddering breath. “That hurt?”

“Non.”

“Want me ta keep goin’?”

“Please.”

“Yer wish is my command, Highness,” Logan said, not too mockingly as he continued to work on his limb. He massaged and kneaded it, finding pressure points and releasing adhesions in his muscles that Remy didn’t know he had. The momentary pain as he released those knots in his leg fled him, leaving behind the sensation of being completely relaxed.

Remy’s low groan and the expression of rapture on his face socked Logan in the gut. His body reacted fiercely to that sound and the way Remy’s body arched in the bed, looking far too much like a man aroused.

Logan’s mouth went dry, removing his ability to form speech.

Instead his hands made the decision for him, lingering on Remy’s flesh as he switched to the other foot, gently tugging each toe, curling them over the crook of his finger to flex them more easily and remove more of the tension.

It was difficult to remove his hands, not when Remy was so relaxed and no longer ribbing him, when his eyes were closed and not full of derision, mocking him.

Logan fell in tune with Remy’s body’s needs, of what kind of touch evoked a certain reaction, feeling every slight twitch and the beat of his pulse. His skin was smooth, warming beneath his hands, despite Logan’s accusation that the younger prince’s feet were chilled.

A brief flash of Pietro and Jean-Paul came to him then, the way lust clouded their features as they ministered to him in the bath.

Logan released his foot and jerked back. The way the mattress bounced slightly beneath them made Remy flinch and smack his lips in his sleep.

He rose from the bed and carefully pulled up the blankets, covering Remy’s chilled feet. When he tucked the covers in over his shoulders, Remy snuggled more deeply within them. Logan felt a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment that he was sound asleep again, complicated even further when Remy leaned into his touch as he smoothed a tendril of hair back from his cheek.

Logan had to get the hell out of there.

He closed the door quietly behind him and slipped down the corridor to the servants’ wing.

His knock on Jean-Paul and Pietro’s door was brisk. They looked surprised see him when they opened the door.

Pietro put down a shirt that he was folding. “How can we assist you, sire?”

“A room. Make up the guest room in my wing. Tonight. Now.”

“Sire, is someone coming?”

“No. It’s for me.”

“Whatever for? Sire, is there something wrong with your chamber? Is it not clean enough, does your bed need freshening?” Jean-Paul inquired, already building up to panic that they were remiss in their domestic duties.

“It’s simply too small for two.” They frowned slightly. “His Highness would perhaps prefer more room to stretch his legs. Being in such close quarters for the duration of his stay would perhaps not be wise.”

“Forgive me for being so bold, sire…”

“It’s never stopped ya before, ta tell ya as much,” Logan interjected.”

“Ahem. Yes. Sire, you’ve been rather…protective of his majesty. One would think you wouldn’t want to venture too far away to care for him.”

“One might think,” Logan said through gritted teeth. “Make up the chamber. Bring over some of my things in a trunk, make up a fire and make sure I have linens. I won’t need anything else that I can’t bring over in the morning.”

“As you wish, sire,” Pietro chimed in. Logan read concern in both pairs of blue eyes, but he turned on his heel and left.

*

Two mornings later, Logan stood outside, roused by Paige and Jubilee to come to the courtyard. Logan’s sentry on his castle walls gave the signal that the carriage from Shade and Sweet Water was approaching.

Remy’s son’s arrival wasn’t greeted with the same fanfare as his father. Logan didn’t want the child to feel overly scrutinized or overwhelmed by all the attention. Several of Logan’s staff came outside to greet him, including Annalee and Artie. The boy was excited, tugging on his mother’s hands.

“Look, Mama, look!”

“Calm down,” she chided, close to swatting him.

“It’s a carriage! The prince is coming!”

“I know!” she snapped. “Don’t point, it’s not polite.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough,” Logan offered, and Artie broke away from his mother and hugged him around the waist. “Oof!” The boy was growing like a weed, he silently marveled, and he didn’t know his own strength. Logan smiled down at him fondly.

“D’you think he’ll wanna play with us?”

“Maybe we’ll let him get settled in first,” Logan suggested. Artie was excited, however, and Logan suppressed a sigh, knowing he would practically tackle the first occupant who stepped out of that carriage.

The carriage pulled to a stop just within the gates. From outside, Logan could hear the scuffle within, and he frowned, wondering about the delay.

The footman opened the door, and a petite, peevish-looking older woman stepped out, scowling at her surroundings. She wore dark, simple clothes. Her gown was made of muslin and she wore a lace-trimmed cap on her head. Logan assumed she was a member of King Jean-Luc’s staff, perhaps a governess? Before Logan could catch her eye, she spun around at the sound of low shouts inside the carriage. She began to climb back inside and Logan saw a struggle ensuing between her and whomever was just inside the door.

She backed out of the carriage with a kicking, shouting child roughly Artie’s age. The lad was determined to give her hell and was succeeding admirably.

“I hate it here! I want PAPA!”

“Hold your tongue!” Logan heard her hiss.

“NO! I WANT PAPA, NOW!” He tugged his hands from her grasp. When she made an attempt to take hold of him again, he rounded and kicked her in the shin. She howled in pain and doubled over, nursing her injured limb.

Logan was appalled. Annalee stood beside him, aghast.

“Mama, he kicked that lady,” Artie pointed out. “He wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“Hush, darling,” she murmured, but silently she agreed with her son, holding more tightly onto his hand, as though she could shield him from the likely bad influence of their new guest.

The boy ran toward the entrance of the castle, about to book past the assembled staff.

Logan stepped into his path, and the boy froze in his tracks.

Logan’s eyes roamed over the boy, and he was amazed at what he saw.

He was Remy’s spitting image, and he even had his father’s beautiful eyes, except where his father’s held a wicked gleam, Etienne’s had a sharp yet innocent clarity. They were also slightly frightened at his unfamiliar surroundings. His hair was down to his shoulder blades, and it had been clubbed back from his face for the journey. It was the same deep chestnut as his father’s, but had more auburn highlights, telling Logan that he liked to play outdoors. There was a spray of freckles across his pert nose.

He wore his kingdom’s colors, like his father, except his tunic was white with black sleeves and had the crest embroidered in crimson. Identical black leather boots shod his feet. He was tall for his age and slender, arms and legs reed-thin.

“Where do ya think yer goin’, bub?”

Several emotions flitted over the boy’s face.

“Wasn’t nice, kickin’ that nice lady like that.”

“She isn’t nice,” Etienne argued.

“Don’t matter. Ya wouldn’t want yer father ta see ya actin’ like that.”

“I can act however I want!” he insisted. Before Logan could react, the boy was off and running again.

“Now see here, ya can’t just-“

Logan’s words were cut off as Etienne made his way to the edge of the palace lawn. He picked up an enormous rock and hurled it.

His aim was true. He caught Logan right between the eyes.

He roared in pain, cursing unbecomingly for a prince greeting his guest.

“Mama?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Logan just said a bad word.” Annalee wisely shushed Artie and watched as Jean-Paul and Pietro hurried forward to help their sovereign.