“But you have theories,” Theron prodded, leaning forward. “Otherwise, why bring it up at all?”
Because I couldn’t stop seeing her face when Father mentioned Gaspard. Couldn’t forget the way all color had drained from her cheeks, the way her knuckles had whitened around her spoon. As if the mere mention of his name was a blade pressed against her throat.
“No theories,” I lied. “Just filling in pieces of her history.”
Father studied my face for a long moment before sighing heavily. “You care for this girl,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact delivered with the same disappointed tone he’d used when I’d failed my first sword assessment at age eight. The same one for me entering the tournament.
“I owe her Thibaut’s life,” I deflected.
“And that’s all?” Father pressed, his piercing gaze uncomfortably reminiscent of Theron’s predatory stare.
I met his eyes steadily. “What more would there be? She’s a peasant girl I rescued. Nothing more.”
“Good,” Father nodded, apparently satisfied with my answer. “Because you know your duty to this kingdom. To our bloodline.”
“Which doesn’t include fucking forest wenches,” Theron added helpfully, refilling his glass with practiced precision.
I bit back the retort that rose to my lips, choosing instead to examine the empty tumbler in my hand as if it held answers I couldn’t find elsewhere.
Duty. Always back to duty. As if I could forget for one moment the weight of the crown that would never rest on my head but would dictate my every choice nonetheless.
“You need to get her out of your system,” Theron continued, either oblivious to or uncaring about my darkening mood. “Fuck her senseless for a week, then move on. It’s worked well enough for you before.”
“That’s enough,” I warned, my voice dropping to a register that had made hardened soldiers step back.
Theron ignored the warning, warming to his topic as he always did when he sensed weakness. “Though I’ll admit, if I had those tits in my bed, I might need longer than a week. Did you see how they strained against that gown? Like ripe fruit ready for plucking.”
“Theron,” Father admonished, though there was no real censure in his tone. Just the mild embarrassment of a man who thought such observations should be made in private rather than mixed company.
“What?” Theron shrugged innocently. “It’s not like he’s going to marry the girl. She’s got no title, no wealth, no connections. Just a pretty face and a body made for sin.”
I set my glass down with deliberate care, focusing on the controlled movement to keep from launching across the room at my brother. “I said that’s enough.”
Father cleared his throat, recognizing the dangerous edge in my voice. “Alain, your brother is crude, but not wrong. Whatever fascination you have with this girl, it cannot lead anywhere. You have responsibilities that exceed personal desire.”
“He’s just being selfish,” Theron said, the alcohol loosening his tongue further. “Wanting to keep all that sweetness to himselfwhen sharing is the brotherly thing to do.” His smile turned vulgar. “If you’re not inclined to bed her, I’d be happy to take her off your hands. Show her what a real prince can do between the sheets.”
My mind filled with images I couldn’t bear of Isabeau’s delicate hands pinned above her head by my brother’s meaty grip, her eyes wide with the same fear I’d glimpsed at dinner, her body used like so many others Theron had discarded when he tired of them.
“Though I imagine after being chained in a monster’s den, she might appreciate a gentler touch first,” Theron mused, oblivious to the rage building in my chest. “I could start slow, work my way up to—”
“I said,” I repeated, each word carved from ice, “that’s enough.”
Father sighed, setting aside his parchment entirely. “Alain, you’ve bedded your share of court ladies without developing this... attachment. What makes this one different? Is it the mystery? Once the novelty wears off—”
“She’s not a novelty,” I interrupted, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. “She’s a person who’s survived more than either of you could imagine.”
“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Theron laughed, the sound grating against my nerves like steel on stone. “Look at his face, Father. Our cold, controlled Alain, finally losing his head over a pair of tits.”
“They are exceptional tits,” Father agreed with the casual misogyny of a man who had never considered women as more than decorative or functional. “But hardly worth throwing away your future for.”
I’d fucked my share of women over the years. Courtiers who knew the rules of the game, who wanted a prince in their bed forthe status it conferred. Arrangements of mutual pleasure with clear beginnings and cleaner endings.
No attachments, no complications. Just bodies moving together in darkness, satisfying basic needs before returning to separate lives.
But Isabeau... She wasn’t a body to use and discard. From the moment I’d lifted her from that frozen dungeon floor, something had shifted inside me. Something fundamental and irreversible. If she ever came to my bed—willingly, joyfully—I knew with bone-deep certainty that I would never leave it. Would never want to leave it.
“I wonder what sounds she makes when she comes,” Theron mused, staring into the fire. “The quiet ones always surprise you. Bet she’s a screamer once you get past all that proper restraint. All that pent-up passion finally released. Might have to gag her to keep the whole castle from hearing—”
