I’d been pacing my private suite so aggressively the carpet was probably wearing out. My Britchester remote class portal was open on my laptop, but I hadn’t absorbed a single thing.
My brain was soup. My stomach was a washing machine. My soul was a malfunctioning smoke detector.
Eventually I gave up pacing and flopped onto the bed, laptop balanced on my thighs, staring at the same unread paragraph for the fifteenth time.
That’s when the knock hit.
A sharp, formal, palace‑grade knock.
I jerked so hard the laptop nearly catapulted off my legs.
“Uh—yes?” I squeaked.
The door opened — not by Luc, but by the chamberlain, who bowed with perfect precision.
“Monseigneur.”
Only then did Luc step inside, not merely entering but filling the room in that quiet, commanding way that made the air rearrange itself around him.
He took one look at me and said, “Chérie, you look like you’re about to ascend to another dimension.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, which fooled exactly no one — especially not the future ruler of three countries. Three. As in… one, two, oh‑my‑god‑three.
He raised an eyebrow like he could hear my internal screaming. Then he crossed the room in three long, princely strides and pulled me into his arms, and I melted into him like a stressed‑out marshmallow.
“Your mother and Brad will be here soon,” he said. “That’s all. No big deal. Happy occasion.”
“No,” I blurted. “Yes. I mean—Luc, tomorrow is the abdication. How can you be so calm as a cucumber? Why are you not freaking out? After tomorrow the countdown is on until the coronation and then you’re some larger‑than‑life sovereign prince of three countries—”
He put a hand on my cheek. “Briony. Stop.”
I froze like someone had hit my pause button.
“You’re mixing things,” he said gently. “The coronation doesn’t make me the sovereign.”
I blinked. “It doesn’t? I thought that’s the whole point?”
“No.” His thumb brushed my jaw. “My father’s abdication tomorrow — the very moment he signs — makes it official. I become Sovereign Prince instantly. The coronation is just the ceremony. A festivity to present me officially as such.”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
And then my brain exploded. It was not computing. It was using what little processing power it had left to keep me upright. For now.
“To … mo … rrow? So after tomorrow,” I whispered, “you’re… the big cheese?”
He laughed — that low, warm, unfairly attractive laugh that absolutely did not match my current state of existential meltdown. “Yes. After tomorrow, I am officially the – uh – big cheese.”
“Oh my god.” I stepped back so fast I jerked like someone had yanked a string attached to my spine. “Luc, that’s— that’s— I don’t even know what that is. That’s oh‑my‑God. That’s— I’m not ready. I’m not— You as the—”
He kissed my forehead. “You are ready. We both are. Because the moment my father signs tomorrow, you and I are official. The leader does not hide relationships. After tomorrow, you are the woman at the side of the ‘big cheese.’ The lady cheese.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“What?” I squeaked. Should’ve felt awesome, but instead felt like ‘AAAHHH!’.
He held my face in both hands. “It makes you the woman the sovereign loves. And that is enough for now. That’s why I asked you to move here and study remotely. I promise you, after tomorrow your life will change drastically.”
Before I could process that — or breathe — a knock sounded again.
Not a normal knock. A palace knock. Measured. Discreet. Ceremonial.
I jolted, stumbling back a step.
Luc’s hands dropped instantly from my cheeks to my waist, steadying me before I could actually trip. His grip was warm, sure, the kind that said he’d been ready for that exact moment.
“That,” he said quietly, eyes flicking toward the door, “will be your family.”
I made a noise that was not human.
Luc lifted his head. “Entrez.”
The door opened, and the chamberlain stepped inside just far enough to bow, careful not to intrude more than protocol allowed in a lady’s private rooms.
“Monseigneur. Mademoiselle Cameron. Le docteur et madame Cunningham viennent d’arriver.”
Luc straightened, his hand brushing the small of my back in quiet reassurance — the kind that said I know you’re about to have a mental coronary, but I’ve got you.
“Merci. Faites savoir à mon père que nous descendons.”
The chamberlain bowed and withdrew with the kind of silent precision that made me feel like I was in a historical drama and also about to vomit.
Luc turned to me, offering his arm with that warm, steady smile that always made my heart do gymnastics.
“Come,” he said softly. “We must go down. My father will receive them first.”
We stepped into the long corridor. The guards straightened as we passed — not subtly, not casually, but with that crisp, synchronized movement that made my spine snap into better posture automatically.
The palace suddenly felt cathedral‑big.
We walked the length of the hall, turned at the landing, and descended the sweeping staircase — the one that curved halfway down before straightening again. My heart was doing the same thing.
At the bottom, the central hall opened around us: marble, echoing, sun pouring through the high windows. A footman bowed and gestured toward the east wing.
Luc guided me through a series of corridors until we reached the antechamber outside the East Drawing Room. The chamberlain stood at the double doors, posture perfect.
He bowed. “Son Altesse Sérénissime le Prince Souverain et Son Altesse Sérénissime la Princesse viennent d’entrer, Monseigneur. Vous et Mademoiselle Cameron pouvez suivre.”
Luc squeezed my hand. “Ready?”
No. Absolutely not. But I nodded anyway, because apparently I was committed to the bit.
The chamberlain opened the doors, and we entered the East Drawing Room. Charles and Geneviève were already taking their positions near the hearth. Leontine, Henry, and little Cordelia stood to one side, perfectly arranged like a royal portrait.
Luc and I moved to stand beside them — not in front, not beside the sovereign, but exactly where the heir and the woman he was… whatever I was… were meant to stand.
Once everyone was in place, the chamberlain stepped back into the corridor. The doors closed.
Luc leaned in just enough for only me to hear. “Do not move until I tell you. Protocol.” I nodded, pulse in my throat.
A breath later, the doors opened wide, and the chamberlain’s voice carried with ceremonial resonance:
« Le docteur et madame Cunningham. »
My mom swept in first, looking like she’d stepped out of a lifestyle magazine. Brad followed — tall, calm, expensive. He gave off “Hamptons board meeting” energy even in a palace.
They stopped at the mark before the hearth. My mom curtsied; Brad bowed.
Charles stepped forward with warm dignity. “Madame Cunningham. Docteur Cunningham. Bienvenue à Bellacorde.”
Then his expression softened, his voice gentling as he glanced toward me.
“Mademoiselle Cameron, vous pouvez saluer votre famille.”
Protocol released — formally, unmistakably.
Luc gave me the smallest nod, a subtle shift of his hand behind his back. Now.
I was already moving.
I hugged my mom so hard she squeaked. I legit exclaimed, “Mommy!” because apparently I revert to age five under extreme stress. Then I clung to Brad like a baby koala. He kissed my forehead like he always does.
Luc followed, polished and princely. “Bienvenue.”
My mom smiled at him like he hung the moon. “We’re so proud of you. You’ll be such a good leader. And what you might lack in experience you make up for in appearance— ouch!” Brad nudged her out of fangirl mode.
Luc actually blushed. A little. It was adorable.
Cordelia chose that moment to toddle forward and stick her hand into Brad’s coat pocket. Henry swooped in, laughing. “Apologies, Doctor Cunningham. She thinks all doctors dispense candy.”
Brad chuckled. “She’s not wrong.” He patted his pockets. “I’m afraid I don’t have one on me, but—”
My mom was already digging in her purse. “I do.” She shot Brad a look. “Don’t judge me. He panics if he can’t soothe a crying child. And I can’t keep candy in the house because of my job, so I keep it in here. Ah—here.”
She handed Brad a wrapped lollipop.
He crouched to Cordelia’s level and offered it like it was a royal decree. “For you, sweetheart.”
Cordelia lit up like a Christmas tree. She looked to her parents, got a nod, and grabbed the lollipop.
The entire room relaxed like someone had opened a window.
Afternoon Coffee — A Very Fancy Family Hangout
The introductions dissolved slowly, like a tide pulling back. Once Cordelia was happily occupied with her lollipop and the adults had exchanged their first round of polite pleasantries, the atmosphere loosened. The stiffness in everyone’s shoulders eased. The room felt less like a ceremonial chamber and more like… people.
A steward appeared discreetly at Luc’s elbow. “Monseigneur, refreshments have been prepared in the South Loggia whenever you and your guests wish to proceed.”
Luc nodded and glanced at me — a quiet, steady are you alright? I wasn’t, not even close, but I nodded anyway.
The room broke into smaller constellations. My mom and Geneviève drifted together, already talking like women who recognized something familiar in each other. Brad and Charles fell into an easy conversation — two men who had never met but somehow shared the same calm, competent energy. Henry bounced Cordelia on his hip while she tried to feed him the lollipop wrapper.
Léontine crossed to me with the smooth confidence of someone who had grown up in rooms like this. She slipped her arm through mine — not girlish, not clingy, just a warm, intentional gesture of solidarity. She murmured something teasing to Luc in French that made him roll his eyes and blush, then turned her bright attention on my mom as if she’d been waiting all morning to meet her.
It gave Luc and me a moment to breathe.
After a few minutes, Charles clapped his hands lightly. “Shall we move? The loggia has better light this time of day.”
Everyone agreed, and the group began to reorganize itself with the gentle choreography of people trying not to look like they’re reorganizing themselves.
Luc offered me his arm again. “It’s a short walk,” he murmured. “Just down the east corridor and across the main hall.”
Short was relative. The palace unfolded around us in a sweep of marble and soft echoing footsteps. We retraced part of the route we’d taken earlier — through the long corridor, down the sweeping staircase with its graceful bend, and into the vast central hall where sunlight spilled across the floor like gold leaf.
From there, we turned toward the south wing. The corridor was quieter, lined with portraits and tall windows overlooking the gardens. The pace slowed naturally; the families fell into pairs and trios, talking, pointing things out, laughing softly. It felt less like a procession and more like a walk after Sunday lunch.
By the time we reached the South Loggia — all warm stone, arched windows, and soft afternoon light — the mood had settled into something gentler. Less ceremonial. More like two families trying to figure out how to fit together.
We gathered around an elegant low table set with pastries that looked too pretty to eat. Charles asked Brad about his medical group. Brad asked Charles about retirement. Geneviève complimented my mom’s dress. Léontine asked about my remote classes with genuine interest. Cordelia, who had already begun orbiting Brad the way children always did with him, kept offering Luc half‑eaten cookies with the solemn generosity of a toddler bestowing royal favors.
Luc kept watching me — not hovering, not worried, just… present. Like he knew exactly how overwhelmed I was and was quietly anchoring me to the room.
At one point, Charles leaned toward my mom and Brad and said, with the gentle sincerity that made him beloved by an entire country, “You raised a remarkable young lady, Madame Cunningham. Docteur Cunningham. She will do very well here.”
My mom swallowed. “I hope so. She is very much missed.”
Charles turned to me. “You already are doing very well.”
Luc’s hand found mine under the table and squeezed.
And for the first time all day, I actually believed it.
Girl Talk
Mom showed up at my suite stupid early — the kind of early that said she hadn’t slept much and needed to see me with her own eyes. The maids were already fluttering around me, zipping, steaming, brushing, pinning. I was wearing the soft dove‑grey and lavender knee‑length dress Luc’s stylist picked — elegant but not too princessy — and trying not to sweat through it.
The stylist had told me, with this conspiratorial little smile, that Luc’s only directive was not to change my natural look by stuffing me into something dowdy.
Classy, yes. Elegant, absolutely. Stuffy, old‑fashioned, or anything that hid who I really was? A firm no.
Ha. My man knew what’s up.
Mom stood back with her arms folded, watching the whole operation like she was judging a runway show.
When the maids finally left, she shook her head.
“Oh, baby,” she said, coming over to cup my face. “I was so worried about all this. But after yesterday? Seeing Luc adore you, and his father, and Geneviève, and Leontine and Henry — and now the maid squad? Baby, you are absolutely perfectly fine here. I’m not worried anymore. Not one bit. And you fit right in, all this comes naturally to you. You’ve got this. One hundred percent. I always knew you were meant for something bigger, but I just really didn’t even want to imagine you in the rat race that is the entertainment industry. Here I am in my forties having to look twenty by all means necessary, so I stay relevant without having to resort to creating cringe headlines and such. I can’t even remember not being on a diet. Which I am breaking this weekend, by the way, because the way you speak of the food here, I need to experience it.”
I giggled. “Thanks Mom. And yes, you need to eat what they serve. Most of the time I have no clue what it is, and you KNOW I always was a foodie. Oh mom, and the wine here, they make it and it is to die for.”
“So is your boyfriend. I mean, I always thought he was quite something, but seeing him here in his natural habitat – gurl! Hubba hubba!”
I playfully swatted at her, both giggling, then she got serious.
She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but you had Brad crying last night. Happy crying. Relieved crying. He loves you so much, like his own.”
I blinked fast, trying not to smear my makeup. “Thanks, Mom. That… means a lot.” My voice wobbled, but I powered through. “I love him too, make sure he knows. And I owe him big time. Honestly, everything I pulled off leading up until today? Palace life isn’t what you think. There are literally rules for everything. So far I only had a light intro, but was told once Luc is the big kahuna I am gonna get some hardcore schooling. But Brad and watching how he dealt with problems growing up and when I was old enough him sitting me down and talking to school drama with me, that taught me so much more than I ever knew. Dealing with that Clementine and Dominique BS without going nuclear, that was Brad. All those years of him talking me down from emotional cliffs, teaching me how to breathe before I react, showing me how to stay calm when everything feels like it’s on fire… it all came in handy here.” I huffed a tiny laugh. “You and Dad gave me passion. Brad gave me composure. Make sure you tell him that. I can’t or I’ll dissolve, and from the sound of it, so will he.”
She laughed softly. “I will. And you are damn right. Passion, is one way to call it. I wouldn’t have kept my feet still had those chicks tried that nonsense on me! Everybody would have heard me screaming about it, while my feet would have been launched up each of those bitches’ asses.”
“Mom, your logistics are off here.” I laughed.
“No, you don’t know how deep I’d sink my Manolos into their noble hineys. I’d go full on Jean-Claude Van Damme in between them.”
We both burst into hard laughter. Like snorting and wheezing.
“I still need you to meet Eloise,” I said, once we calmed down. “I was hoping she’d be here early, but her kid got sick. Damn kids.”
Mom waved a hand. “I am sure this wasn’t the last time Braddy and I are invited.”
“Of course not! You guys can stay a whole week.”
“Don’t forget we have three younger kids back home.”
“Bring them next time!”
“Yeah, I am sure that’s just want Luc and his parents need. They are Brad’s kids, sure, so at least not the feral ranch crowds your father is raising over there in Chestnut Ridge, but two of them have Cameron in them and they definitely rubbed off on poor Charley. And your brother is a teenager. Some days that means he’s all Braddy, and other days he’s all bratty! Truth be told, Brad and I didn’t want to embarrass ourselves or you, so we called AG for instructions.”
“Oh, right. Aria-Grace is your cousin. I keept forgetting that. You know Charles’ wife is AG’s husband’s sister, right?”
“Oh yeah,” Mom said, flopping onto my sofa like she owned the place. “I’ve met her before but that was ages ago, I don’t think she would really remember me. Your grandpa Chase and his sister Vivien — AG’s mom — never really got along. And then that whole Jack thing, and then me and Jackson, your dad — don’t ask — but back when I was still in high school and dating Brad, Jackson and I had some… episodes over in Henfordshire. Long story. Let’s not go there. AG remembers. I know that, cos it came up and I sure AF didn’t bring it up. Anyway, yeah we’re family but have never kept close, not for any reason, there was never any discord, just different paths of life that weren’t very compatible. Until now.”
I stared. “Wait – what? Dad at the Henfordshire royal court? Are you serious?”
“At the stables mostly. You know for a long time your grandpa Jack worked for the royals as a stablemaster, so Jackson went to see his dad. But yeah, that happened.”
“Okay, that sounds a lot more legit. I just can’t see it.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “That reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Baby, I know it’s a tight schedule for you, lots on your plate, but you need to come home to San Sequoia at some point soon — even just for a weekend — to see your dad and your brother.”
I straightened. “Why? What— Is everything alright? Is Dad okay!?”
“Briony — chill.” Mom held up both hands. “He’s fine, he just misses you. He hasn’t heard from you since your birthday, and I tried to keep him posted best I could while leaving out all the royal stuff and Luc, but he’s not an idiot and he’s getting cranky. You know how your dad gets when something bothers him and it builds up until he erupts like a volcano. You have to tell him. Soon. I know he’d come to San Sequoia to see you, but he can’t come here. Even if he’d let me buy the tickets. You know Brad doesn’t even have to offer his jet — your dad would never set foot on it.”
“What? I thought Dad and Brad were chill now?”
“Well, they were, until you went off to Britchester. Jackson is convinced Brad put that in your head and now we’re back to him hating on him again. Which of course brings out my passionate side again, so yeah, our phone conversations have been something for Reality TV lately.”
“Why do you call him at all?” I couldn’t help it. Yes, he was my dad, but too many times had they separated and then — surprise — sneaking around again. I could not go through that again.
“Why do I call your father? Are you serious right now, child? You have a brother, remember? He lives with him and is even worse about answering his goddamn phone than your dear daddy. But I am tenacious AF when I want to speak to my son, so… I call his father. And his father asks about his oldest daughter.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.” I exhaled. “After tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to go visit Gramma and Grampa and see him and Beau. And Cody. How are they? Anything new? Did Cody ever get back with Tansy? And what about Beau and Cheyenne? Are they still together? All good with Dad and Amy?”
“Same as always. Beau is living on his own as you know, that cabin‑thing — using the term loosely — is as done as it’ll ever be and Cheyenne stays with him often. Cody is chasing rainbows; far as I know he doesn’t have anyone steady yet except – well – Jack, Jim, and José– the liquid best buddies of his — that man’s liver has to be on crutches. The human form Jack is grumbly as always, what else is new, and Izzy is keeping them straight. Your dad is doing the ranch thing, babbling on and on about horses, trying to be a good dad and a good husband. Hopefully he doesn’t fuck it up again. Should have enough practice by now. And I know I shouldn’t say that to our daughter, but last time we stopped by the ranch on the way back from Iris and Jas’, I was looking at that man, listening to his dull, boring drawling on and on about shit nobody cares about, and thought to myself, ‘damn, I tapped that.’”
“MOM!”
“What? Come on now, baby… Brad and I vibe a lot better. You gotta admit that. Jackson needed to marry every woman on the planet at least once to finally get his head out of his ass.”
“Mom, you have been married the exact same number of times.”
“No. I have been married twice to him and twice to Brad. Your father has been married twice to me, once to that ranchhand chick who seemed more like a man, and now Amy—oh.” She blinked. “I thought it was more. Seemed more.”
“Yeah. That’s probably because he’s your ex, but I keep up because he’s still my Dad and will always be.” I rolled my eyes. “And yes, I absolutely will go see him and tell him everything. Not Beau‑Beau though. I know what my brother is going to say. No thank you.”
“Beau needs to hear this from you.”
I froze. “Why?”
“Because he is your twin brother. Briony, this isn’t a discussion. I am your mother and I am telling you: tell the father and the brother. Package deal. What’s the worst that can happen? Dad whines and drawls obscenities? Big whoop. Or do you want to wait until he goes to get the mail and finds a wedding invite from you in a few years?”
“Dad at the wedding?! Oh jeeze, I haven’t even mentally gone there yet. Oh my God, kill me now.”
A knock sounded — soft, formal, palace‑timed.
Mom squeezed my hand. “You got this.”
My stomach dropped.
The door opened just enough for the chamberlain to appear, immaculate as always, hands clasped behind his back.
“Mademoiselle Cameron,” he said with a respectful incline of his head. “It is time.”
Time. As in: the time. The one that would be photographed, archived, analyzed, and replayed for the next hundred years.
I stood — or tried to. My knees wobbled so hard they basically went on strike. I pitched forward a little.
Mom caught me instantly, one hand at my elbow, the other at my lower back, steadying me with the smooth, practiced grace of a woman who has worn heels on every continent.
She flashed the chamberlain a breezy smile. “Heels,” she said, like that explained everything. “You know how it is.”
He nodded solemnly, as if this were a universally recognized hazard.
Mom gave me one last squeeze — subtle, grounding, the kind that said breathe, baby without saying a word.
I swallowed, nodded, and stepped forward.
The chamberlain stepped aside, offering the faintest, most ceremonial gesture toward the corridor — the kind that said this is no longer a private moment; this is history.
And I walked toward it on legs that absolutely did not feel like mine.
Abdication Day
The palace felt different that morning — quieter, heavier, as if the walls themselves understood what was about to happen. Even the air smelled different, like polished wood and old paper and the kind of nerves that come before history.
Luc met me outside my suite, already in his formal morning suit, looking like he’d stepped out of a portrait painted by someone who adored him. He offered his arm, and I took it because my knees were not entirely reliable.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured.
“You look like you’re about to fire half the government,” I whispered back.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Not today. I’ll save that for tomorrow.”
We walked through the long corridor toward the State Signing Room — the same room used for treaties, constitutional amendments, and, apparently, the moment a nation changes hands. Guards lined the hall in deep azure uniforms trimmed with gold. Staff bowed. The hush that followed us felt reverent, almost sacred.
Inside, the room had been arranged with surgical precision. A long polished table. Two chairs. The Instrument of Abdication laid out on thick cream parchment. The royal seal waiting beside it like a witness. Council members stood behind their designated places, solemn and still. The Prime Minister. The Chief Justice. The Royal Archivist. A military officer in ceremonial dress. All of them waiting.
Charles stood at the head of the room, calm and dignified, the way only a man who has carried a country for decades can be. Geneviève stood beside him, serene and composed. Léontine and Henry were just behind them. My mom and Brad sat in the first row with the invited family guests; Brad gave me a tiny thumbs‑up like I was about to perform in a school play instead of watch a monarchy shift.
Luc squeezed my hand once before stepping forward.
The chamberlain’s voice carried through the room like a bell. “His Serene Highness Charles Augustin Beaumont of the House of Beaumont, Sovereign Prince of Bellacorde and the Triune Realm of Ondarion, will now sign the Instrument of Abdication.”
My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my teeth.
Charles sat. The room went silent — not quiet, but silent, like the air itself froze to watch.
He picked up the pen.
His hand didn’t shake.
And in a voice steady enough to break me, he spoke the formal declaration:
He spoke first in French — the old, ceremonial phrasing reserved for moments that change a nation — and then repeated it in English for the record and benefit of the non-native French speakers.
“By my own will and with a clear mind, I, Charles Augustin Beaumont of the House of Beaumont, Sovereign Prince of Bellacorde, do hereby renounce the powers and duties of the Crown. I entrust them to my son, Luc Sébastien Beaumont, who shall reign after me with honor, wisdom, and devotion to our people. May Bellacorde flourish under his hand.”
Charles signed first — the only signature that truly changed the world. His name on the parchment was the act itself, the moment the Crown passed from one generation to the next. One stroke. Another. A final flourish.
He set the pen down. It was done.
Geneviève stepped forward next, adding her name with the quiet dignity of a consort who had stood beside a reign to its last day. Her signature wasn’t required by law, but by tradition — a gesture of unity, of closure, of grace.
Luc signed after her. Not to accept power — he already held it the moment Charles set down the pen — but to acknowledge the transfer, to place his name beside his father’s in the record of history. His hand was steady. His face unreadable. His entire future crystallizing in ink.
The Prime Minister followed, signing as the head of government, the civilian witness to the Crown’s continuity.
Then the Chief Justice, the legal guardian of the constitution, added his name with a solemnity that made the room feel even heavier.
Last came the Royal Archivist, who countersigned with practiced precision, sealing the document into the national record — the final stroke that transformed a family moment into a constitutional fact.
And just like that — in the space of a breath — Luc became Sovereign Prince.
The chamberlain’s voice rang out, again, first in French, then in English, ceremonial and resonant:
“Long live His Serene Highness, Luc Sébastien, Sovereign Prince of Bellacorde, and of the Triune Realm of Ondarion.”
Everyone bowed.
I bowed too — or tried to — but my knees wobbled and Luc shot me a tiny, amused look that said don’t fall over, chérie, not today.
Charles rose and turned to his son. “The realm is yours now.”
Luc bowed his head. “Thank you, Father.”
Then he stepped to the small podium for his first address. He didn’t look nervous. He looked steady. Ready. Like he’d been born for this exact moment and had simply been waiting for the world to catch up.
“My people,” he began, voice calm and clear, “today marks not an end, but a continuation of service…”
I barely heard the rest. I was too busy staring at him, realizing that the man I loved was now the ruler of three countries. And that I was standing behind him. And that everyone in the room knew exactly what that meant.
When he finished, the room applauded softly — dignified, ceremonial, the kind of applause that belongs to history.
Luc turned, found me instantly, and offered his hand.
I stepped forward on very shaky pudding legs — the kind of wobble that absolutely did not belong in a room full of government officials and cameras.
He said, quietly but clearly enough for the room to hear:
“This is the woman who stands with me. My future. Mademoiselle Briony Rose Cameron of Bellacorde, originally of San Sequoia in United Simdonia.”
My breath caught.
OMG. Did that just happen? The press was present; photos were being taken of us together. This shit was official AF now. And so was I.
I attempted a smile, praying it looked like one and not like I was constipated or deranged.
Mom was now crying. I don’t think she cared about appearances or her makeup anymore. Brad was pretending not to cry, but seemed to be battling some sudden-onset allergies. Geneviève smiled warmly. Charles nodded with approval.
And Luc… Luc looked at me like the entire world had just shifted into place. His expression ready something like ‘told ya. – wink’.
The ceremony dissolved into soft applause and murmured congratulations. The chamberlain stepped forward to announce that a private family dinner was prepared, and everyone began to move toward the doors in that elegant, royal way where no one actually looks like they’re walking — they simply glide.
I tried to glide too.
My knees disagreed.
The room tilted, just enough to make my stomach swoop. Before I could embarrass myself in front of three governments’ worth of people, Luc’s arm slid around my waist, steady and warm and absolutely saving my life.
“Easy, chérie,” he murmured, low enough for only me. “I’ve got you.”
I gripped his forearm. “Sorry. Adrenaline crash.”
He smiled — that soft, private smile he only ever gives me. “You stood with me today. That is all that matters.”
He kept his arm around me as we walked, holding me close, anchoring me. Everyone else drifted ahead — Charles and Geneviève, my mom and Brad, Léontine and Henry — and Luc slowed our pace until we naturally fell behind.
Then he tugged gently at my waist.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
Before I could ask where, he pulled me through a side door into the same sitting room I’d woken up in the first time I fainted here. The door clicked shut behind us.
Luc didn’t give me time to breathe.
He kissed me — deep, warm, claiming, like he’d been waiting all day to do it. His hands framed my face, then slid down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. My fingers curled into his lapels automatically, because my brain had officially left the building.
When he finally pulled back, he was smiling — that wicked, amused, sovereign‑prince smile.
“How does it feel,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along my cheek, “to kiss a big cheese?”
I snorted, because the phrasing was too funny given the circumstances. “Luc, it’s the big cheese, not a big cheese. And it felt… I don’t know. Familiar, but different. Aren’t you scared? You looked so unfazed and legit at that podium. I can’t even walk next to you without almost passing out.”
He laughed softly, resting his forehead against mine. “If you were born into this, you would learn from an early age to hide certain emotions that could make you seem weak. I was mortified. But I had you there with me, so what could have gone wrong, n’est‑ce pas? And you handled today with more grace than you realize.”
“Pretty sure I handled it with panic sweat and shaky knees and a semi‑deranged smile.”
“Still grace,” he said, kissing the corner of my mouth. “And I love you semi-deranged smile.”
I leaned back just enough to look at him, still breathless, still trying to process the fact that he was now the ruler of three countries and I was… whatever I was now.
And then, because I am me, the question slipped out:
“Luc… what is a sitting room really for?”
He blinked, then grinned — slow, dangerous, delighted. “I can show you many possibilities, chérie.”
My face went hot. “That is not what I meant.”
He was smiling again, that soft, wicked smile he only ever used when he was both amused and entirely too pleased with himself.
I smoothed my dress, trying to regain some dignity. “Luc… seriously, what is a sitting room? I’m serious,” I said, even though I was still pressed against the door he’d just closed. “I’ve woken up in this room twice. Not to mention that one afternoon where you… where we… well, you know. You were there. I feel like I should know what it’s actually for.”
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “A sitting room is a semi‑private reception room. Not as formal as a salon, not as intimate as a bedroom. It is where one receives guests informally, has quiet conversations, reads, rests… recovers.”
“Ah,” I repeated, deadpan. “Got it. Thank you.”
He shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Like me, this room has good memories.”
“Yeah, too bad all of them are of me on my back.”
“Still good memories,” he said, chuckling, leaning in to kiss my forehead.
My heart did a weird, traitorous flip. That was practically a king kissing me. Had you told me this when I was in high school, planning a future with Beckett Ashby. Or after he just broke my lil heart. Ha. Man, life sure can take you for some crazy detours.
He took my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “And now it is where I kissed you for the first time as Sovereign Prince.”
I stared at him. My entire vocabulary went on vacation. I made some odd sound that was not English. Or French.
He laughed — a warm, rich sound that filled the whole space. “Oh, chérie. This room is ours.”
My knees went a little weak again, but this time he caught me before I even swayed.
“Careful,” he murmured. “If you fall a third time, I will officially dedicate it to your fainting spells and rename it something along the lines of Briony Rose Room for Recovery and Naughty Pleasures.”
I shoved his shoulder lightly. “Shut up. I’m sure your father and Geneviève would love that.”
He kissed me again, softer this time. “Come. They will wonder where we are.”
He opened the door, still holding my hand, and we stepped back into the corridor — the sitting room behind us, the dining hall ahead, and my entire future somewhere in between.
EchoesOfLegacy 