Page 111 of That Prince is Mine
“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” She drew a deep breath. “It has been an honor to serve you and Rouleme, but my place is by Gabriel’s side.”
His mouth fell open, and he sat gaping at his royal guard until she squirmed in her seat.
“Now would be a good time to say something, Michel,” Sophie said dryly.
“My God,” Michel murmured, finally closing his mouth. He reached across the sofa and clapped her shoulder. “You two have finally worked it out, then?”
“Yes.” She ducked her chin with sudden shyness. His suspicion that this was another interference ploy evaporated. “I’ve already spoken with my parents. They are disappointed, of course. Our family has served yours for generations, but my happiness comes first for them.”
“Did Gabriel ask you to move to Los Angeles?” For some reason, Michel held his breath as he waited for her answer.
“No, he didn’t.” Sophie deigned to roll her eyes, but a soft smile curled her lips. “That fool said he’d give up his tenure at USC to come back to Rouleme with me.”
“He did?” Of course he did. His cousin was a better man than he was. But Michel intended to remedy his shortcomings as soon as he obtained the opportunity.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t hear of it. What is he going to do in Rouleme? Resume his role as the tabloid’s favorite international playboy? Like hell he is,” she growled, her hands fisting on her lap. Michel leaned away from her out of self-preservation instincts. But she continued in a soft voice, “He built an amazing life for himself in Los Angeles. I was resentful at first, but I’m so proud of everything he’s accomplished.”
“But what about your accomplishments here? Are you at peace with uprooting your life?”
“Believe it or not, I find being your royal guard quite stressful,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m excited to start a new life with Gabriel in Los Angeles. And I… I want to start painting again.”
“I thought being a royal guard was your dream.” He stared at her with wide eyes.
He remembered from their childhood that she was a talented artist. But her life seemed to revolve around preserving his own, and he’d conveniently assumed she had lost interest in painting.
“It was my parents’ dream,” his friend said without resentment. “I chose to follow that path because I wanted to make them proud, but now I realize they would rather see me happy.”
“I’m glad you have a chance to follow your own dream now.” He meant every word even though he would miss his dear friend. Sophie and Gabriel deserved a happy ending after a decade of heartache.
“Thank you, Michel,” she said, squeezing his hand. But when her mobile buzzed, she shot to her feet, defaulting back to formalities. “I’m sorry, my prince. I have something to attend to. I thank you for your time.”
Before he could ask her what was happening, his royal guard walked out of the sitting room at a fast clip, her thumbs flying over her mobile screen. He stayed where he sat for a dazed moment, digesting all that Sophie had shared with him. But he pushed off the couch, remembering he had to speak with the king.
He stepped out of his chambers into the burgundy-carpeted hallway with embossed white walls and gold-tipped sconces. The wing that housed the royal apartments had a warmer, more intimate feel than the rest of the palace. But tonight, it offered him no comfort as his insides quaked with worry and regret.
By the time he made his way into the main halls of the palace, his heart pounded in time with the echoing clack of his footsteps against the marble floors. The thought of disappointing his father and his people tore him apart, but Michel had to make a choice he could live with—and that meant choosing Emma above all else.
After a few inquiries, he discovered that his father was in the throne room, of all places. What was he doing there? The throne room was the most opulent, formal hall in the entire palace, meant to convey the strength and power of the royal family—of the country as a whole. They only used that room for formal occasions. But in some ways, it was fitting that Michel renounced the throne in there. He suppressed the nervous laughter bubbling up his throat and braced himself for what must be done.
The throne room was dimly lit, the gold brocade walls darkened into bronze in the shadowed evening light. It took a moment to locate his father, standing by one of the windows lining the grand room. He was as tall and broad as Michel, but his hair had turned silver, and his gray eyes were feathered with lines, etched by years of laughter and worries. The king now gazed wistfully at the dais and the single throne that sat upon it—the twin had been removed when Michel’s mother passed away.
“Father.” Michel walked up to him, his footsteps ringing in the nearly empty room. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all, my dear boy.” His father smiled warmly at him and motioned him closer. “I was merely reminiscing as old men are wont to do.”
“About what?” Michel followed the king as he strode toward the dais.
“The years I spent sitting on that throne.” His father sighed deeply. “Wondering if I did my best for my country. For my people.”
“Of course, Father. The people of Rouleme love you.”
“That speaks more of the generosity of our people than of anything I have done to deserve their approval.” The king chuckled. “Rouleme is not perfect, but it is a country I am proud to call my own. Our people are fair-minded and possess true decency. That is a great deal more than many countries can say about their own.”
Michel felt his chest constrict with guilt. Rouleme was an amazing country, and the goodness of his people humbled him. And his father was a great king. He had often wondered whether he could be half the ruler that his father was, but now… he would never know.
He steeled himself and opened his mouth. “Father, I need to tell you—”
“My king. My prince.” Sophie appeared at the entrance. “May I present to you Ms. Emma Yoon.”
