Chapter 3 : The Prince''s Visit

A week had passed since Alexandre''s conversation with his father, and in that time, he had begun the slow, painstaking work of salvaging what he could of the family''s finances. He had met with merchants, negotiated reduced orders, canceled unnecessary expenses, and in the process, had earned both the grudging respect of the household staff and the growing concern of those who had grown accustomed to the Laval family''s extravagance.

He was in the library, poring over account books that made his head ache, when Laurent entered with news that stopped his heart for a moment.

"Master Alexandre," the steward said, his voice unusually formal. "His Royal Highness, Prince Edward, has arrived. He wishes to see you."

Alexandre''s pen stilled above the ledger. Prince Edward. In his previous life, their relationship had been... complicated. The Prince had shown interest in him, a dangerous interest for a young nobleman with no power and fewer prospects. Alexandre had been flattered, then frightened, then ultimately had pushed the Prince away, fearing the scandal, fearing what it would mean for his already precarious position.

That decision, he now knew, had been a mistake. In pushing Edward away, he had alienated one of the few people in the court who might have been able to help him. One of the few people who had seen through the pretense to the man beneath.

"Where is he?" Alexandre asked, setting the pen aside.

"In the blue drawing room. Your father is with him." Laurent hesitated. "The Prince asked specifically for you."

Of course he did. Alexandre took a deep breath, smoothing the front of his coat. He hadn''t dressed for company—just a simple linen shirt and dark trousers, his hair tied back with a ribbon. He looked like what he was: a young man trying to save his family from ruin, not a courtier ready to receive royalty.

But perhaps that was for the best.

"Thank you, Laurent," he said, and made his way to the drawing room.

The blue drawing room was one of the château''s most elegant spaces, with walls covered in silk of the palest azure, gilded furniture, and windows that looked out over the formal gardens. It was here that generations of Lavals had received important guests, and as Alexandre entered, he was struck by the contrast between the room''s beauty and the tension that filled it.

His father stood by the fireplace, looking strained but trying to maintain an air of casual hospitality. And there, by the window, stood Prince Edward.

Alexandre''s breath caught in his throat.

The Prince was exactly as he remembered, and yet completely different. He was twenty-two years old, two years older than Alexandre, with the kind of beauty that artists tried to capture and failed. Dark hair, the color of rich coffee, fell in soft waves to his shoulders. Eyes of a startling, clear blue that seemed to see everything. A face that was all strong lines and elegant angles, with a mouth that could curve into the most charming smile or set into a line of imperial command.

He was dressed simply for a prince—dark riding clothes, boots dusty from the road, his only jewelry a signet ring on his right hand. But even in simple clothes, he carried himself with an innate authority, a sense of presence that filled the room.

"Your Royal Highness," Alexandre said, bowing deeply.

"Alexandre." The Prince''s voice was warm, rich, like honey and velvet. "It''s good to see you on your feet. I heard you were ill."

"I was, Your Highness. But I''m recovering."

The Prince crossed the room, his movements graceful and assured. He stopped before Alexandre, his eyes searching his face with an intensity that was both unsettling and thrilling. "You look well. Better than I expected, given what I''ve heard."

Alexandre felt his father stiffen beside him. "What have you heard, Your Highness?"

"That you''ve been working miracles," the Prince said, a slight smile touching his lips. "That you''ve taken charge of the household, renegotiated contracts, canceled orders. That you''re trying to save your family from itself."

The words were spoken lightly, but Alexandre heard the admiration beneath them. And the warning.

"Merely doing what needs to be done," Alexandre said, meeting the Prince''s gaze steadily.

"Indeed." The Prince turned to the Comte. "If you''ll excuse us, I''d like to speak with Alexandre alone. We have... much to discuss."

It wasn''t a request. The Comte bowed, his face a mask of conflicting emotions—relief that the Prince was showing interest, fear of what that interest might mean. "Of course, Your Highness."

When they were alone, the Prince gestured to a pair of chairs by the window. "Sit. Please."

Alexandre did as he was told, his mind racing. In his previous life, this conversation had gone very differently. He had been nervous, awkward, too aware of the difference in their stations. He had said all the wrong things, or said nothing at all.

But now... now he was different. And he suspected the Prince could see it.

"I''ll be direct," the Prince said, taking the chair opposite him. "Your family is in trouble. Serious trouble. The debts are common knowledge in certain circles. And there are those who would like to see the House of Laval fall."

"De Montro," Alexandre said, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.

The Prince''s eyebrows rose slightly. "You''re well informed. Yes, de Montro and his allies. They see an opportunity. A weakened noble family, desperate for funds, vulnerable to pressure. They intend to take your vineyards, your lands, everything that makes the Laval name worth something."

"And you''re telling me this why?" Alexandre asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"Because I don''t want to see it happen," the Prince said simply. "Because your family has served the crown loyally for generations. Because..." He paused, his eyes holding Alexandre''s. "Because I like you. I always have."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. In his previous life, Alexandre would have flinched from them, would have seen them as a threat. Now, he saw them for what they were: an offer. A lifeline.

"What are you proposing, Your Highness?" Alexandre asked.

"Protection," the Prince said. "Influence. A word in the right ear at court. A suggestion to certain bankers that it might be in their interest to extend your family''s credit. A reminder to de Montro and his ilk that the Lavals are not without friends."

"And what would you want in return?" Alexandre asked, because he knew there was always a price. In the world they lived in, nothing was given freely.

The Prince leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. "Your loyalty. Your discretion. And your company."

"Your Highness—"

"Edward," the Prince interrupted. "When we''re alone, call me Edward."

Alexandre felt a flush rise to his cheeks. It was an intimacy, a breaking of protocol that was both dangerous and intoxicating. "Edward," he said, testing the name on his tongue. "What exactly are you asking of me?"

"I''m asking you to trust me," the Prince said, his voice softening. "I''m asking you to let me help you. I''m asking you to consider that perhaps we could be... friends. More than friends, if you were willing."

The offer was clear now, laid bare between them. In his previous life, Alexandre had run from this. He had been too afraid of the scandal, too afraid of what it would mean to be the Prince''s... companion. Too afraid of the whispers, the rumors, the judgment.

But he had died because of that fear. He had died alone, betrayed, forgotten.

"Your Highness—Edward," Alexandre corrected himself. "You must understand my position. My family is on the brink of ruin. I have responsibilities. I can''t afford... complications."

"Complications," the Prince repeated, a faint smile touching his lips. "Is that what I am?"

"You know what I mean," Alexandre said, meeting his gaze squarely. "You''re the King''s nephew. Third in line to the throne. Anything between us would be... noticed. Discussed. Used against both of us."

"All true," the Prince agreed. "But consider this: without my protection, your family will fall. With it, you have a chance. A real chance. Not just to survive, but to thrive. To rebuild. To make the Laval name mean something again."

He leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. "I''m not asking for a public declaration, Alexandre. I''m not asking you to be my lover at court functions. I''m asking for your trust. For the chance to know you. For the chance to help you. The rest... we can figure out as we go."

Alexandre''s mind raced, weighing the risks against the rewards. In his previous life, he had chosen caution. He had chosen what he thought was safety. And it had led him to the executioner''s block.

But this was a different life. He was a different man.

"What would the first step be?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"The royal celebration," the Prince said. "I want you by my side. Not as a servant, not as a courtier, but as... a friend. Let the court see that you have my favor. Let de Montro and his allies see that attacking you means attacking me."

"And my father? What will he think?"

"He''ll think what all fathers think when a prince takes an interest in their son," the Prince said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He''ll be grateful for the protection, concerned about the implications, and ultimately, he''ll accept it because he has no choice. Because it''s the only way to save everything he holds dear."

Alexandre was silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the Prince''s face. Edward was watching him with an expression that was both hopeful and wary, as if he expected to be rejected again, as if he was preparing for disappointment.

In that moment, Alexandre saw not just a prince, but a man. A man who was offering help, yes, but also asking for something in return. Connection. Understanding. Perhaps even love.

It was a dangerous game. The most dangerous he had ever played. But then, his entire life was a dangerous game now. And at least with Edward, he had a chance.

"All right," he said finally, the words feeling both terrifying and right. "I accept your offer. Your protection. Your... friendship."

The Prince''s smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. It transformed his face, made him look younger, more vulnerable, more human. "Thank you," he said, and there was genuine relief in his voice. "You won''t regret this, Alexandre. I promise you."

"I hope not," Alexandre said, but he was already calculating, already planning. This changed everything. With the Prince''s support, he had leverage. With the Prince''s favor, he had protection. With the Prince''s... interest, he had opportunities he had never dreamed of.

But he also had vulnerabilities. New ones. Different ones.

"Will you stay for dinner?" he asked, because it was expected, because it was polite.

"I''d be delighted," the Prince said, rising from his chair. "But first, walk with me in the gardens. I want to hear about these plans of yours. I want to understand what you''re trying to do here."

They walked together through the French doors and out into the afternoon sunlight. The gardens stretched before them, a masterpiece of symmetry and control, with gravel paths, sculpted hedges, and fountains that sparkled in the light.

As they walked, Alexandre found himself talking—about the debts, about his negotiations, about his fears for the future. And the Prince listened, his attention complete, his questions insightful.

For the first time since his rebirth, Alexandre felt a flicker of something he had almost forgotten: hope. Dangerous, fragile hope, but hope nonetheless.

And as the Prince''s hand brushed against his as they turned a corner, as their eyes met and held for a moment too long, Alexandre felt something else too: the beginning of something that could save him, or destroy him.

But either way, he thought as they continued their walk, it would be a choice he made. Not one that was forced upon him.

And in this new life, that made all the difference.