Remi smiled, his gaze a little wicked as he lifted it. “Priscilla, of course,” he said. “Though it did take a few times to…er…focus.”
Grantham rolled his eyes, but there was a hollow feeling in his chest. His brother, the rambling rake who had never taken anything in his life seriously, had found a woman who appeared to be his perfect match. Priscilla accepted Remi, and she made him better. Grantham saw that even in the short time they had known each other, the shorter time they had been married.
He found himself thinking about Ophelia. She continued to try to reach out to him. To offer her support and assistance, and all he was able to do was push her away. Create a bubble for himself where no one could reach him, no one could help him.
Wasn’t that what his father had taught him, after all? That as king he was responsible for everything and that if he asked for help it only made him weak?
Remi didn’t seem weak to him now that he’d opened himself up.
“That is a sour look,” Remi said, tying and tucking the last piece of wrap so that both his hands were protected. “Why don’t you work out whatever caused it in the ring?”
They moved into the center of the room together and Grantham extended his hand into the center so they could bump their knuckles together. A reminder that this was a friendly match. Sparring, not fighting.
They squared off, circling each other slowly. Remi was smiling, Grantham was not. He was too focused to smile, searching for the opening that Remi would eventually give. When his brother moved just a touch too lazily, he took advantage, shooting his fist out and connecting, albeit lightly, to Remi’s cheek.
“Nicely done,” Remi encouraged.
Grantham ignored him and threw another blow. Remi dodged, but Grantham still felt his knuckles brush along his brother’s ribcage.
“Excellent shot,” Remi said. “You’ve always had a good right.”
They continued on like that for a few more minutes. Grantham connecting, Remi encouraging with each blow. At last, Grantham lowered his hands and his brow. “Are you fighting me or are you here for some other reason?”
The flicker of Remi’s gaze as he darted it away was answer enough. Was it pity? God damn, but Grantham wasn’t going to accept that. The very thought of it brought anger up in his chest. Anger at so many things. He pushed Remi with the flat of his palms.
“Hit me,” he ordered. Remi hesitated and Grantham shoved him again. “Fucking hit me.”
Remi pursed his lips. “We’re sparring. I’m not going to hit you.”
“I want you to,” Grantham admitted, and heard the words echo in the empty room around him. Heard the desperation he couldn’t keep out of his tone. He bent his head. “I don’t want to feel, I want to bleed.”
Remi’s expression twisted at that admission and the pain on his brother’s face hit Grantham in the chest as hard as any fist might have. He and Remi had once been so close, and they had been torn apart by the past few years as their father grew ill, as Grantham’s responsibilities weighed heavier and he was pulled further and further into becoming an institution and away from being a man. He’d felt Remi’s mounting resentment in that time. They had even come to blows…real blows…not ten days before when things with Priscilla had reached a boiling point.
But right now Grantham saw none of that tangled history. He only saw his brother and all the love they had once shared with each other. He saw it there, as strong as ever and it nearly buckled him.
“I’m not going to make you bleed,” Remi said softly. “But if you need to fight, I’ll fight.”
Grantham nodded and they squared off again. This time he felt the difference in his brother’s stance, in his look. And when they met in the middle of the ring, they were now evenly matched. They swung, connecting lightly, but still hard enough that it hurt. Both of them made a point of avoiding the face as much as possible. After all, they had official duties to attend to in a few hours. But the body connections took Grantham’s air at times and did exactly as he had wanted them to.
They made him forget.
Only it was imperfect. The responsibilities drifted away, but as he began to tire from the exertion, the emotion remained. Multiplied somehow without all the thoughts and duties to consider. He was bombarded by it all, overwhelmed. Love for Ophelia and the hopelessness of that. Fear for his future, for the ways he had already failed and the ways he still would. Anger at Blairford and his father and…and himself. Always himself. Mostly at himself.
He swung wild and Remi easily dodged him as Grantham lost his balance in his upset. His brother pivoted and caught him, arms around his waist to keep him from hitting the floor.
Grantham should have stepped away. Pushed away and carried on, but he couldn’t. Instead, he buckled against his brother, letting out his breath in a long and jagged sigh of pain. Remi’s arms tightened around him, even when Grantham tried with his last surge of energy to shrug away.
Then he did collapse and was shocked to find tears streaming down his face. Remi sank to the ground with him, still holding him in the tightest hug Grantham had probably ever experienced. He allowed it, draped half across his brother like he was a child as he wept.
The outburst didn’t last long. He couldn’t allow that. After a moment, he sucked in a few long breaths, calming himself. Remi’s hold loosened and Grantham sat up, wiping the tears from his cheeks. They stared at each other.
“It’s a great deal to carry, Grantham,” his brother said softly.
Grantham didn’t answer that charge. It was too difficult and he didn’t want to lose control of himself again. “You…you couldn’t recall why Father took the boxing area from us as children.”
Remi tilted his head. “You do?”
Grantham jerked out an unsteady nod. “It was because I confronted him about his mistress. One of the ones he used to keep here in the palace. I’d found Mama crying, I overheard her say something about it. So I confronted him.”
Remi blinked. “I-I had no idea you had done that.”
“He was so enraged that I would dare do so,” Grantham continued. “I thought he might actually kill me. He locked me in the tower instead.”
Remi’s brow wrinkled and then understanding dawned. “The tower. My tower?”
Grantham sighed. He’d fought so hard to keep this to himself, but now it felt right to share it. Ophelia had opened him up enough that he could. “He used to do that. Many times. It’s why I closed the tower up after his death.”
Remi shook his head. “Great God, no wonder you had such a strong reaction to my taking Priscilla there. I’m sorry, Grantham. We can move out of the—”
“No,” Grantham interrupted. “Please don’t. Once I wanted you to. I was even ready to confront you about it. But Ophelia…” He hesitated. “Ophelia made me see that your happiness in that place helps to temper my unhappiness. It transforms it into a good part of our home. And I would not take that from you.”
Remi held his stare. “Ophelia, eh?”
Grantham began to unwrap his hands slowly rather than answer. It didn’t stop Remi from carrying on.
“You’ve spent a great deal of time with Ophelia recently. Perhaps a bit more than you wish to say.”