Page 43 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

‘Bracelet?’

‘The sleeves are too low.’

‘Is there any skin on show?’

‘Not a lot, no. It’s a gown of many buttons. Very demure. And don’t say, “You? Demure?” because that would be the wrong reply altogether.’

He did have some tact. ‘Doesn’t matter how modest the gown, it’s you I’ll be looking at.’

She searched his eyes as if looking for the truth in his words. ‘Are you sure?’

Because you don’t have to go through with this, her own eyes seemed to say.

Every so often she touched on this with him as if to gauge whether the publicity had grown savage enough or her ignorance of royal protocols was problematic enough that he might wake up one morning and think no.

She was a mad mix of ‘I’ve got this’ coupled with ‘I know this isn’t what you signed on for’.

Surely her insecurities would fade once they were married? Or maybe her baby-making hormones were holding her hostage to doubt and it would take longer.

Until then he’d simply have to be sure for her. ‘I’m sure.’

They were doing okay on the ‘we’re getting married in a few days’ time’ front. Valentine, for all his fiery emotions when first hearing he was to be a father, and the mad protectiveness in the weeks thereafter, had managed to find some kind of balance that allowed him to be supportive without being overbearing. Loving without being smothering. Encouraging without being condescending. He seemed happy with his lot, with her, and his confidence in her ability to be the Queen Consort he needed her to be never wavered.

No pressure.

She tried not to let the pressure get to her, but the closer she got to her wedding day, the more Angelique knew something had to give. She couldn’t keep learning how to be a royal wife, and a royal patron, and give Juliana riding lessons, and run her own stable from afar, and be a mother to twins once they arrived.

She had to let go of her old life in order to fully embrace this new one.

‘I’m heading to Spain on Friday to tie up some business commitments,’ she told Valentine when he arrived at the manor after spending yet another evening at a charity banquet without her. He attended so many, and he did not complain, but sometimes when shedding his uniform or dinner suit he seemed to shed his strength along with it, nothing left in the tank for her but a smile and silence until they hit the sheets and he lost himself in her warmth.

He worked harder than anyone she knew—including her father. He had very little downtime now that he was fully back at work. Trying to have an everyday conversation with him often felt like loading him up unnecessarily. And yet she wasn’t one to hold back when it came to sharing the parts of her life that he wasn’t involved with.

He lay stretched out on her bed, still half dressed, with half his face buried in a pillow, his one visible eye closed, dark lashes fanning across his perfect features, and he might not have been looking at her but his ears still worked and his groan said a lot.

‘No.’ One word, muffled but unmistakable, and then he rolled onto his back, his eyes mere slits as he regarded her with a frown. ‘I can’t get away.’

‘You don’t have to get away. I’ll go alone. I’m only going home.’

‘No.’ He put the heels of his hands to his eyes as if he had a headache brewing.

‘If it’s a security issue, I’m sure I’ll be—’

‘Fine? No. There’ll be no leaving the country without me. Bring your work here.’

‘But the horses and the people are there.’

‘I said no. You’ll stay in Thallasia until the babies are born, and after that there will still be no leaving the country without me.’ He levied himself to a sitting position on one edge of the majestic bed. ‘That’s just the way it is.’

‘But...what do you think is going to happen?’

He didn’t answer her.

‘Do you think I won’t return?’ He wouldn’t look at her. ‘Valentine?’

‘It’s about risk management, nothing more.’ He still wouldn’t look at her.

‘Because I will return, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ They were getting married in less than a week.

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