Page 50 of Stolen Princess's Secret

So many stories of those dark times towards the end of King Leonidas’s life.

Weren’t there?

Claudia had called it extortion, or was it intimidation? One of those big words suggesting borderline criminal behaviour.

Tomas called it small talk.

They shared a bed once or twice a week—enthusiastically, he had no complaints—but as their baby grew, his touches became more tentative. There was a baby in there! What was a man to do but be very, very careful in his approach?

He spent hours of every day setting up the new falconry the way he wanted it, and Claudia spent almost every waking moment deep within the political bowels of her brother’s court, buying into the crisis of the day. And there was always one of those.

He was everywhere and nowhere, always playing a part these days. Only in the sanctuary of Lor’s kitchen did he allow himself to drop the mask and be himself again. Claudia’s wolfhounds were at his feet more often than not, and he always had at least one falcon with him. Sometimes Ana and Sophia would likewise find refuge from the demands of the Crown while Claudia and Cas debated policy and execution late into the night.

He might have even been content with his marriage of—what had they called it?—two spirited individuals, if he didn’t already carry with him the memory of what a loving marriage could be.

His parents had shown him the sweetness of silences that did not clamour to be filled.

The intimacy of private glances and perfect understanding. The cups of tea in the morning, made with care by a loving hand and served in a favourite mug. Foundation memories. He wanted them.

His morning coffee whenever he stayed in Claudia’s suite at the palace came on a silver tray at exactly seven a.m., lukewarm, too weak and utterly impersonal. Just this morning he’d barked at a maid who’d entered their bedroom just as he’d exited the shower. He hadn’t expected her to be there.

He hadn’t liked the way her sly sideways gaze had flicked at him.

‘Did you really need to send her away so curtly?’ Claudia had chided.

‘Did she really need to freshen the linen at five minutes past six in the morning?’ he’d snapped back.

He hated losing control of his responses and being found lacking.

And for all their fine talk about making a home for themselves and loving memories to go with it, neither he nor Claudia were making that happen.

Lor took that moment to place a hot mug of beef broth on the table in front of him and although he said his thanks, he promptly got lost in the thought that Claudia wouldn’t even know it was his mug, let alone that he’d made it at school one year and given it to his mother as a birthday gift. The last time Claudia had set a cup of anything down beside him... Nope, she never had.

Lor, Ana and young Sophia all knew more about him than his wife did.

And off he went, being morose again.

This right here was why letting emotions rule your life was a bad thing.

And then Sophia clambered up on the stool next to him, bringing her special soup in her special cup with her, and regarded him solemnly. ‘Did one of your falcons die?’

‘No.’ He certainly hoped not. Sophia’s fixation with death was well known, mainly because she’d been told from a young age that both her father and aunt were dead when they weren’t.

‘Did you make a mistake and get into trouble?’

‘Maybe.’ He huffed a laugh. ‘Why?’

‘You’re sad.’

‘Nah.’ He held up his forefinger and thumb, set approximately an inch apart. ‘Maybe this sad. I was thinking about my mother, who died a long time ago. I made this mug for her when I was about as old as you are now. Have you done mug making yet?’

She shook her head with vigour. That would be a no, then. ‘But I want to.’

‘And you will,’ said Ana. ‘Say goodnight, Sophia. It’s bedtime for you and me.’

Everyone in the kitchen began the goodnight chorus and by the time the heavy kitchen door swung shut, Tomas was halfway through his soup and determined not to look sad again, even if he was.

‘Are you happy about becoming a father soon?’ asked Lor with far more of a read on him than he was comfortable with.

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