Page 76 of Between Despair and Hope

“I mean, Papa…The king is a stranger, and Papa is my—”

“Your father—Faxon—is whatever he was to you. However you feel about him is what he was to you, alright? Rain, as much as he already loves you, will be whatever you want him to be. He knows you already had a man who raised you.”

She nodded, averting her eyes, before she replied in a small voice, “What if he doesn’t like me or just pretends to make you happy?”

That fear broke my heart, and I wished I could bring Faxon back to make him rue the day he met me. My poor little girl would have a hell of a time trusting anyone ever again, opening her heart up, believing men who said they loved her. The only solace I took was that if there were any man to help prove those words to be true, it was Rain.

“He’s not pretending, but I suppose you’ll have to give him the chance to prove it. He does like me an awful lot, and, lucky for you, you’re just like me.” I smiled, and I caught the corner of her lip twitch. “You know, I wasn’t much older than you when you were born, and I haven’t stopped learning since I’ve had you.” I chuckled before continuing. “Every day, I learn a different way I can be a better mother to you, and I’m sorry you’ll only get the best version of me once you’re all grown up. But know that I’m trying.”

“I know.” She wiped her nose, and I stood, situating the blankets over her body. “Mama?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I need to—” She nodded toward the bathing suite, a wide-eyed look on her face.

“Oh, dear, yes. I’m sure you do.”

Throwing the blankets off, she spun her body so her legs hung over the edge of the bed.

“I practiced walking a bit with the butler, only because I didn’t want to pee in the bed, but he was so awkward about it,” she cringed as she stood on unsteady legs. “When I’m done in here, if you think he wants to…Would Rainier—the king—oh, gods. What do I call him?”

I laughed, arm in arm with my girl, and my heart warmed.

“I’m sure we can come up with something.”

Chapter 27

Rainier

NotlongafterEmmaleft to speak with Elora, Sterling slipped away as well, realizing he was late for an errand. After opening a rift into the stable to expedite his journey, I stood in the middle of the great room, looking up at the beams. They came from the trees which stood here before I built the estate, and each one had been cut into shape by Dewalt and I. It had been a particularly bad year for me. Dewalt hadn’t questioned me at all when I’d obsessed over painstaking details meant for a woman I thought would never see it. He hadn’t even looked at me sideways when I filled a garden for her or when I worked my hands bloody building the house.

Running my hands through my hair, longer than I was used to, I felt extraordinarily out of place. A change into clothes that fit would do me wonders, but I didn’t want to interrupt Emma and our girl. My daughter.

Half of me.

Swallowing my nerves, I turned directly to the sideboard near the fireplace and poured myself a drink before stepping out into the garden. It was winter now, just a few days before the solstice, and most of the plants weren’t in season. Attempting to put distance between myself and Em, not wanting to have such a clear insight into her emotions because it felt invasive, I walked farther into the garden. Making my way toward the only plant I thought might be in bloom, I turned down a path toward the swing. The winter squill was my mother’s idea, wanting me to have a pop of color against the hedges. She had said every garden needed a winter blossom. It was a deep blue, and it surprised me to see the shoots had bloomed through the snow coverage as early as it was in the season. I sat down on the swing and took a long pull of my drink as I stared at the flowers. Hardy, the plants preferred winter, but often waited until closer to spring when the snow had abated to blossom. They were more common in the mountains, and they rarely thrived this far west.

And yet.

Gods, I couldn’t wait for her to see the garden in bloom.

I tried to ignore the bond, but it was nearly impossible. Every emotion Emma felt was one I expected—and so full. Robust. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt anything as much as she did. Joy, sorrow, fear, dedication, elation, regret—all were there, and all were strong. I had hoped Elora wouldn’t be too hard on her mother, and based on the emotions I was feeling, I couldn’t tell. At one point, I felt a sharp dash of amusement, almost causing me to laugh out loud, and I didn’t even know what it was about. But the emotion felt so strong, I was almost there with her. I wasn’t sure how long they’d be, so I only stayed until I finished my drink before finally heading back toward the estate. I took my time, lingering and attempting to figure out which plant was which beneath the snow coverage. Failing at it, I felt confusion down the bond, followed by overwhelming panic. Stupidly, I ran. I could have rifted right back inside, but I wasn’t thinking, anxiety churning in my gut.

I burst into the house as I heard Emma yelling my name from upstairs, looking for me. There was a desperation in her cry which splintered me. Gods, I’d frightened her. Fuck. I felt a thickness in my throat knowing I caused her panic.

“Em, I’m here!” I started toward the front of the house and called out to her. I heard a sound and turned, glancing back toward the open door to the bedroom, only for a flurry of white hair to bounce out of my line of sight. Nervous energy filled me, but the smile brought to my face was more than worth it.

“Divine hell, Rain, you scared me.” Emma’s voice rounded the corner before she did as she walked back in, and my stomach dropped out.

She was flushed and more beautiful than I’d ever seen her. She’d changed, putting on one of the simple cotton dresses she preferred. But this one was embellished at the waist, tiny flowers of cream and champagne embroidered into the lavender fabric. It was a simple inversion of her wedding gown, and she looked beautiful. I could see her graceful collarbone, that spot where her freckles proclaimed the truth. She was a bit thinner in the face and hips, more noticeable when she wasn’t bundled up in layers. I didn’t like it at all, knowing the cause of it was stress and malnutrition. As much as a primitive part of me wanted to hate Dewalt for being here and comforting her while I was gone, I was grateful. He’d told me about his and Thyra’s efforts to make sure she took care of herself. Both of us needed time and coddling from my cook to get back to normal. Since Sterling lived at the estate and the wards had been no issue for him, he told me he’d been doing the lion’s share of cooking. But he was no Deandra, and I was eager to call my cook back.

I stopped thinking about my cook though, the more I looked upon my wife. I couldn’t think of anything else when her hair fell in waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were full of warmth and adoration as they met mine, dark blue in this light. I must have still had a smile on my face because her own smile lit up the gods damn room. It was the first moment we’d had since I’d been back that didn’t feel tainted. She was happy. She was whole. Her eyes were shining, remnants of the tears she surely shed with Elora, and I felt her overwhelming love—not just through the bond, but even in the air.

“I’m sorry.” I set down my glass, not even aware I was still holding it, and I clenched my fist, wanting to close the distance and drag my fingers across her creamy skin. I wanted to count her freckles, kiss each space between them. Gods, she was perfect. Sometimes, on the worst nights in the dungeon, I’d thought all of it was a nightmare. That I’d imagined her coming back to me, only to have her ripped away. But here she was, standing in front of me.

Real. Mine.

“What did you say?” she asked, voice a murmur.

---