Page 10 of Royal Love
And I believe it. With every fiber of my being, I cling to the promise that we will find a way back to each other, back to peace, back to love, back to the life we were building before all of this exploded in our faces.
CHAPTER 10
TRISTAN
“Oh my god, what the fuck did I do? Parker, is she okay?” My voice isn’t my own. It’s tortured and full of fear. Not of the situation, but of myself. “I could’ve killed her.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Parker assures me. “You would never hurt her.”
“I didn’t think so either, but motherfucker, I woke up with my hand wrapped around her throat. Who the fuck am I?”
He wraps his hands around my wrists, forcing me to look at him. “You’re a man trying to figure out your place in this world after you had to make horrible decisions,” Parker says. “You need to give yourself some grace.”
“Grace? I couldn’t even give my wife a night without me having a breakdown.”
Letting go of my wrists, he wraps his arms around my waist and holds on tightly. “You need help, Tristan. It won’t hurt to ask for it.”
His words linger in the air, a lifeline thrown into the dark waters I’m drowning in. Parker’s embrace is steady, grounding, and I find myself leaning into it. The war was supposed to beover, but inside me, a new battle rages—one where I’m both the soldier and the enemy.
“I don’t know how to stop this,” I admit, my voice raw and barely a whisper. The nights are the worst, haunted by shadows of memories that refuse to fade. The terror that grips me isn’t just of the past, but of bringing that chaos into our home, into our bed, where Lia should feel safe.
“It’s okay to feel lost, Tristan,” Parker murmurs against my ear. “But you don’t have to navigate this alone. Real strength is knowing when to reach out for a hand.”
I inhale slowly, the scent of him giving me some measure of relief. I smelled his body wash so often while we were in the tent together that now it’s almost comforting to me. It reminds me that I’m here, not there. Yet, danger lurks in my mind’s shadows, sneaking into dreams where they don’t belong.
“How do I even start?” I ask, pulling back to search his eyes. They’re filled with a mixture of understanding and determination, a mirror of what I should have but don’t quite feel.
“We’ll find someone together,” Parker promises. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone in this, Tristan. When you’re ready, you can invite Amelia into the process, but I’ll make sure the person is vetted and you can trust them.”
His sincerity touches something deep inside, a place I’ve kept under lock and key. Maybe it’s fear that holds me back, but within that fear is the potential for hope. Maybe, just maybe, seeking help isn’t a sign of weakness, but a path to reclaiming my life, making it mine again.
I nod, slow and reluctant at first, but with each motion, I feel a bit of weight lifting. “Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely above the breeze that carries the promise of dawn through the open window. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“We’ll carry you through this, my king. The entire country and your family. We’re here for you.”
And for the first time I don’t feel so alone.
CHAPTER 11
AMELIA
The clock on the nightstand reads 2:13 a.m. when I hear the bedroom door creak open. I don’t turn around, though I’ve been awake since he stormed out three hours ago. The argument replays in my mind—his voice rising, my tearful accusations, and the slam of the door that made the palace walls seem to shudder.
The mattress dips as Tristan sits on the edge of the bed. I can feel his hesitation, the careful way he’s trying not to disturb me though he must know I’m awake.
“Lia?” His voice is soft, tentative. So different from the king who commands rooms with his presence.
I roll over slowly, taking in his disheveled appearance—his usually perfect hair windswept, his shirt wrinkled. There’s vulnerability in his eyes that makes my heart ache despite my lingering anger.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have run out like that.”
I sit up against the headboard, pulling the sheets around me. My hand instinctively moves to the small swell of my four-month pregnant belly, a gesture that doesn’t escape his notice.
“I’ve made a decision,” he says after a moment of heavy silence. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, but after tonight…I know it’s what I need to do.”
I wait, giving him the space to find his words. This is something I’ve learned about loving Tristan—sometimes he needs silence to gather his thoughts.
“I’m going to start seeing Dr. Merrick. For counseling.”
