Page 20 of Royal Love
After we clean up, Tristan suggests a walk on the beach. The air is still crisp, hovering between winter and spring, but the sun promises warmth later. I bundle up in one of Tristan’s sweaters, the sleeves falling past my fingertips, and slip on a pair of boots.
“Ready?” he asks, holding out his hand.
I lace my fingers through his. “Ready.”
The beach is nearly empty this early in the morning, just a few dedicated joggers and people walking their dogs. The tide is retreating, leaving behind a wet canvas of sand that reflects the clouds above like a mirror. We walk in companionable silence for a while, our footprints marking our path behind us.
“I’ve been thinking,” Tristan says finally, his voice almost lost in the rhythm of the waves.
“A dangerous pastime,” I quip, squeezing his hand.
He chuckles. “I’ve been thinking about us. About how different things could have been.”
I look up at him, studying the profile that’s become so familiar to me. The strong jaw, the slight crook in his nose from a childhood injury, the fan of dark lashes. “Different how?”
“If we hadn’t been who we are. If I hadn’t been born the crown prince, if you hadn’t been?—”
“The sacrificial lamb?” I offer with a wry smile.
He winces. “I was going to say, ‘the daughter of a diplomat.’”
“Semantics.” I shrug, but there’s no bitterness in my tone. Not anymore.
We stop walking, and Tristan turns to face me, taking both my hands in his. The wind whips my hair around my face, and he tucks a strand behind my ear with gentle fingers.
“Do you ever regret it?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “The arrangement. The way we started.”
I consider my answer carefully. There was a time, in the early days, when I might have said yes. When the weight of expectation and duty felt like chains around my throat. But now…
“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t regret it. Not anymore.”
Relief softens his features. “No?”
I shake my head, looking past him to the house perched on the dunes behind us. Our sanctuary. Our escape. “This place changed everything for me,” I admit.
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I take a deep breath, the salt air filling my lungs. “During the war, when you sent me here for safety—” I pause, the memories still raw despite the months that have passed. The uprising. The violence. The fear that gripped our small nation while rebels attempted to overthrow the monarchy.
Tristan’s hands tighten around mine. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“I want to,” I insist. “I need to.”
He nods, giving me space to find the words.
“When I was here, alone with just the security detail, I was afraid I’d never be able to look at this house the same way again.” The confession tumbles out of me. “I thought it would feel like aprison, a reminder of the worst time in our lives, of how close we came to losing everything.”
Tristan’s eyes are stormy with emotion. “Lia?—”
“But it doesn’t,” I continue, needing him to understand. “Instead, it’s become my safety. Our safety. I love it here because when I look at these walls, I don’t see the fear anymore. I see the place where I realized how much I truly loved you. How terrified I was of losing you.”
His expression softens, vulnerability etched across his features. “You never told me this before.”
“It wasn’t something I could put into words until now,” I explain, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through the sweater. “When you were fighting to keep the peace in the capital, when the reports kept coming in about the violence, all I could think was ‘Please, let him come back to me.’ And that’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” he asks, his voice husky.
“That what started as an arrangement had become so much more. That somewhere along the way, the man I was obligated to marry had become the only man I could imagine spending my life with.” I look up at him, blinking back tears. “I realized I wasn’t trapped in a political marriage. I was desperately in love with my husband.”
