Page 23 of Royal Love
“They don’t tolerate you,” she corrects gently. “They’re beginning to trust you. There’s a difference.”
I hope she’s right. The path I’ve chosen isn’t the easy one, pushing for reforms that my father would have considered sacrilege. But it’s the right one, I’m certain of that.
“Get some sleep,” Lia murmurs, pressing a kiss to my chest. “Tomorrow will be busy.”
She falls asleep quickly, her breathing evening out into a rhythm as familiar to me now as my own heartbeat. I lie awake a little longer, watching the moonlight play across her features, committing this peaceful moment to memory to carry with me into whatever challenges await us at home.
The drive back to the capital takes longer than expected, a sudden summer storm forcing the Range Rover to slow to a crawl for safety. Parker, ever vigilant, sits in the front passenger seat, occasionally checking in with others who are watching CCTV via an earpiece.
“Everything all right?” I ask after the third such exchange.
He turns slightly. “Yes, sir. Just standard protocol with the weather conditions.”
I nod, trusting him implicitly as always. Beside me, Lia dozes lightly, the pregnancy making her tired more easily these days. I keep my arm around her, letting her use my shoulder as a pillow despite the formal suit I’m already wearing in preparation for our return.
As we finally approach the city limits, Parker’s posture changes subtly. “Sir, there appears to be a gathering near the castle approach.”
Instantly alert, I feel my body tense. “What kind of gathering?”
“Not a security concern,” he assures me quickly. “Civilians. Quite a number of them.”
My mind races through possibilities—a protest? Some news while we were away? “Do we know what it’s about?”
“Reports indicate they’re supporters, sir.” There’s something almost like amusement in Parker’s usually stoic expression. “Many are holding signs.”
This wakes Lia, who blinks sleepily. “What’s happening?”
“Apparently we have a welcoming committee,” I tell her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
As our car turns onto the main avenue leading to the castle gates, I see them—hundreds of people lining both sides of the street, umbrellas open against the light rain that still falls. And Parker was right—they’re holding signs.
“haldonia stands with king tristan”
“reform now”
“long live the queen”
“thank you for fighting for us all”
Lia’s hand tightens in mine as she takes in the scene. “Oh, Tristan,” she breathes.
For once, I’m speechless. These aren’t the wealthy elite who have traditionally surrounded the monarchy. These are ordinary Haldonians—shopkeepers, teachers, factory workers, students—standing in the rain to show their support.
“Should I slow down, sir?” our driver asks.
I hesitate only briefly. “Yes. And lower the windows, please.”
Parker gives me a sharp look but doesn’t object when I add, “Just a crack. Enough to acknowledge them.”
As the windows lower, the sound of cheering reaches us, growing louder as people realize we can hear them. I raise my hand in acknowledgment, and the cheers intensify.
“They believe in you,” Lia says, her voice thick with emotion. “They believe in what you’re trying to do.”
The lump in my throat makes it hard to respond. All these months of fighting against the old guard, pushing for changes that would give more Haldonians a voice, a chance at better lives—there have been times I’ve questioned whether it was worth the constant battle. Whether I was fooling myself that one person, even a king, could really make a difference.
But looking at these faces, these ordinary citizens willing to stand in the rain to show their support, I know with certainty that we’re on the right path.
“We have to keep going,” I say, as much to myself as to Lia. “No matter how hard it gets.”
