Page 30 of Royal Love
He’s quiet for a moment, his expression tender. “I’m just glad you’re getting the rest you need,” he says. “For both of you.”
I place my hand over his. “You’re going to be an amazing father.”
“How can you be so sure?” There’s vulnerability in his question, a rare glimpse of the insecurities that plague him.
“Because I know you,” I say simply. “I see how you lead with compassion. How you put the needs of others before your own. How you’ve been caring for me these past two days.” I turn to face him, cupping his cheek. “You’re nothing like your father, Tristan. You never will be.”
His eyes close briefly, as though my words have lifted a weight from him. “I love you, Lia. Both of you.”
“We love you too.” The words feel right, natural, even though our baby is still so tiny inside me.
We spend the rest of the day in lazy contentment, dozing and watching television, ordering food from the palace kitchen when hunger strikes. It’s a rare bubble of normalcy in our decidedly abnormal lives, and I cherish every moment.
As night falls, Tristan draws a bath for me, adding lavender oil that fills the bathroom with its soothing scent. He sits behind me in the large tub, his chest a solid wall of warmth against my back, his hands massaging the tension from my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I say, letting my head fall back against him. “For taking care of me. For putting everything on hold.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that.” His voice rumbles through me. “It’s what any husband would do.”
“But you’re not just any husband,” I remind him. “You’re the king. You have responsibilities?—”
“None more important than you and our child.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “The kingdom has survived centuries of monarchs with far less dedication than either of us have. It can manage for a few days.”
I turn in his arms, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. “I can’t wait to see you as a father,” I confess. “To see you teach our child about history and politics and fishing at the beach house.”
His smile is soft, almost shy. “I can’t wait to see you as a mother. To watch you sing lullabies and read bedtime stories. To see your eyes in our daughter’s face.”
“Or your stubbornness in our son’s,” I tease.
“God help us if that’s the case.” He laughs, then grows serious. “We’re going to change things, Lia. For our child, for all children in Haldonia. We’re going to build a better country than the one we have now.”
In that moment, looking at the determination in his eyes, I believe him completely. Whatever challenges await us—as monarchs, as parents—we’ll face them together. And we’ll win.
“I know we will,” I whisper, sealing the promise with a kiss.
CHAPTER 20
TRISTAN
The pen slides from my fingers, clattering onto the desk as I rub my tired eyes. Three hours of policy review has my brain feeling like mush, but at least I’ve knocked out most of Kate’s checklist. The silence in my office is broken by a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call, straightening up and expecting Parker or one of my advisers.
Instead, it’s Lia who steps through the doorway, and my exhaustion evaporates at the sight of her. She’s dressed more casually than usual in a loose sweater that drapes over her slightly rounded stomach and comfortable slacks. The pallor that’s haunted her skin for the past week has faded somewhat, though dark circles remain under her eyes.
“Hey you,” she says, her voice stronger than it’s been since she caught that damn virus.
I’m on my feet in an instant, crossing to her. “Should you be up? Dr. Bennett said?—”
“Dr. Bennett said I could move around as long as I don’t overdo it,” she interrupts, her hand finding mine. “And I was going crazy staring at our bedroom ceiling.”
She feels fragile under my hands as I guide her to the couch by the window. The sunlight catches in her hair, turning the brown strands to honey and copper. “You scared me this time, you know that?”
“I scared myself.” Her hand drifts to her stomach, a gesture that’s become automatic these past few weeks. “But the baby’s fine. That’s what matters.”
I place my hand over hers. Beneath our palms, our child grows, oblivious to the fear that seized me three nights ago when Lia’s fever spiked dangerously high. “You both matter. Equally and immensely.”
She leans her head against my shoulder, and I breathe in the scent of her—the lavender of her shampoo mingling with something uniquely Lia. “Shannon told me about the school visit today. I want to be there.”
