Page 31 of Royal Love
“Absolutely not,” I say immediately, my protective instincts flaring. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I’ve been resting for three days straight,” she counters, that familiar stubborn set to her jaw appearing. “I’m not asking to run a marathon, Tristan. Just to sit and meet some children.”
I study her face, knowing that look all too well. She’s already made up her mind. “The doctor said?—”
“The doctor said limited activity is fine, and that’s what this is.” She reaches up, her fingers cool against my cheek. “Please. It would mean a lot to me.”
I close my eyes, leaning into her touch. This is what Parker warned me about—my inability to deny her anything. But then again, he hasn’t felt the crushing weight of fear I did watching her battle this illness, made worse by the pregnancy neither of us had anticipated so soon.
“One hour,” I concede finally. “And you stay seated the entire time. And Parker stations someone with medical training nearby.”
Her smile, the first genuine one I’ve seen in days, makes my chest tighten. “Deal.”
“And you promise to tell me if you start feeling tired or unwell.”
“I promise.” She seals it with a kiss, soft and brief.
I help her settle more comfortably on the couch, retrieving the throw blanket from its back and draping it over her legs despite her eye roll. “I have a few more things to finish before they arrive. Rest here until then?”
She nods, already reaching for one of the books that permanently live on my side table. I return to my desk, sneaking glances at her every few minutes as if she might disappear if I don’t. Her color is better today, and has been improving every day since she got home from the hospital. Now that we’re four days out, we’re all feeling better. She’s been fever free for the last four days and desperately wants to meet with the kids like she promised. Still, the memory of her burning skin beneath my hands, of her labored breathing as I held her, haunts me.
An hour later, there’s another knock at the door, and Parker’s head appears. “Sir, the children from St. Agnes Primary will be arriving in the East Drawing Room in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Parker.” I turn to Lia, who’s already setting aside her book. “Ready?”
Her smile is answer enough. I help her to her feet, offering my arm for support that she accepts with minimal protest. Progress.
Parker raises an eyebrow at us as we exit the office. “Your Majesty, are you certain this is wise?”
“I’m certain that my wife is as stubborn as she is beautiful,” I reply, earning a gentle elbow to my ribs from said wife. “Have someone from medical standing by, please.”
“Already arranged, sir.”
The East Drawing Room has been transformed for our young visitors. The antique furniture has been rearranged, creating an open space with cushions on the floor. Historical artifacts from the palace collection—the ones sturdy enough to withstand curious hands—are displayed on low tables with simple explanations beside them.
I settle Lia in a comfortable armchair positioned to give her a view of the entire room. “Remember, one hour.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she says with exaggerated deference, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Before I can respond, the doors open, and the controlled chaos that is twenty-five eight-year-olds enters the room. Their teacher, a no-nonsense woman in her fifties, keeps them in a semblance of order as Shannon introduces us.
“Children, I present His Majesty King Tristan and Her Majesty Queen Amelia.”
Twenty-five pairs of wide eyes stare at us. One little girl in the front gasps audibly, tugging at her friend’s sleeve and whispering something that makes them both giggle.
I step forward, falling into the role I’ve practiced countless times. “Welcome to the Royal Palace. We’re very glad to have you here today.”
They respond with the rehearsed curtsy or bow their teacher has clearly drilled into them, though several wobble precariously in the process. One boy at the back remains frozen, mouth agape.
“Before we look at some of the palace treasures, does anyone have any questions for His Majesty?” Shannon asks.
Hands shoot into the air. Shannon points to a freckled boy near the front.
“Do you have a sword?” he asks, bouncing on his toes.
I laugh. “Several actually, though I don’t use them much these days. They’re mainly for ceremonies.”
A little girl with braids is next. “Is that your real wife?” she asks, pointing at Lia.
