Page 33 of Royal Love
“Your baby is very lucky,” she says with the certainty only children possess.
Lia’s hand moves to her stomach, that protective gesture that makes my heart clench every time. “Thank you, Emma. I hope you’re right.”
When the room finally empties, leaving just the two of us with Parker standing discreetly by the door, I cross to where Lia still sits among the cushions.
“Time to get you back to bed,” I say, extending my hands to help her up.
She allows me to pull her to her feet, swaying slightly as she stands. Only then do I see the exhaustion she’s been hiding. “Worth it,” she says, correctly reading my concerned expression.
“They adored you,” I tell her, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. “Every single one of them.”
“They were wonderful children.” Her head drops to my shoulder as we walk slowly toward the door. “Your mother would have loved them.”
“She would have loved you,” I reply honestly, the words catching slightly in my throat. “She would have been so proud of the queen you’ve become.”
Lia looks up at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so,” I assure her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And so does Emma’s mother, apparently.”
We make our way back to our quarters, Lia leaning more heavily against me with each step. By the time we reach our bedroom, she’s nearly asleep on her feet. I help her change into her nightclothes and settle her into bed, pulling the covers up around her.
“Stay,” she murmurs, catching my hand as I turn to leave. “Just for a bit.”
I stretch out beside her, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. “Better?”
“Much.” She tugs my hand to rest over her stomach. “We’re both better with you here.”
I press my face into her hair, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine. In this moment, the weight of the crown, the endless meetings and decisions, the constant scrutiny—all of it fades to background noise.
“I saw you today,” she says sleepily. “With that little boy and his dragon drawing. You’ll be an amazing father.”
The words wash over me, soothing an anxiety I hadn’t fully acknowledged. “We’ll figure it out together,” I promise, both to her and to myself. “Just like everything else.”
Her breathing deepens as sleep claims her, but I remain where I am, keeping watch. Outside this room waits a kingdom that demands my attention. Policies to review, decisions to make, appearances to schedule. But for now, my world narrows to this bed, to the woman sleeping beside me, to the curve beneath my palm where our future grows.
In this moment, I am not a king. I am simply a man, holding what matters most.
CHAPTER 21
AMELIA
The morning light filters through the gauzy curtains of our bedroom, casting gentle shadows across Tristan’s sleeping form. I study him for a moment, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead. Even after these months of marriage, I still find myself in awe that this man—this king—is mine. I love that he’s sleeping soundly now. The PTSD seems to have abated, at least for now.
I slip out of bed quietly, not wanting to disturb him, my hand instinctively cradling the rounded swell of my belly. At four months pregnant, there’s no hiding the royal heir growing inside me. Today marks my official return to royal duties after being sidelined by that wretched virus for nearly two weeks. While the time in bed wasn’t entirely unpleasant—Tristan made certain of that, checking on me between meetings, bringing me soup and tea himself despite the palace staff’s protests—I’m eager to resume my responsibilities. The doctor assured us that the virus posed no risk to the baby, but Tristan had still been adamant about my rest.
The hot shower eases the last remnants of stiffness from my body. As I towel off and begin my morning routine, I catch myreflection in the mirror. My complexion has finally returned to normal, the pallor replaced by a healthy glow. I turn sideways, studying my profile and the unmistakable curve of my stomach under my robe. The palace tailors have been working overtime adjusting my wardrobe to accommodate my changing body.
“You’re up early.” Tristan’s voice, rough with sleep, comes from the doorway. He leans against the frame, wearing only sleep pants that hang low on his hips.
“First day back,” I explain, reaching for my moisturizer. “I want to be prepared.”
He crosses the room in three strides, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his hands coming to rest on the swell of my belly. “You’re sure you’re ready? No one would fault you for taking another day.”
I meet his concerned gaze in the mirror. “I’m ready. Besides, the charity gala won’t plan itself.”
His eyes drop to where his hands cradle our growing child. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, “and somehow even more breathtaking carrying our child.” The reverence in his voice makes my heart swell.
His lips find my neck, and a shiver runs through me. “If you say so.”
