Page 37 of Royal Love
“The one that says you’re thinking decidedly un-kingly thoughts.”
I laugh, the sound rumbling in my chest. “Guilty as charged.”
Her fingers finish with my buttons, pushing the shirt from my shoulders. “Good thing I’m thinking decidedly un-queenly thoughts then.”
I reach behind her, finding the zipper of her dress and slowly drawing it down. “Care to elaborate on these thoughts?”
The dress loosens, and she allows it to slip down her body, pooling at her feet in a whisper of expensive fabric. Standing before me in nothing but lace undergarments, her body changed by pregnancy in ways that make my heart race, she’s never been more beautiful.
“I think,” she says, stepping closer, her fingers tracing the waistband of my trousers, “I’d rather show you.”
I let her lead me to our bed, marveling at how this woman—my wife, my queen, the mother of my child—still affects me like this. Every touch of her skin against mine sends electricity coursing through my veins.
“Wait,” I say, suddenly remembering. “Is this…are you comfortable with this? The doctor said?—”
She silences me with a kiss. “The doctor said everything is perfectly normal and healthy. Unless you’d rather not?”
Her challenging smile is all the answer I need.
“I’d rather very much,” I murmur against her lips.
We take our time, finding new ways to fit together around the curve of her belly. There’s laughter when something doesn’t quite work, whispered suggestions, and adjustments that lead to gasps of pleasure. It’s different now, but no less passionate, no less meaningful. Perhaps even more so, knowing our child sleeps safely between us.
After, as we lie tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest and my hand stroking lazy patterns across her back, I feel a contentment that still surprises me. This quiet domesticity was never something I expected to cherish, yet here I am, treasuring these moments more than any state dinner or royal engagement.
“What are you thinking about?” Lia’s voice is sleepy, her breath warm against my skin.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Just how lucky I am.”
She makes a soft sound, somewhere between agreement and amusement. “We both are.”
I don’t tell her about the momentary flash of worry that crossed my mind—the constant, nagging fear that all of this happiness could be snatched away. Instead, I hold her closer and listen to her breathing slow as she drifts off to sleep.
“I’ll protect you both,” I whisper into the darkness. “Always.”
Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, pulling me from sleep. Lia is still curled against me, her body warm andsoft. For a moment, I simply watch her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. Then I carefully extricate myself from her embrace, smiling as she mumbles something unintelligible and burrows deeper into the pillows.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and pad quietly to the sitting area of our chambers. Parker has already sent the morning briefing—security reports, weather, and the day’s agenda. But it’s the news notification that catches my eye. I open it to find pictures from last night splashed across the front page of the Haldonia Daily.
“ROYAL ROMANCE: king tristan and queen amelia enjoy rare night out.”
The images are surprisingly tasteful—Lia and I entering the restaurant, her hand on my arm, the two of us leaving, my hand protectively at the small of her back, a candid moment caught through the window where we’re both laughing, her head thrown back and my eyes fixed on her face with unmistakable adoration.
A year ago—hell, six months ago—these photos would have infuriated me. The intrusion into our private life, the constant lens focused on our every move. I would have called Parker, demanded to know how the photographers got so close, insisted on stricter measures for our next outing.
Instead, I find myself studying the images with something like gratitude.
“What’s got you looking so serious this early?”
I glance up to find Lia watching me from the doorway, wrapped in her silk robe, hair tousled from sleep.
“The paparazzi were busy last night,” I say, holding up my phone.
She crosses the room and curls up beside me, taking the phone to examine the photos. “Oh, these aren’t bad at all. I actually look decent for once.”
“You look stunning,” I correct her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You always do.”
She turns to look at me, brow furrowed slightly. “You’re not upset? Usually, these kinds of pictures put you in a mood for the entire morning.”
