Page 42 of Royal Love
His lips brush my forehead, and I feel him smile against my skin. “Never,” he answers without hesitation. “Not if it meant a life without you.”
And despite the fears that linger, despite knowing that tomorrow will bring new challenges and complications, I believe him completely.
CHAPTER 24
TRISTAN
The light is fading by the time we make it back to our quarters. My body aches from tension, muscles still rigid from the crowd we faced earlier. Even after all these months as king, I’m still not used to the protesters, the press of bodies, the unpredictable movements and shouts. Today was particularly intense. The weight of the day hangs heavy on my shoulders as I push open the door, immediately loosening my tie.
Lia follows me in, her face etched with concern she’s been trying to hide since we left the square. She’s changed quickly out of her formal attire, wearing just a simple tank top and those soft cotton pants that make her look impossibly young.
“Kate called,” I say, discarding my jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. “Got my schedule sorted for an early departure on Friday.”
Lia’s expression brightens slightly. “The beach house?” There’s hope in her voice, and I nod, watching her eyes light up.
“Leaving at eleven.” I reach for her, needing to touch her, to ground myself in her presence. My hands settle at her waist, and I draw her close, breathing in the scent of her hair as she tucks herself against me.
“Good. We need it.” She presses her face into my chest, and I feel her body relax against mine.
“You okay?” I ask, running my hands up and down her back.
She pulls back, looking up at me with disbelief. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? That crowd today was…” She shakes her head, unable to find the right words.
“Just doing my job,” I say, aiming for lightness but probably missing by a mile.
She studies my face intently. “You look exhausted, Tris.”
I try to smile, but I can feel it falter. No point in lying to her. She reads me too well. “It takes a lot out of me. More than I like to admit.”
She takes my hand and leads me to the couch, tugging me down beside her. We sit in silence for a moment, her fingers intertwined with mine.
“I was scared for you today,” she admits finally. “When that man broke through the barricade and security tackled him. You didn’t even flinch.”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance but probably missing by a mile. “Years of practice.”
She shifts to face me fully, tucking one leg beneath her. “How do you do that? Stay so calm in the chaos.” Her voice drops lower. “Since the war…since your PTSD…I’ve seen how crowds affect you. But today, you never even showed a sign of having a complete breakdown.”
The question makes me pause. Lia has seen me at my worst, has talked me through the nightmares, has held me when the memories become too much. But today was different—a public challenge in front of hundreds of angry citizens, cameras capturing every reaction.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the small brass object I carried through the protest. “This helps,” I say, placing my grandfather’s compass in her palm.
She examines it carefully, running her thumb over the worn surface. “Your grandfather’s compass? I’ve seen you holding it before, but I didn’t know…”
“He gave it to me before my first deployment.” I watch as she opens it, the needle swinging gently before settling. “Said no matter how lost I felt, this would help me find my way home.”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.
“When things get bad, when I feel myself starting to spiral, I hold on to it.” I close my hand over hers, feeling the compass between our palms. “I focus on the weight of it, the texture. I remind myself where I am, who I am now.”
She looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Does it work?”
“Most of the time.” I take the compass back, closing it with a soft click. “But I love having you more.”
She cups my face in her hands, her touch so gentle it almost undoes me. “I wish I could take it all away. The pain, the memories.”
I turn my head to press a kiss to her palm. “I don’t. They’re part of me, part of what made me the man I am now. I wouldn’t change that.”
Lia leans forward, resting her forehead against mine. “I love you,” she whispers. “Every broken piece, every scar, every triumph. All of you.”
