Page 93 of Her Royal Christmas

Julia patted her knee. “They meant it lovingly.”

“Debatable,” Vic muttered, but she was smiling.

Later, they would turn off lights and bank the fire and check child-sized blankets and convince the dogs to move.

Later, the outside world would intrude again—emails, headlines, meetings, the never-ending pull of crown and country and duty.

But Boxing Day evening was theirs.

A quiet coda to a year that had nearly broken them, and to a Christmas that had mended more than any of them had expected.

A queen and her bodyguard, finally resting against each other again.

A friend and her advisor, discovering that letting go did not mean losing control.

Children upstairs, sleeping safe in rooms that would be the background of their memories.

Dogs at the hearth.

Snow at the window.

The kind of warmth no spreadsheet could ever quantify.

A family, in all but name and in every way that mattered.

Together.