Page 20

TRISTAN

The pen slides from my fingers, clattering onto the desk as I rub my tired eyes. Three hours of policy review has my brain feeling like mush, but at least I’ve knocked out most of Kate’s checklist. The silence in my office is broken by a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call, straightening up and expecting Parker or one of my advisers.

Instead, it’s Lia who steps through the doorway, and my exhaustion evaporates at the sight of her.

She’s dressed more casually than usual in a loose sweater that drapes over her slightly rounded stomach and comfortable slacks.

The pallor that’s haunted her skin for the past week has faded somewhat, though dark circles remain under her eyes.

“Hey you,” she says, her voice stronger than it’s been since she caught that damn virus.

I’m on my feet in an instant, crossing to her. “Should you be up? Dr. Bennett said?—”

“Dr. Bennett said I could move around as long as I don’t overdo it,” she interrupts, her hand finding mine. “And I was going crazy staring at our bedroom ceiling.”

She feels fragile under my hands as I guide her to the couch by the window. The sunlight catches in her hair, turning the brown strands to honey and copper. “You scared me this time, you know that?”

“I scared myself.” Her hand drifts to her stomach, a gesture that’s become automatic these past few weeks. “But the baby’s fine. That’s what matters.”

I place my hand over hers. Beneath our palms, our child grows, oblivious to the fear that seized me three nights ago when Lia’s fever spiked dangerously high. “You both matter. Equally and immensely.”

She leans her head against my shoulder, and I breathe in the scent of her—the lavender of her shampoo mingling with something uniquely Lia. “Shannon told me about the school visit today. I want to be there.”

“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.

“Yes, that’s Queen Amelia,” I answer, unable to keep the pride from my voice.

“She’s pretty,” the girl declares matter-of-factly.

“I think so too,” I agree, catching Lia’s eye and the blush spreading across her cheeks.

The questions continue—do I wear my crown to bed (no), do I eat cake every day (I wish), can I put people in the dungeon (absolutely not, and we don’t have dungeons anymore). Throughout it all, I’m acutely aware of Lia watching, her smile growing as the children’s enthusiasm builds.

When Shannon guides them toward the historical displays, I make my way back to Lia’s side. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she assures me, though I don’t miss the way her hand trembles slightly against the armrest. “They’re wonderful.”

Before I can suggest she take a break, the teacher approaches us, a shy little girl with glasses half-hidden behind her skirt.

“Your Majesties, Emma has a question she’d very much like to ask the queen, if Her Majesty is feeling up to it.”

Lia straightens immediately, her entire demeanor softening as she focuses on the child. “Of course. What would you like to know, Emma?”

The girl peeks out, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is it true you’re going to have a baby?”

The room doesn’t quite fall silent, but several nearby children pause in their explorations, clearly interested in the answer. Our pregnancy is public knowledge, but these children probably don’t know that, so Lia will probably play along.

Lia handles it with perfect grace. “Yes, Emma, it’s true. But it’s a bit of a secret right now, so we’d appreciate if you’d help us keep it quiet for a little while longer.”

Emma nods solemnly, clearly thrilled to be entrusted with royal confidences. “My mom says you’ll be a good mom because you’re kind. Like the old queen was.”

I watch Lia’s face carefully, knowing how deeply she feels the weight of comparison to my mother, whose charitable works and gentle manner made her beloved throughout the country.

My mother, who spent more time with sick children in hospitals than at state dinners.

My mother, whose absence still aches like a phantom limb some days.

“That’s very kind of your mom to say,” Lia replies, her voice steady though I can see the emotion behind her eyes. “Queen Eleanor was an extraordinary woman. I can only hope to be half as good with children as she was.”

“Can I…” Emma hesitates, then rushes forward. “Can I touch your hand? My mom says I should ask.”

“Of course you may.” Lia extends her hand, and Emma places her small fingers against Lia’s palm with reverent care.

Something shifts in the room then. Perhaps it’s the way Lia leans forward, her full attention on this one child as if she’s the most important person in the world. Or maybe it’s how naturally she draws Emma into conversation, asking about her school and her favorite subjects.

Whatever the catalyst, within minutes, Lia is surrounded by children.

They approach cautiously at first, then with growing confidence as she welcomes each one with genuine interest. She listens to their stories with the same attentiveness she gives to prime ministers and diplomats.

When a little boy proudly shows her his missing tooth, she reacts with appropriate awe.

I take a step back, content to watch from the periphery.

This is Lia in her element—the woman I fell in love with showing through the royal facade we both maintain in public.

The woman who became my queen through an arranged marriage, but who captured my heart so completely, I sometimes forget our beginning was orchestrated by others.

“She’s a natural,” Shannon murmurs, appearing at my elbow. “Just like your mother was.”

“Better,” I say quietly, watching as Lia helps a little girl fashion a paper crown from supplies the creative teacher must have brought along. “My mother was born into this world. Lia adapted to it beautifully.”

Fell in love with me , I think but don’t say. Even now, after everything we’ve been through in our marriage, the transformation of our arranged union into something so deep and genuine sometimes strikes me with the force of revelation.

I glance at my watch, realizing we’ve already exceeded the hour I’d promised Dr. Bennett. But Lia shows no signs of flagging. If anything, she seems energized by the children’s presence, her earlier pallor replaced by a healthy flush.

One of the boys tugs at my sleeve, pulling me from my thoughts. “King Tristan, sir? Do you want to see the dragon I drew?”

I crouch down to his level. “I absolutely do.”

For the next half hour, I find myself fully immersed in the children’s world, admiring drawings, answering earnest questions, and even joining in when they decide to build a “castle” from cushions. Through it all, I keep Lia in my peripheral vision, monitoring her for any signs of fatigue.

When the teacher finally announces it’s time to leave, there’s a chorus of disappointed groans. Lia has ended up seated on a cushion on the floor, surrounded by a circle of attentive faces as she tells them a story I recognize—one from the book of folklore my mother used to read to me.

“Perhaps we can visit again someday,” she promises as they reluctantly gather their things.

As the children file out, many of them offering careful bows and curtsies in farewell, Emma hangs back, approaching Lia one last time.

“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.