Page 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 my reflection 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.”

“Just promise you’ll tell me if it becomes too much.”

“I promise,” I whisper, tilting my head to give him better access. His hands slide across the silk of my robe, and I briefly consider calling Shannon to tell her I’ll be late.

As if reading my thoughts, Tristan steps back with a wicked grin. “Later,” he promises, his eyes dark with intent. “We both have obligations this morning.”

I pout playfully. “Being responsible is overrated.”

His laugh follows me as I retreat to the closet to choose my outfit for the day.

“I’m thinking we set up auction tables along this wall,” Shannon says, gesturing to the blueprint of the grand ballroom spread across my desk. “Silent auction items for the first hour, then we move to the live auction after dinner.”

I nod, making a note on my tablet, shifting slightly in my chair to find a more comfortable position for my growing belly. “And what about entertainment? Has the symphony confirmed?”

“They have, and they’re donating their time.” Shannon tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, checking her own notes. “Also, the chef has three menu options for your approval.”

The familiar rhythm of work soothes me. Despite my illness, Shannon has kept everything running smoothly, and we’re only slightly behind schedule for the Children of Heroes gala—our first major event focused on supporting children who lost parents during the war.

It’s a cause close to my heart, a way to honor those who sacrificed everything for Haldonia.

“You know,” Shannon says, setting down her pen, “you could have taken another day or two. No one would have minded.”

I shake my head. “I’ve been cooped up long enough. Besides, this gala matters.” I tap the fundraising projections. “These children need more than just our sympathy.”

“Your Majesty is very dedicated,” she says with a smile that reaches her eyes. After working closely for months, Shannon has become more than just my secretary—she’s become a friend, one of the few people in the palace who sees me as Amelia first, queen second.

“Speaking of dedication,” I say, glancing at the clock, “did Parker confirm the reservation for tonight?”

“He did. Seven o’clock at Lumière. The owner is thrilled you’ve chosen his restaurant for your first public appearance since your illness.

” She smiles, adding, “He also mentioned they’re preparing a special mocktail menu just for Your Majesty.

The press is already buzzing about the royal couple’s first night out since announcing the pregnancy. ”

I can’t help but smile. The visit to the restaurant is Tristan’s idea—a way to support local businesses while also letting the public see that their queen is recovered. The fact that Lumière is known for its romantic atmosphere and exceptional wine list is just a bonus.

“Perfect. Now, about these donor recognition levels…”

By late afternoon, I’ve reviewed budget projections, approved invitations, and selected auction items for the gala. My head is swimming with numbers and logistics, but there’s satisfaction in the progress we’ve made.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Shannon declares, gathering her tablet and notes. “You don’t want to overdo it on your first day back.”

I stretch, feeling the tightness in my shoulders from hours hunched over paperwork. “You’re probably right. Besides, I need to get ready for tonight.”

“The blue Valentino?” she suggests. “It photographed beautifully at the embassy reception.”

“Hmm, I was thinking the burgundy Ellie Saab maternity design. It’s new, and Tristan hasn’t seen it yet.” I smile, already imagining his reaction. The designer had created several pieces specifically tailored to flatter my changing figure, embracing rather than hiding my pregnancy.

Shannon laughs. “Ah, so we’re aiming to render His Majesty speechless in public.”

“It’s good for him,” I say with a mischievous grin. “Keeps him on his toes. Besides, the public loves seeing the baby bump. Might as well give them a good view.”

After Shannon leaves, I review one last document—a proposal for expanding the Children of Heroes program to include educational scholarships. It’s ambitious, but with the right support, entirely achievable. I make a few notes before closing the file.

As I prepare to leave my office, there’s a knock at the door. Parker enters, Tristan’s ever-present shadow except when the king dismisses him—which happens frequently when we’re alone.

“Your Majesty,” he says with a slight bow. “His Majesty asked me to remind you about this evening and to say he’s looking forward to it.”

I smile. “Thank you, Parker. Please tell him I’m equally excited.”

Parker hesitates, and I raise an eyebrow. “Something else?”

“He also asked me to give you this.” He holds out a small velvet box.

My heart flutters as I take it. Inside is a delicate pair of ruby earrings that will match my dress perfectly. Trust Tristan to know exactly what I’ve chosen to wear without being told.

The note inside simply reads:

For my queen, who outshines every jewel. - T

“You’re staring,” I murmur, applying a final touch of lipstick.

Tristan, already dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, makes no attempt to deny it. “How could I not? You’re breathtaking.”

The burgundy dress drapes elegantly over my rounded belly before flowing gracefully to the floor, its empire waist and strategic design both highlighting and celebrating my pregnancy.

The deep color makes my skin glow, and the slit up one side offers tantalizing glimpses of leg with each step.

The ruby earrings catch the light when I move.

“My goddess,” he whispers, approaching me slowly. His hand reaches out to caress the curve of my stomach with a tenderness that makes my breath catch. “Carrying my child, ruling at my side…I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

“The earrings are beautiful,” I say, turning to face him, emotion thick in my throat. “Thank you.”

He crosses to me, his hands settling on my waist. “They pale in comparison, but I’m glad you like them.” His eyes darken as he takes me in. “Though now I’m reconsidering our public appearance. I’d much rather keep you all to myself tonight.”

I laugh, placing my hands on his chest. “Duty calls, Your Majesty. Besides…” I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing his. “Anticipation makes everything sweeter.”

His grip tightens. “You’re playing with fire, Lia.”

“Good thing I’m not afraid of getting burned.” I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, careful not to leave a lipstick mark. “Now, shall we?”

Lumière glows with warm light, its windows offering glimpses of crystal chandeliers and white tablecloths.

As our car approaches, I can see the crowd gathered outside—a mix of paparazzi and curious onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of their monarchs and, more specifically, the queen’s growing baby bump.

“Ready?” Tristan asks, squeezing my hand. His other hand rests protectively over mine on my belly.

I take a deep breath and nod. “Ready.”

The moment we step out of the car, camera flashes explode around us.

Tristan’s arm slides protectively around my waist as we navigate the short walk to the entrance.

I smile and wave, projecting confidence and warmth despite the intrusive lenses.

I can hear exclamations about the baby bump, and I instinctively place my free hand over my stomach in what has become a familiar gesture.