Page 27

AMELIA

I stand in the doorway of what was once a spare bedroom, marveling at the transformation. Soft yellow walls, a white crib with delicate linens, a rocking chair by the window overlooking the palace gardens—it’s perfect. Well, almost perfect.

“What do you think about moving the bookshelf closer to the rocking chair?” I ask, rubbing my swollen belly as I feel a tiny foot or elbow push against my palm.

Tristan looks up from where he’s arranging stuffed animals in the crib—a task I find endlessly endearing. The King of Haldonia, meticulously positioning a plush elephant next to a giraffe, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“That makes sense,” he says, straightening. “That way you can reach for a book while you’re nursing.”

My heart swells at his thoughtfulness. Eight months pregnant, and I still can’t believe this is my life sometimes. Queen of Haldonia, married to a man who looks at me like I hung the moon and about to become a mother.

“Do you think we’re ready?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.

Tristan crosses the room and wraps his arms around me from behind, his hands joining mine on my belly. “Absolutely not,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice warm with humor. “But I don’t think anyone ever is.”

I lean back against his chest, soaking in his strength. “At least we have the nursery ready.”

“Almost ready,” he corrects. “I still need to add the security features Parker insists on.”

I roll my eyes. “Our baby doesn’t need panic buttons before they’re even born.”

“Parker disagrees. And you know how he gets when we argue with him about security.”

I do know. Our head of security is fiercely protective, especially now that there’s a royal baby on the way. Sometimes I find it stifling, but mostly I’m grateful. The world we live in comes with risks, and Parker helps us navigate them.

“We should finish up,” I say reluctantly. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

Tristan groans dramatically. “Do we have to? Can’t we just tell everyone the shower is canceled and spend the day in here instead?”

I turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Nice try. My mother has been planning this for weeks. She’ll hunt us down if we try to skip out.”

“Your mother is terrifying,” he says with a smile that tells me he adores her.

“She is,” I agree. “Now help me move this bookshelf, Your Majesty, before I’m too tired to enjoy our own baby shower.”

The grand salon has been transformed with tasteful decorations in soft greens and yellows.

No gendered colors since we’ve decided to wait until birth to learn whether we’re having a son or daughter.

Elegant flower arrangements, delicate refreshments, and a table piled with wrapped gifts dominate the space.

“Amelia, darling!” My mother glides toward me, elegant as always in a pale blue dress that complements her silver hair. “You look radiant.”

“I feel enormous,” I confess as she embraces me.

“Nonsense. You’re carrying the future of Haldonia. There’s nothing more beautiful.” She steps back, surveying me with the critical eye that used to make me squirm as a teenager. Now I find it comforting. “Although you might want to sit down. Your ankles are starting to swell.”

Some things never change.

“Mom, please try to remember I’m a grown woman. And a queen.”

“And still my daughter.” She pats my cheek affectionately before turning to greet Shannon, who approaches with a glass of sparkling water for me.

“Your Majesty,” Shannon says with a wink. My personal assistant and friend, she’s one of the few people who helps me feel normal in this extraordinary life.

“Don’t you start,” I warn, accepting the drink gratefully.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice lowered so only I can hear.

“Just the usual. Backache, swollen feet, and a husband who hovers like I might break if he looks away for too long.”

Shannon laughs. “He’s adorable when he’s worried about you.”

“Don’t encourage him.” But I can’t help smiling as I spot Tristan across the room, deep in conversation with Kate, his assistant. Even from here, I can see he’s gesturing toward me, probably giving her instructions about clearing his schedule further as my due date approaches.

More guests arrive—palace staff who have become like family, a few trusted friends from before my royal life, some dignitaries who couldn’t be excluded without causing diplomatic incidents. The room fills with conversation and laughter.

I settle into a comfortable chair that someone (undoubtedly Tristan) has positioned perfectly for me to see everything without being overwhelmed by well-wishers. As if summoned by my thoughts, he appears beside me, perching on the arm of my chair.

“Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?” he asks, his voice low.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, squeezing his hand. “Go mingle. Be kingly.”

He snorts. “I’d rather be husbandly.”

“Later,” I promise with a meaningful look that makes his eyes darken. Even with my enormous belly between us, the chemistry hasn’t faded.

The shower proceeds with games (tasteful ones, thankfully—my mother knows I’d never forgive her for anything involving melted chocolate in diapers), gift opening, and food. Through it all, Tristan never strays far from my side, and I catch myself watching him more than once.

He’s changed since we met. Still the same strong, sometimes stubborn man, but softer around the edges now. More willing to laugh, to show vulnerability. I’d like to think I’ve had something to do with that transformation, just as he’s helped me grow more confident in my role as queen.

“Earth to Amelia,” Shannon says, waving a hand in front of my face. “Lost in thought?”

“Just thinking about how much has changed,” I admit. “Back when all this first started, I had no idea what was waiting for me. I was nervous as hell to meet Tristan, and thought he’d be so cold. I had an allowance, and I was supposed to myself pure for my new role.”

“Now you’re opening gifts worth more than my annual salary?” She gestures to the antique silver rattle I’ve just unwrapped from the Ambassador of France.

“Now I’m preparing to raise a child in a castle,” I correct her. “It’s surreal.”

“You’re going to be an amazing mother,” Shannon says with such conviction that I blink back sudden tears.

“Sorry,” I say, dabbing at my eyes. “Hormones.”

“Blame everything on hormones while you can,” she advises. “It’s the one perk of pregnancy everyone can agree on.”

The afternoon wears on, and I find myself genuinely enjoying the celebration despite my earlier reluctance.

Watching Tristan’s face as we open each gift—his confusion over some of the more obscure baby items, his genuine delight at the handmade blanket from Kate, his touched expression when my mother presents us with my own preserved baby booties—fills me with a happiness so intense it’s almost painful.

As the event winds down, I find myself seated between my mother and Tristan, watching the remaining guests chat in small groups.

“I never thought I’d see this day,” my mother says softly, her hand covering mine.

“Me becoming a mother?” I ask.

“You being so completely happy,” she corrects me. “I always knew you’d be a wonderful mother when the time came. But this”—she gestures around the room, at the life I’ve built— “this exceeds even my highest hopes for you.”

I lean my head against her shoulder, feeling for a moment like a little girl again. “Thank you for being here for all of it.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” She kisses the top of my head, then stands. “Now, I think you need to rest before you fall asleep right here. Tristan, take my daughter to bed.”

“Mom!” I protest, feeling my cheeks heat.

“To sleep,” she clarifies with a knowing smile that makes me blush deeper. “Though what you do before sleeping is none of my business.”

Tristan, to his credit, manages to keep a straight face as he helps me to my feet. “Yes, ma’am.”

As we make our way out of the salon, I lean against him, suddenly exhausted but content. Our baby is loved, not just by us but by an entire community of people who will help us raise them. A village, royal style.

“Did you have a good time?” Tristan asks as we walk slowly toward our private wing.

“Better than I expected,” I admit. “Though I’m ready to be alone with you now.”

He tightens his arm around my waist. “Just wait until you see what I’ve done with the nursery while you were distracted.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, curious despite my fatigue.

“I may have added one more thing while you were busy with your mother before the shower.”

When we reach the nursery, he guides me inside and flips a switch I hadn’t noticed before. The ceiling transforms into a night sky, stars twinkling softly overhead.

“Oh, Tristan,” I breathe, tilting my head back to take in the constellations. “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought we could teach our little one about the stars,” he says, watching my face anxiously. “Do you like it?”

In answer, I pull him down for a kiss, pouring all my love and gratitude into it. When we part, both a little breathless, I whisper, “It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.”

And in this moment, despite the aches and uncertainties, despite the pressures of royal life and the challenges of impending parenthood, I mean it. Everything is perfect.