Page 7

TRISTAN

I am so fucking proud of my wife. Watching the live stream is a test of patience. There’s nothing I want more than to go to her as I see the protesters have shown up, but this is her time to shine. Just like it was she who brought everyone together during the war.

“She and Shannon look like they have this,” Parker notes as he sits next to me.

“They’re composed. Much more than I have been lately.”

Parker chuckles. “The thing most people don’t talk about is coming back from war.

They always say how happy they are to be home, how nice it is to not be out on the battlefield anymore, but they don’t talk about the hard shit.

” He runs a hand through his hair. “You know I come from a military background. I’ve been in situations like what we were in previously.

Coming home was always a bit of a mindfuck.

On one hand, you’re so excited not to be on the edge anymore.

You’re grateful to be eating great food, sleeping in a real bed, and not having to watch your back.

At the same time, you’re trying to come to grips with what you did out there. Is that where you are?”

Licking my lips, I nod. “Yeah. I’m having nightmares about some of the shit we saw, but I’m also feeling fucking guilty.

Why should we have survived and others not?

What was the difference between us and them?

Why am I considered better? There were men and women standing with us who had kids and families at home, and they’re never going to see those loved ones again. How do I deal with that?”

“The best way you can. There’s no guidebook, Tristan.

You’re the face and heart of this country.

People will be looking to you to see how they handle life as it begins again.

If you aren’t sure you can handle it, you might want to admit that to yourself and be honest with the people.

” He runs a hand across his jaw, sighing heavily.

“If you don’t feel it, they’re going to see it, and they may be worried that we’re in a similar situation again.

Believe it or not, I think you’ll do more being honest than you will putting on a brave face. ”

I think about what Parker has said. “You’re right about that, but you’re wrong about something else.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I might be the face of this country, but Lia’s the fucking heart of it. They’ll go to battle for her in ways they never even thought of for me.”

A lesser man might think worse of their wife for having such a strong hold on his country, but I know how lucky I am. My mother was loved by the people, and all I’ve ever wanted is for those same people to love my wife just as much.

The livestream ends, and the room feels quieter, somehow smaller without her presence streaming in on the screen. I sink back into the couch, Parker’s words lingering like remnants of the war we fucking fought.

Amelia has a way of making everyone around her feel seen—like each person she interacts with somehow becomes the most important person in the room.

Watching her calm the protesters with grace and power only reaffirms what I constantly tell myself.

I am the luckiest man alive. We were blessed to have the arranged marriage we do.

An hour later, the door creaks open, and I turn instinctively.

Amelia steps inside, still wearing the fitted navy dress she chose for today’s event.

It’s tighter around her breasts than it was the last time she wore it, reminding me that she carries our child.

Her hair is pulled back, with just a few tendrils framing her face.

She pauses, takes a deep breath, and lets the door close softly behind her.

I stand, the urge to hold her overwhelming.

There were so many times I wanted my arms around her when it wasn’t physically capable of happening.

I promised myself back then I would do it any time I wanted to moving forward.

Crossing the room, I pull her into my embrace, breathing in her familiar scent.

“You were brilliant,” I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

Amelia leans into me for just a moment, allowing her body to relax, before pulling back and meeting my gaze. “It was intense, but we managed.” Her eyes are filled with a mix of relief and determination.

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her, brushing my thumb across her cheek, before dropping a kiss there. It’s slightly awkward, as we haven’t found our groove yet, from being apart. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

She arches a brow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh? And here I thought I was just the queen.”

“You’re more than just the queen.” I bend down so that our foreheads meet. “The way you handled today, Amelia…it was sexy as hell.” I can’t help but grin, the playful admiration in my words genuine. One of the first times I’ve felt like smiling since all of this started.

A laugh escapes her, and her tension visibly eases. “Well, I suppose managing a monarchy comes with its perks.”

I draw her back into a hug, feeling the weight of the day release between us. This is what I wanted so many times when it was just Parker and I trying to stay alive. “You make it look damn good.”

Her expression softens, and she meets my eyes with a sincerity that never fails to ground me. “And you make it worth it. No matter how scared I was to meet you and become your wife, you’ve always made it worth it.”

We stand together, wrapped in each other. Everything Parker and I went through plays over and over in my head, forcing me to swallow hard, trying to forget the sacrifice I made for the people.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” she asks, always in tune with how I’m feeling.

Her question hangs between us, a gentle prompt that I know is rooted in love, but there’s so much darkness attached to it. I hesitate, searching for the words and feeling the weight of responsibility.

“Some of it,” I confess finally. “I’m trying to find the balance between being honest with our people and not wanting to worry them.”

Amelia nods, understanding etched into every line of her face. She squeezes my waist. “Tristan, they trust you because you’re real with them. We’re in this together, and they know it. We just have to remind them that it’s okay to not have all the answers right away.”

Her faith in me is fucking amazing. It’s what gets me through. “You always know what to say to make me feel…more myself.”

“That’s because you are yourself.” She smiles, the gesture a bit shy. “Just as much as I’m myself when I’m with you.”

Her confidence wraps around us, and it’s everything I need in this moment. I know there’s no guidebook for any of this, but we’re making our own, page by page, together. It’s messy and real, full of all the truth we can manage, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Amelia steps back, her fingers brushing against mine as she heads for the small table in the room. She pours a glass of water and a scotch before returning to my side. She hands me the scotch.

“To us,” she offers simply, raising her glass.

“To us,” I echo, clinking my glass against hers.

We drink, the warmth spreading through me, both from the alcohol and being near her. Her presence takes away the stress of the day, the tense reality I live with now. Still, my leg shakes, knee bouncing with unrestrained nerves.

“What do you say we take a walk in the garden?” she suggests, raising an eyebrow.

I nod, grateful for her understanding without me having to say it. This garden was my mother’s pride and joy, more than anything I want to share it with her. “I’d love that.” I take her hand, and we make our way outside, the cool air a soothing balm as we step into what’s turned into early evening.

The garden paths, illuminated by soft lanterns, are a refuge I feel like we’re going to make good use of since we’re back in town. It can be a place where titles melt away, and everything turns into just Tristan and Amelia.

We walk in silence, peace settling over us. I stop, turning to face her. “You are as beautiful now as the day I first saw you.”

She chuckles, the sound dances in the air. It’s this that I thought about in the worst moments, reminding me that there was laughter before all the devastation. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Some days, it feels like just yesterday.”

She moves closer, her fingers intertwining with mine. “And here we are.” Her eyes search mine.

I wish I knew what she was looking for. “Here we are,” I repeat, not liking the quietness between us.

Amelia reaches up, her fingers brushing against my cheek. “Whatever comes, we’ll face it together,” she states, her words a promise that I pray she’ll never renege on.

I tug her gently toward me, our foreheads touching. “Together,” I agree, my voice a soft echo of hers, packed with unspoken promises and shared dreams. Hoping against everything that I can take those dark moments at night and shove them into a locked compartment within myself.

In the garden’s quiet embrace, we make our way back toward the castle, hand in hand.

The future, though uncertain, doesn’t intimidate me with her by my side.

Not right now, doesn’t mean it won’t in the next five minutes, but for now, I’m okay.

Inside, the warmth greets us once more, a vibrant contrast to the night outside.

Amelia pauses at the doorway, looking up at me with a radiant smile that seems to hold the world in its curve.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, her gaze playful yet sincere.

I consider her question for a moment. “I could eat,” I admit, realizing how true it is in every sense. My stomach growls, and my cock swells against the zipper of my pants.

We head to the kitchen, where the noise of the workers in the kitchen reminds me of being a kid.

It’s one of those moments where I can almost imagine my mom walking through the door and asking me if I’m excited for dinner.

Especially when I see what we’re having.

Spaghetti, something simple and familiar, sits here waiting for us to eat it.

We take a seat at the table, and together, we have one of the best dinners I’ve had since I came home. When we’re done, she glances at me, her eyes hot and heavy. “Are you ready for bed, Tris?”

Fuck yeah, I am.