Chapter 13
ALEX
The castle was still dark when Alexandra woke.
For one blissful second she lay in the soft hush of Christmas morning, the pre-dawn light a faint blue glow behind the curtains, Erin’s arm heavy and warm across her waist. The fire in their suite had burned down to embers, leaving the room comfortably cool.
Alexandra inhaled deeply — pine from the garland over the mantle, lavender from Erin’s skin, a drifting hint of the cinnamon biscuits the children had left for Santa.
This, she thought, is Christmas.
She turned her head slowly. Erin was still sleeping, face soft and unguarded in a way Alex never saw during the day. She always forgot how young Erin looked while asleep. How peaceful with her lovely dark hair loose on the pillow.
How heartbreakingly beautiful.
Alex reached out and gently traced a fingertip along Erin’s cheekbone. Erin stirred but didn’t wake. Her brows knitted slightly, then smoothed.
Alex smiled.
But the serenity lasted exactly three seconds.
A thundering set of footsteps tore down the corridor.
Then —
“MUMMY! MUMMY! IT’S CHRISTMAS!!”
The door burst open so hard it hit the stopper.
Three small bodies launched onto the bed like missile fire: Matilda first, then Frank with astounding velocity, then Florence who, despite being the smallest, somehow managed to land on top of both her siblings in a tangle of giggling limbs.
Erin shot upright as if the mattress had exploded.
Alex nearly laughed at the contrast: her fierce former-bodyguard wife, jolted awake by three tiny humans in reindeer pyjamas.
“Merry Christmas!” Matilda declared, bouncing up and down on her knees.
“It’s morning!” Frank announced. “We checked the clock. It said five-something, but five is morning!”
“It is very early,” Erin croaked, rubbing her face, her lovely green eyes looked tired.
Florence shoved a present-shaped pillow into Erin’s lap. “Can we open stockings now? Santa came! I heard him!”
“You heard Juno snoring,” Alex corrected with a gentle smile.
Juno, sprawled on the rug by the fireplace, snored again as if in confirmation.
Before Alex could gather the children into a reasonable sitting position, a small knock sounded at the door.
Then Hyzenthlay appeared, clutching her stuffed rabbit by the ear and offering a solemn nod.
“It is technically morning,” Hyz said. “The sun is not up, but parent-waking protocols allow for exception on Christmas.”
Alex fought a grin. “Well, if the protocols allow it.”
Erin muttered something suspiciously like, “My kingdom for twenty more minutes.”
But Alex caught her eye — and in Erin’s expression was the same feeling blooming in her chest: exhaustion, yes, but something far deeper. Something warm and full.
Love.
“Come here, darling,” Alex said, beckoning Hyz onto the bed.
Hyz climbed up neatly — unlike the triplets — settling beside Alex with the poise of someone twice her age. Frank handed her a stocking.
“Here’s yours, ” he said proudly.
Hyz nodded gravely. “Thank you very much Prince Frank.”
Alex almost burst with affection.
Her lovely children and Hyzenthlay. She was so proud of every one of them.
They did stockings first — four small laps filled with chocolate coins, colouring pens, ribbons, a tiny Lego set each, hair clips for the girls, a bowtie for Frank, a compass for each of them. Erin had insisted on the compasses. “Navigation builds character,” she’d claimed.
The children made delighted noises at each trinket. Alex treasured every single sound.
Halfway through the unwrapping, Erin finally leaned into her side, head brushing her shoulder.
“Merry Christmas, you,” Alex whispered.
Erin’s smile was soft, lopsided. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kennedy.” Alex smiled at the old nickname Erin had given her when they were first married.
The title should have been teasing — it always was — but this time there was a tremor beneath it. Not sadness. Not stress.
Longing.
Alex’s breath caught.
She traced her thumb over Erin’s wrist, a slow, gentle stroke. Erin shivered almost imperceptibly.
Later, Alex promised herself.
Later, they would have their moment.
But right now, the children were untangling each other, the dogs were stirring, and the sky was pale blue through the window.
Alex clapped her hands. “Time to get dressed. The Christmas Reindeer won’t wait forever!”
The triplets screamed in excitement.
Hyz nodded with intense seriousness. “I have been anticipating Phase Two.”
Alex blinked. “Phase… two?”
Hyz handed her a folded slip of paper.
It was a schedule. A detailed one. Written in miniature handwriting.
Alex stared at the header:
“OPERATION FESTIVE WONDER — HYZENTHLAY’S COPY.”
Underneath it:
08:14 – Parents summoned for Christmas morning.
08:15 – Collect reindeer food from terrace table.
08:17 – Begin reindeer observation walk.
08:19 – Avoid Vic’s meltdown if still ongoing.
Alex pressed her lips together. “Did your mother help you with this?”
“No, I did it,” Hyz said. “She was spiralling.”
Alex laughed. Loudly. Erin did too.
An hour later, they made their way to the courtyard, bundled in coats and scarves. Snowflakes dusted the world, swirling lazily like drifting glitter.
Vic stood by the paddock gate — clipboard tucked firmly under one arm, but otherwise startlingly calm with her ridiculous fox hat at a jaunty angle on her messy hair. Julia hovered at her side, one hand at the small of Vic’s back, steadying.
The sight warmed Alex from the inside out.
“You’re here!” Vic beamed, cheeks flushed. “Perfect timing! Phase Two is a go!”
Hyz perked up. “I concur.”
The triplets shrieked as they spotted the fenced paddock.
Inside stood the three reindeer.
Real ones. Real Christmas reindeer that had survived all the drama associated with their arrival.
They were surprisingly majestic — tall, gentle-eyed creatures with thick winter coats and breath steaming into clouds. Their antlers were lighter than Alex expected, like sculpted branches dusted with white.
It was like a scene from a fairytale.
One of them lifted its head at the sound of the children and blinked slowly.
Matilda gasped. “They are beautiful.”
Frank froze, eyes enormous. “Are they magic?”
Florence clutched Alex’s leg. “Are they going to… talk?”
“No,” Vic said quickly. “I tried to arrange that, but apparently that’s not a real thing.”
Julia patted her arm. “Darling.”
Alex looked at Erin then — her Erin — and something in her chest clenched beautifully. Erin was watching the reindeer with a small, quiet smile. Peaceful.
Alex hardly ever saw that expression anymore.
The children crept closer. The smallest reindeer — a young one, soft eyes and shorter antlers — stepped forward slowly.
Matilda held out a hand, unsure.
The reindeer sniffed it, then nudged her palm gently.
Matilda squealed. “He likes me!”
Alex laughed softly. Erin pulled out her phone to capture the moment — triplets and Hyz, standing in falling snow, reindeer nuzzling their gloves, dogs wagging madly behind them.
Perfect.
Utterly perfect.
For a moment, Alex forgot all the drama that had happened.
This Christmas… with her family… was magic.
Vic approached them, breath puffing in the cold air. “Well?” she asked, trying for casual but visibly vibrating with pride. “Success?”
“It’s wonderful,” Alex said sincerely.
Vic’s eyes shone. “It didn’t… it didn’t go wrong.”
“No,” Alex said softly. “It went exactly right.”
Vic swallowed hard.
Julia kissed her cheek. Vic pretended not to melt.
Erin nudged Alex’s side. “You all right?” she murmured.
Alex nodded, throat tight. “Just… watching everything. Feeling very lucky.”
Erin brushed her gloved fingers over Alex’s just enough to say I see you. I’m here.
Alex let her fingers linger.
There had been so many days in the last year when she wondered if they would ever find this again — this ease, this quiet joy, this closeness that came without trying.
Erin’s eyes were warm. Soft. And behind them, the same longing she’d seen in their bedroom this morning.
Later, Alex thought again, pulse quickening. Later we’ll have our moment.
Reindeer time lasted an hour — feeding them, stroking their coats, watching them flick snow with their hooves. Even Hyz abandoned her notepad after a while and simply watched them breathe in the cold.
When the handlers finally led the reindeer back toward their stables, all four children waved dramatically, as if seeing off royalty.
“They were perfect,” Matilda declared.
“They were noble,” Hyz added.
“I want one,” Frank said.
Florence stared at him. “Frank, you once cried because a pigeon looked at you. You can’t have a reindeer.”
Frank looked offended. “I was small. And it was a scary pigeon.”
Alex bit back a laugh.
The dogs chased snowballs the whole walk back inside, while Vic narrated the morning like a wildlife presenter with too much caffeine. Erin kept brushing snow from Alex’s shoulders when she thought no one was looking.
It was… lovely.
Truly.
By lunchtime, the castle smelled unbelievable.
Roast vegetables, honeyed ham, something rich and herby and unmistakably Mrs. MacLeod.
When Alex entered the dining room, the sight nearly made her breath catch.
A long table — imperfect, slightly chaotic, absolutely beautiful.
Candles flickering. Holly garlands draped along the centre. No dramatic centrepiece. Just simple green and gold that suited Balmoral better than any polished display.
Mrs. MacLeod bustled past carrying a tray. “Don’t touch that yet, Your Majesty. It’s hotter than sin and half as forgiving.”
Alex laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Erin leaned in. “She terrifies me.”
“She terrifies everyone,” Alex said fondly.
Vic was fussing with the napkins, but gently — almost playfully. Julia caught her hand each time she lingered too long, guiding her back to her seat.
The children sat together at one end, dogs flopped at their feet, tails thumping rhythmically.
Alex took her seat at the centre. Erin sat beside her, their chairs close enough that their knees brushed.
The warmth flooded Alex instantly.
Mrs. MacLeod clapped her hands sharply. “Quiet down, everyone, or I’ll feed the pudding to the dogs.”
Instant silence.
Then the feast began.
It wasn’t perfect. The bread was slightly overdone. The gravy boat was chipped. The ham had a rogue corner suspiciously over-crisped.
But Alex could have cried with happiness.
Erin caught her expression. “Hey,” she murmured. “You okay?”
Alex nodded, eyes prickling. “More than okay.”
Erin reached for her hand under the table. Their fingers intertwined.
Alex exhaled, a slow, trembling breath.
She looked at her beautiful children — laughing, passing food, sharing jokes. She looked at Hyz correcting Vic’s napkin folding. At Julia smiling at Vic like she held the entire world in her hands. At Mrs. MacLeod presiding over the meal like a general commanding her troops.
And she thought:
This is my family. This is my life.
The ache that had lived under her ribs for months — the ache of exhaustion, fear, distance from Erin — loosened.
Erin squeezed her hand again.
Alex leaned toward her slightly, shoulder brushing Erin’s.
“Thank you,” Alex whispered.
“For what?” Erin murmured.
“For loving us like you do.”
Erin blinked, eyes softening. “It’s easy to love you.”
Alex swallowed, trying not to cry into her roast potatoes. “Even when it’s hard?”
“Especially then,” Erin said quietly.
Alex’s throat closed.
She looked at Erin properly, taking her in — the gentle smile, the quiet strength, the fine lines beginning to take root around her eyes.
The woman she loved.
The woman she’d fought for.
The woman she’d nearly lost to stress and exhaustion and circumstance more than once.
Their eyes held across the rim of the meal, a moment of shared history, shared pain, shared hope.
Erin’s breath hitched. Just barely.
Later, Alex thought again.
Later is coming.
For now, she leaned close, touched her forehead gently to Erin’s for half a second — a tiny secret blessing of a moment — and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
Erin’s answering smile lit her up from the inside.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful.”
Lunch spread on for almost two hours — eating, storytelling, laughter loud enough to echo off the high stone walls.
Near the end, Alex sat back, hand absently resting on Erin’s thigh, her gaze drifting over the room.
Everywhere she looked, she saw love.
Messy, complicated, chaotic, wonderful love.
And she felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of gratitude — fierce, bright, consuming.
For her children.
For her friends.
For this strange, imperfect, magical Christmas.
For Erin — her anchor, her softness, her impossible, steadfast love.
Snow drifted past the window.
Candles flickered.
The castle hummed with warmth and life.
Alex took a slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she whispered silently:
Thank you.
She didn’t know who she was thanking — the universe, fate, chaos itself — but the words filled her chest and made something inside her settle.
When she opened her eyes, Erin was watching her.
“You look happy,” Erin said softly.
“I am,” Alex murmured. “I truly am.”
Erin reached under the table, brushed her fingertips along Alex’s knee, and whispered low:
“Tonight.”
Heat curled low in Alex’s belly.
Yes.
Tonight.
Christmas was perfect.
Not because nothing went wrong.
But because everything went right where it mattered.
And Alexandra felt overwhelmed with one simple, shining truth:
She had never been more grateful for anything in her life.