Epilogue
. . .
Three years later
Fiona
I stand in the doorway, watching my husband—my warrior king—down on his knees in the royal nursery, a toy wooden sword in his massive hand as he allows our three-year-old daughter to "defeat" him in battle.
My chest fills with that familiar ache, the one I've come to recognize as happiness so intense it hurts.
Three years ago, I would have sworn on my life that I'd never belong to this man.
Now I can't imagine belonging anywhere else.
"I surrender, Princess Ailsa!" Lachlan groans dramatically, collapsing onto his back on the plush carpet, his enormous frame dwarfing the toys scattered around them. "Your sword skills have bested me again.”
Our daughter, with my blonde hair and Lachlan's piercing blue eyes, jumps onto his chest with a squeal of victory. "I win again, Papa!"
"You always win," he murmurs, catching her tiny body and tossing her gently into the air. "Just like your mother."
I bite my lip, trying to contain the smile that threatens to split my face.
The Kingdom of Drummond has never seen their fearsome warrior king like this—brought to his knees by a toddler wielding a wooden sword.
But I've grown accustomed to the two sides of my husband: the ruthless ruler who commands armies with a single look, and the devoted father who braids our daughter's hair every morning with large, callused fingers that somehow manage perfect gentleness.
"Mama!" Ailsa spots me and scrambles off Lachlan, racing toward me on unsteady legs. I scoop her up, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair as she wraps her little arms around my neck.
"Were you defeating Papa again?" I ask, pressing my lips to her forehead.
"He's not very good at fighting," she whispers loudly, as if sharing a great secret.
Lachlan rises to his full height, crossing the nursery in three long strides. Even after three years, his presence still makes my pulse quicken—a physical reaction I've long stopped fighting. "I let her win," he whispers in my ear, his beard tickling my neck. "Just like I let you win sometimes."
I roll my eyes, though we both know it's for show. "You've never let me win anything in your life, Lachlan Drummond."
His eyes darken, and his hand finds the small of my back. "Haven't I?" The weight of his words carries memories of our beginning—when I fought him with every fiber of my being, only to discover surrender could be its own kind of victory.
The nursemaid appears, right on schedule. "Time for Princess Ailsa's bath before supper, Your Majesties."
Lachlan produces a small wooden horse from behind his back—yet another gift for our already spoiled daughter. "I had this made for you, little warrior."
Ailsa's eyes widen with delight as she grabs the intricately carved toy. "Thank you, Papa!" She places a wet kiss on his cheek before allowing the nursemaid to take her.
"You're going to run out of craftsmen at this rate," I murmur as we watch them go. "That's the third new toy this week."
"Can I help it if I want my daughter to have everything?" His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. "Both my princesses deserve the world."
"She already has an entire kingdom," I remind him, though I can't muster any real admonishment. The truth is, I love watching him with her—the way his entire being softens around her, how he seems to treasure every moment.
Once Ailsa is out of sight, his demeanor shifts subtly. His hand tightens on my hip, and he steers me toward our chambers with that possessive touch I've come to crave. "And now," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that register that still makes my knees weak, "I get some time with my queen."
The door to our chambers barely closes before his mouth finds mine, hungry and demanding. Three years have done nothing to dampen the fire between us—if anything, it burns hotter now, tempered by a deeper knowledge of each other's bodies and hearts.
"I've been waiting all day to get you alone," he growls against my throat, his hands already working at the laces of my gown.
"You saw me at the council meeting this morning," I remind him, gasping as his teeth graze my collarbone.
"Where I had to watch you argue with my advisors and couldn't bend you over the table to show them who you belong to.
" His hands push the fabric from my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet.
"Do you know how hard it is to sit through discussions of grain supplies when all I can think about is being inside you? "
I should protest his crude words, but my body betrays me—as it always does with him. Heat pools between my thighs, and I press myself against the hard plane of his chest. "Perhaps you should learn some self-control, my king."
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine. "I've shown remarkable self-control. I've managed not to take you against every wall of this castle today."
Then his hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples into tight peaks, sliding between my thighs to find me already wet for him. I fumble with his clothing, desperate to feel his skin against mine, to reclaim this connection that still feels like a miracle every time.
When we're both naked, he lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to our bed like I weigh nothing. His body covers mine, all hard muscle and burning heat. We've learned each other's bodies so well these past three years, yet every time feels like a revelation.
"Mine," he whispers as he enters me in one powerful thrust that makes me cry out. "Tell me who you belong to, Fiona."
"You," I gasp, arching into him as he sets a relentless pace. "Only you, Lachlan."
His movements grow more urgent, more primal.
His hands pin my wrists above my head, and his eyes—those fierce blue eyes that once terrified me—bore into mine with naked vulnerability.
"I need to put another baby in your belly," he groans against my lips.
"I want to watch you grow round with my child again. "
The words send a shock of desire through me. I remember how possessive he was during my pregnancy with Ailsa—how his hands were constantly on my swelling stomach, how he guarded me like a treasure beyond price.
"Yes," I breathe, wrapping my legs around his waist to take him deeper. "Give me another baby. Give me everything."
His rhythm falters at my words, his control finally breaking. He buries his face in my neck as he comes, his entire body shuddering against mine. The sensation pushes me over the edge, and I follow him into that blinding pleasure, my body clenching around his.
Afterward, as we lie tangled together in the fading light, his hand traces lazy patterns on my stomach. "Our daughter needs a sister," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Or a brother. Preferably both."
I laugh, turning to face him. "One at a time, my king."
He pulls me closer, tucking my head beneath his chin. "I'll put a whole dynasty in you, Fiona Drummond. That's my vow to you."
And as I listen to the steady beat of his heart—this man who captured me, fought for me, and eventually won me completely—I know that the cage I once feared has become the home I never want to leave.