Chapter 38
Logan
Princess Amarynth Midale Tantamount Corellian might be the most spoiled child in Melilla.
Fortunately for her, her father is the king and wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Ammy, sweetheart, we can’t bring the entire toy chest to the council meeting.” I adjust the squirming one-year-old on my hip, attempting to pry a wooden horse from her surprisingly strong grip. “One toy. We agreed on one toy.”
Amarynth responds with a string of emphatic babble, punctuated by a decisive “Ba!” as she clutches the horse tighter. Her purple eyes—so like her mother’s—narrow in determination, a look I’ve come to recognize as the precursor to either brilliant problem-solving or an impressive tantrum.
“Fine.” I surrender with a sigh. “The horse and the stuffed dragon. But that’s my final offer.”
She beams at me, victory written across her tiny features. I’m being manipulated by someone who can’t even form complete sentences yet. Gods help the kingdom when she learns to talk.
“Your Majesty.” My secretary appears in the doorway, carefully not commenting on the fact that the King of Melilla is currently negotiating with a toddler. “The council is assembled and awaiting your arrival.”
“Thank you, Elias.” I nod, gathering Amarynth’s dragon from where it’s fallen to the floor. “We’ll be right there.”
Elias bows and withdraws, no doubt to inform the council that their king will be late. Again. Because his daughter needed a second toy. Or a different colored dress. Or simply decided that walking through the east corridor was unacceptable today.
I sometimes wonder what my father would think of me now, bringing my daughter to council meetings, rescheduling state functions around her nap times, letting her small hands leave sticky fingerprints on documents of international importance.
He’d be horrified, no doubt. Leopold Corellian believed children should be neither seen nor heard until they were old enough to be useful.
I am determined to be a different kind of father. A different kind of king.
“Ready, Princess?” I ask, tucking the dragon under my arm and straightening Amarynth’s little dress—a confection of purple silk that perfectly matches her eyes. Maya chose it this morning, before leaving for her meeting with the Omega Rights Commission.
“Da!” Amarynth declares, patting my cheek with her free hand, the wooden horse still clutched firmly in the other.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
We make our way through the palace corridors, nodding to guards and servants who have all grown accustomed to the sight of their king with a purple-eyed child perched on his hip.
Some still look startled when I stop to let Amarynth examine a particularly interesting tapestry or to explain—as if she understands—the historical significance of a statue we pass.
“That’s your great-grandfather,” I tell her as we pause before a stern-faced portrait. “He wasn’t a very nice man, but he did unify the northern provinces, which was important for trade routes and regional stability.”
Amarynth studies the portrait with surprising intensity before declaring, “No!” with emphatic disapproval.
“My thoughts exactly.” I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair—powder and something uniquely her. “You’re going to be smarter than all of us, aren’t you?”
She babbles a response that I take as wholehearted agreement.
Maya is already seated for lunch when we arrive late. She looks up as we enter, her face lighting with a smile that still makes my heart skip.
"There are my favorite people," she says, rising to greet us.
"Ma!" Amarynth squeals, launching herself from my arms with such force that I nearly drop her. Fortunately, Maya is prepared, catching our daughter and spinning her in a circle that elicits peals of delighted laughter.
"Hello, my little monster," Maya says, pressing kisses to Amarynth's flour-streaked cheeks. "Have you been terrorizing the palace while I was gone?"
"Only Lord Devin," I reply, leaning in to steal a kiss of my own. "She bit him during council."
Maya's eyes widen in mock horror. "Amarynth! We've talked about this. Biting is unsanitary."
"Ba!" Amarynth agrees solemnly.
"Exactly." Maya nods, settling on the bench with our daughter in her lap. "Did he at least deserve it?"
I sit beside them, stretching my legs out in front of me. "He suggested—again—that she should remain in the nursery during council meetings. Said she was too young to understand proper behavior."
"So she demonstrated her understanding by biting him?" Maya laughs, the sound like music in the quiet garden.
"It was a more effective form of communication than anything I'd managed to that."
Maya just shakes her head. "You're going to regret all this indulgence when she's past puberty and never grew out of her biting phase."
"If she always picks such appropriate targets, I doubt it."
Maya just watches as I begin to feed Amarynth bits of food from my own plate.
I cut the tender fish into tiny morsels, making sure each piece is perfect before offering it to our daughter.
Amarynth accepts each bite with solemn concentration, her purple eyes never leaving my face as if studying how to properly eat like royalty.
"You're spoiling her again," Maya says, but there's fondness in her voice rather than criticism.
"I'm not spoiling her," I object, wiping a smudge of sauce from Amarynth's chin. "I'm ensuring the future queen of Melilla develops sophisticated taste buds."
Maya's laugh is soft but holds a hint of something more complex. She watches us for a moment longer before asking, "Does it ever bother you?"
"What?" I ask, distracted by Amarynth's attempt to grab the entire plate.
"That she isn't biologically yours."
The question catches me off guard. Maya rarely brings up Amarynth's origins—the fertility clinic, the genetic testing that confirmed she wasn't related to any of us, the unanimous decision to claim her as our own.
I set down my fork and place my hands over Amarynth's tiny ears. Her purple eyes widen with delight at this new game.
"I demand proof that she isn't mine," I say with exaggerated outrage. "Look at her! The imperial glare? The masterful manipulation of everyone around her? The absolute certainty that she deserves whatever she wants? She's clearly a Corellian."
Maya rolls her eyes, but I catch the relief in her smile.
"Besides," I continue, leaning closer to stage-whisper over Amarynth's head, "as king, I can have anyone who questions her parentage thrown in the palace dungeons. Convenient, isn't it?"
"Very," Maya agrees dryly.
I release Amarynth's ears to steal another quick kiss from Maya. "Biology is vastly overrated. She's ours in all the ways that matter."
Amarynth chooses this moment to grab a handful of my carefully prepared fish and smash it against her face, grinning triumphantly at her accomplishment.
"See?" I gesture proudly. "Absolute confidence in her actions regardless of the mess they create. She's definitely taking after her father."
Maya's laugh is full and genuine this time. "Impossible man," she mutters, reaching for a napkin to clean our daughter's face.
As I watch them—Maya's gentle hands, Amarynth's trusting eyes—I feel a fullness in my chest that sometimes still takes me by surprise. This family we've created, pieced together from brokenness and chance and choice, is more precious to me than any bloodline could ever be.
"I meant what I said," I tell Maya quietly as Amarynth becomes engrossed in attempting to stack pieces of carrot. "She's ours. I couldn't love her more if she shared my DNA."
Maya's eyes meet mine, and I see in them the same fierce protectiveness, the same unconditional love that I feel.
"I know," she says simply. "That's one of the reasons I love you."
My heart stutters in my chest. Did I hear her correctly? Those three words—so simple, yet so profound—hang in the air between us. Words Maya has never spoken before, not to me.
"What did you just say?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Maya blinks, her cheeks flushing as she seems to replay her own words in her mind. When realization dawns, her eyes widen slightly. "I... nothing. I was just—"
"No." I shake my head, leaning closer. "You said you love me."
The flush on her cheeks deepens, spreading down her neck. She busies herself with wiping a nonexistent smudge from Amarynth's face, avoiding my gaze. "Don't make it a thing, Logan."
"It is a thing," I insist, unable to keep the wonder from my voice. "It's a very significant thing."
Amarynth chooses this moment to fling a piece of carrot across the garden, gurgling with delight at her newfound talent for projectiles. Maya lunges to catch it, grateful for the distraction.
"Amarynth," she scolds gently, though there's no real reproach in her voice. "Food is for eating, not throwing."
I refuse to be derailed. Reaching out, I capture Maya's hand in mine, drawing her attention back. "Say it again," I request softly.
"Logan—"
"Please."
Her expression softens at the naked vulnerability in my voice. For all my power, all my authority, I'm reduced to pleading for three simple words from this remarkable woman.
Maya sighs, shaking her head with fond exasperation. "You're impossible."
"I'm persistent," I correct. "It's one of my better qualities."
A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "Is it? I always considered it one of your most annoying traits."
"Maya." I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "Please."
She meets my eyes then, and the emotion I see there steals my breath. Despite everything we've been through—the forced bonding, the rebellion, the struggles to rebuild a kingdom—something beautiful has grown between us. Something neither of us expected or sought.
"Fine," she relents, her voice softening. "I love you."
The words fill me with a warmth that rivals any coronation, any victory, any triumph I've ever experienced. "Even though I'm impossible?"
"Because you're impossible," she corrects, squeezing my hand. "Because you fight for what matters to you. Because you've learned to listen. Because you're a better man than you were when we met."
I shake my head, humbled by her assessment. "I'm still learning."
"We all are," Maya says, using her free hand to catch Amarynth's attempt at launching another carrot missile. "That's part of it, I think. Being willing to grow together."
"I never thought—" I start, then stop, gathering my thoughts. "After everything I did, I never expected you to forgive me, let alone love me."
"Neither did I," she admits with characteristic honesty. "But here we are."
Amarynth squirms in Maya's lap, demanding attention with insistent babbling. I release Maya's hand so she can properly attend to our daughter, watching as she expertly redirects Amarynth's energy to a toy rather than more food projectiles.
"I love you too, you know," I say quietly, the words falling easily from my lips though they once seemed impossible to speak. "Both of you. More than I ever thought possible."
Maya glances up, a smile warming her eyes. "I know. You show us every day."
She says it simply, without fanfare, but the significance isn't lost on me. Love isn't just in grand declarations or passionate moments. It's in the daily choices, the consistent care, the willingness to put someone else's needs before your own.
"Still," I insist, unable to let the moment pass without proper acknowledgment, "it's nice to hear the words."
Maya laughs, the sound bright and clear in the garden air. "You're never going to let this go, are you?"
"Never," I confirm, stealing another quick kiss. "I'm going to remind you that you said it first for the rest of our lives."
"Wonderful," she sighs dramatically, but the smile never leaves her face. "I've created a monster."
Amarynth chooses this moment to clap her hands and declare "Ma!" with emphatic certainty, as if agreeing with my assessment.
"See? Even Ammy agrees with me," I say, grinning at our daughter's perfect timing.
Maya just shakes her head, but there's no hiding the love in her eyes as she looks between us. "The two of you are impossible," she declares.
"But you love us anyway," I remind her, unable to keep the note of wonder from my voice.
"Yes," Maya admits, her expression softening into something so tender it makes my chest ache. "Gods help me, I do."