40. Nicolai
CHAPTER FORTY
NICOLAI
The guilt sits heavy and tight inside my chest. Luna’s voice won’t leave my head; it slices through everything: “Your moms already lost one son. Don’t make it two.”
I try to push past it. But I can’t because she’s right.
If I had died?—
I never mentioned that Mateo is next in line because that’s not what this is all about. Luna doesn’t want to rule the kingdom without the king. I figured it all out some time ago, but I was hoping she’d be the one to tell me her endgame.
I’m frustrated at the weakness still tying me to this damn bed. I don’t like feeling powerless, especially not by my own mistakes.
But this? This wasn’t just a mistake.
Luna was right. It was reckless.
I can justify it a hundred ways, strategy, necessity, control, but none of them change the truth.
Or the outcome. I nearly bled out. I almost died.
Almost left my mother without a son, and a wife widowed—again.
And Bria alone and vulnerable in a world of ruthless men and arranged marriages.
I shudder at the thought of what they could have done to her.
I almost dragged my entire family into a war they weren’t equipped to fight.
And for the first time, I wondered what the hell I was thinking.
In just a few days, Luna went from concerned to downright livid. Now she’s standing there with her arms crossed, watching me and waiting for something, and she deserves it.
If her piercing gaze is any indication, she won’t make this easy on me. I blow out a breath and say, “You’re right.”
She arches a brow, skeptical. “About what?”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Everything.”
No smug smile. No ‘told you so.’ Just that look—like she’s not sure what to do with me, admitting I was wrong, and she was right.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I confess. “Not about my family, you, or the fallout. Just about getting the job done.”
“You almost died, Nico. You can’t afford to think like that anymore.” I lower my head because she’s right. I have soldiers to take out the trash. I should have stayed home and let them do their job.
“I know. I promise I’ll do better at delegating.” No sooner do those words leave my mouth than I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever made a promise to anyone.
Luna blows out a shaky breath. She doesn’t say a word, because she’s not sure if she should believe me or not. Until I get back on my feet, she’s the one in control, and I fucking hate it.
“Good.”
“How long until the doctor clears me to get the hell out of this bed?” I try to move, but the weakness pisses me off.
She smirks. “A few days. If you don’t do anything stupid.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not making any promises.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. And the friction between us eases for the first time since I woke up. How long it will last is up for debate.
She tilts her head, trying to read between the lines, then she asks, “You hungry?”
“Yeah, I could eat.” I haven’t eaten in days. And food sounds like the only thing that might make me feel human again.
She gives me a knowing look, probably relieved I have an appetite. “I’ll have Chef Laurent send something down.” The idea of real food has my stomach growling, and now I’m impatient.
“Something good. None of that bland recovery crap.” Luna smiles, putting her hands on her hips.
“You’re in no position to be picky.”
“I’m always in a position to be picky.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” And just like that, things feel a little normal again.
My fingers wrap around her wrist to stop her. She glances down at my hand, then up at me. “What?”
“Stay.” Her expression softens.
“You want company?” I’m feeling that tight pull in my gut, and I know it’s not from hunger.
“Yeah.”
“Alright. I’ll have the chef prepare two plates. Just like the dining room.”
“Exactly. Thank you.” I watch her leave, wishing I were climbing the stairs with her.
I adjust my pillows, but the frustration still hums through my veins. The hunger is a constant reminder that my body is healing, whether I like the pace or not.
Minutes tick past, and before I know it, Luna’s back. Balancing two plates in her hands, the scent of something delicious, making my mouth water.
“I told you I’d get real food.” She smiles as she sets one on the nightstand beside me.
I glance at the plate—pasta, grilled chicken, fresh bread. Solid.
Once I’ve finished, I push the plate away and settle against the pillows. Exhaustion creeps in despite the food giving me a little more energy.
Now I sit back and watch my wife. She seems more relaxed, but she barely touched her food.
“You should eat,” I murmur. She rolls her eyes at me.
“I did.” I point at her plate.
“Not enough.” She sighs, and I can’t help thinking she has something on her mind.
“I’ll eat something later.” I need to bite my lip for fear of smiling.
“Have you ever actually listened to your own advice?” Her lips twitch, biting back a laugh.
“Rarely.” I blink, and for the life of me, I don’t know how much longer I can keep my eyes open.
“You staying?” That’s all I manage to get out.
“For a little while.” And with that, I let my eyes close, knowing she’s here.