Epilogue
SOPHIE
I still can’t believe this is happening.
A month ago, Graham and I were just figuring ourselves out—navigating the shift from stolen moments to something real. And now? Now, I’m stepping into a whole different world.
A royal world.
I glance at Graham beside me as the private jet finishes its descent, his posture effortless but commanding, his expression unreadable. Even in the plane’s dim lighting, he looks every bit the prince I now know him to be—composed, steady, completely unshaken.
Meanwhile, I’m barely holding it together. My phone buzzes on my lap, and I could just already tell who’s checking in on me. Mia has been asking for details about this trip since we left Bardstown. I unlock my phone and check the message. I’m right, it is my sister. I smile as I read her text.
Just checking to see if you got there safely. I miss you very much. I’m proud of you and hope you have the time of your life with Graham and his family. By the way, can you tell Graham the threat still stands? Love you!
I quickly type a response to Mia:
We just landed, and I’m so nervous, but Graham has been really sweet. Did you actually threaten him?
I click send, and I turn off my phone with a smile on my face after reading her message. I then face Graham with a grin. “Did my sister threaten you?”
“We just had a friendly chat,” he responds.
I shake my head and laugh. I love my sister.
The pilot announces we can exit the plane soon, and my heart pounds as I clutch my bag. My nerves threaten to take over. “I feel like I should have read a rule book or something,” I mutter, shifting in my seat.
Graham smirks, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “There’s no rule book, Soph.”
I give him a look. “Oh, please. You’re literally a prince. There have to be rules.”
His thumb brushes over my skin in a soft, soothing motion. “Just be yourself.”
I exhale slowly, nodding, but my nerves kick into overdrive as the plane stops at the private terminal.
Because the moment we step out of this jet, everyone will know precisely who Graham is.
And, by extension, they’ll know who I am to him.
The second the jet’s door opens, the world outside changes.
The airport is nothing like I expected. There are no busy terminals and no hurried passengers. Instead, it’s quietly regal—polished marble floors, towering glass windows, and a private entrance where a formal welcoming committee awaits.
My breath catches as I take it all in.
Men in perfectly tailored uniforms stand in a neat formation, their expressions stoic, their gazes locked ahead. Beyond them, a convoy of sleek, black vehicles is lined up, engines running, their doors manned by drivers in crisp white gloves.
And in the center of it all, an official-looking figure steps forward, bowing slightly before speaking.
“Welcome home, Your Highness.”
I barely hold in my shock as I turn to Graham, who—unlike me—looks entirely at ease.
He nods in return, his voice steady. “It’s good to be back.”
And just like that, I see him fully in his true identity.
Gone is the man who kept his past hidden in Bardstown. In his place is Prince Graham Alexander of Alveria—collected, poised, every bit the royal he is.
And somehow, that makes my stomach flip even more.
I barely register the introductions as Graham speaks to the officials, answering questions with a measured authority that makes it clear—he was born for this, no matter how much he once tried to escape it.
Then, all eyes turn to me.
I suddenly feel too casual, too out of place, like I should have practiced a curtsy or something. But before I can even freak out properly, Graham reaches for my hand, pulling me closer.
“This is Sophie,” he says, his tone firm but warm. “She’s with me.”
It’s not just an introduction.
It’s a statement.
A declaration.
And just like that, the committee bows slightly—not to me, but as a sign of respect for him and his choice.
Oh, wow.
We're led toward the waiting convoy before I can process the moment.
Graham guides me to one of the sleek black cars, holding the door open before I slide in.
As the convoy pulls out of the airport, my nerves settle slightly—until I look out the window.
Because the streets are lined with people.
Not in chaos. Not in frenzy.
But in welcome.
Some wave small Alverian flags, others hold banners with the royal crest, and even though it’s nothing compared to an official parade, it’s clear—Graham’s return means something.
He sees it, too, his jaw tightening slightly, his fingers tapping against his knee.
I reach for his hand without thinking, lacing my fingers with his.
He glances at me, his expression softer now. Grateful.
“Still think you need a rule book?” he teases lightly.
I huff a breathless laugh, shaking my head. “No. But I might need a drink.”
He chuckles, squeezing my hand as we approach the castle gates.
And just like that, I know—this is just the beginning.
T he castle is breathtaking.
I knew it would be, but nothing could have prepared me for its sheer grandeur. The towering stone walls, the intricate gold detailing along the entrance, and the sprawling gardens that seem to stretch for miles.
The moment we pass through the gates, I feel like I’ve stepped into another world—one where history, power, and legacy live within these walls.
But despite all of that, Graham is calm. Unshaken. Like he belongs here, even after all these years of staying away.
We’re escorted through the grand halls, past massive oil paintings and high-arched ceilings, the soft glow of chandeliers illuminating the corridors.
“The King and Queen requested dinner later tonight,” one of the attendants informs us as they guide us toward the private wing. “You’ll have some time to settle in first.”
Graham nods, his fingers brushing over mine as we follow them deeper into the castle.
Finally, we stop at a pair of double doors. The attendant bows slightly before opening them, revealing what I assume are Graham’s private quarters.
The second we step inside, the doors shut behind us, leaving us alone.
And suddenly—I can breathe again.
His quarters are insane.
High ceilings, a massive four-poster bed, a sitting area with a roaring fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the entire kingdom.
I walk toward them, pressing my fingers against the cool glass, taking it all in. “This is… unreal.”
Graham steps behind me, his hands skimming my waist, his lips brushing my neck. “You like it?”
I shiver, leaning into his touch. “Like it? Graham, you live in a literal fairy tale.”
He hums, pressing a slow, teasing kiss behind my ear. “Then tell me, princess—do I get to be your prince?”
I laugh softly, tilting my head to give him better access. “If you keep doing that, you can be whatever you want.”
His grip tightens slightly, his voice lower now. “Then I guess I better not stop.”
And he doesn’t.
His hands slide lower, his mouth trailing fire along my skin, and before I can even process it, I’m spinning in his arms, my back against the glass, my pulse pounding.
Graham looks down at me, his expression dark with want, his chest rising and falling heavily.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “I want to spend the rest of my life kissing you.”
I swallow, my fingers curling into his jacket. “Then kiss me now and prove it.”
My teasing makes him chuckle just before his mouth crashes into mine, hungry, desperate, possessive. His hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly as I wrap my arms around him, my heart pounding in my chest.
Soon, the sun sets, and we must get ready for dinner. I stand in front of the vanity mirror, adjusting my dress.
Graham walks up behind me, fully dressed, adjusting his cufflinks in the reflection. He meets my gaze, his lips twitching.
“You look like a woman who belongs here.”
I arch a brow, smirking. “I look like a woman about to have a heart attack before dinner with royalty.”
He chuckles, stepping forward to kiss my bare shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”
I exhale slowly, trying to believe him.
Because ready or not—tonight changes everything.
T he dining hall is grand—almost intimidatingly so—with its soaring ceilings, golden chandeliers, and a table so long it could probably seat an entire army.
But the moment we step inside, the atmosphere is warm.
Graham squeezes my hand briefly before letting go, leading me toward his family. His mother, the former queen, rises first, a soft smile gracing her features as she steps forward.
“Sophie.” Her voice is gentle but regal, full of warmth. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
I exhale slowly, offering a respectful nod. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty.”
She laughs lightly, reaching for my hands instead of waiting for a curtsy. “None of that,” she chides playfully. “You’re family now. Call me Eleanor.”
I blink, my chest tightening at the unexpected kindness.
Then, his father, the former king, stands beside her. He carries the weight of years of power, but his eyes are filled with curiosity as he regards me.
“So,” he says, his voice deep and commanding but not unkind. “You’re the woman who stole my son’s heart.”
Graham groans, rubbing his temple. “We talked about this, Father. Please—don’t scare her off.”
The entire room erupts into laughter, even Isaac, who up until now had been watching me carefully.
And just like that—I feel at home.
Dinner is filled with stories and laughter, the kind that makes you forget you’re sitting in a castle surrounded by royalty.
Eleanor tells childhood stories about Graham, some of which make him groan and shake his head and others that make me grip his knee under the table, breathless from laughter.
“Graham was always so stubborn,” she says, amused, sipping her wine. “Once, when he was seven, he declared he was running away because he didn’t want to wear formal shoes to a royal event. He packed exactly three cookies and a toy sword and made it all the way to the east gardens before the guards found him.”
I choke on my drink, turning to him in shock. “You ran away because of shoes?”
Graham scowls, reaching for his glass. “They were uncomfortable.”
Isaac snorts, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, please. Tell her the best part.”
Eleanor grins. “He threw the shoes into the palace fountain out of pure spite.”
I burst out laughing, my head falling back, and Graham shook his head, muttering, “I should have left you all behind years ago.”
But even as he pretends to sulk, his hand slides under the table, finding mine.
I freeze slightly, my fingers instinctively curling against his warm, steady touch.
Surprised, I look at him, and he’s already watching me.
Then, without saying a word, he mouths?—
I love you.
My heart clenches, my breath catching.
I squeeze his hand, swallowing the warmth rising in my throat, and mouth it back.
I love you, too.
Halfway through dinner, Eleanor sighs dramatically, setting down her silverware. “All right, let’s get to the important part.”
I blink, confused, as everyone at the table suddenly turns to Graham and me.
“When’s the wedding?” Eleanor asks, completely serious.
I nearly choke on my food. I glance at Graham, but he smirks as if he expected his mother to ask this question. He looks genuinely unperturbed.
Graham laughs, shaking his head. “I haven’t even proposed yet.”
His father scoffs, waving a hand. “Then hurry up. Your brother’s getting married in three months. It would be nice to have a double royal wedding.”
A double royal wedding? My breath catches, and I cough, eyes watering as my brain scrambles to keep up.
“Take it easy, Soph,” Graham says, handing me a glass of water, but I don’t miss the knowing smile on his lips. He’s enjoying this.
I gape, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as everyone laughs like this is just another casual dinner conversation.
Graham chuckles, bringing my hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “You see what I deal with?”
I fail at trying to suppress my laughter and shake my head.
Because, honestly?
I’ve never felt more at home.
Thank you for taking the time to read my book. I hope you enjoyed every page as much as I enjoyed writing it!