Page 30 of His Forbidden Princess
"You understand what you're sacrificing for this choice?" the king asks Lirien quietly. "The simpler path, the established alliance, the unquestioned acceptance of the nobility?"
"I understand what I'm gaining," she responds, her shoulder pressing against mine. "A partnership based on love and respect. A consort who sees me clearly and values me completely. A chance to rule with my heart intact."
The king sighs, but there's a glimmer of pride beneath his exasperation. "You are too much like your mother." He rises again, approaching us. "Captain Vorex—or Lord Vorex, as I suppose you'll soon be styled—I entrusted my daughter's safety to you seven years ago. Now it seems I'm entrusting her happiness as well. See that you guard both with equal vigilance."
I drop to one knee before him, head bowed in genuine gratitude and renewed allegiance. "With my life, Your Majesty."
"Rise," he commands. "That's the last time you'll kneel to me if you're to be my daughter's consort. From now on, you stand beside her."
I rise unsteadily, my wounded leg protesting, but Lirien's hand on my arm steadies me. As it always will, I realize with wonder.
"The formal announcements will take time," the king continues. "There will be resistance, adjustments, compromises to be made. Are you prepared for that battle, Captain? It may prove fiercer than any you've faced with sword and shield."
"Any battle fought with her is one worth winning, Your Majesty." I look at Lirien, finding strength in her unwavering gaze. "And I have never been afraid of a fight."
The king nods, seemingly satisfied. "Then I will leave you to begin planning your new future. Together." He eyes Lirien pointedly. "With appropriate chaperones until the formal betrothal, of course."
Lirien smiles, the expression lighting her entire face. "Of course, Father."
He departs with his remaining guards, leaving us alone in the vast throne room—the place where Lirien will one day rule, where I will one day stand beside her as consort rather than sentinel.
"Did that just happen?" I ask quietly, still unable to fully believe our sudden reprieve, our unexpected victory.
"It did." She turns to face me fully, her hands coming up to frame my face. "Are you ready for this new duty, Captain? To be my partner, my confidant, my king in all but name?"
I cover her hands with mine, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she's offering, what she's fought for, what she's won against all odds.
"I have only ever wanted to serve you, Lirien," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. "Whether as your guard or your consort, my purpose remains the same—to protect you, to support you, to love you until my last breath."
She rises on tiptoe, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that feels like both benediction and promise. When she pulls back, her eyes shine with tears and determination.
"Then serve as my husband, Dain Vorex. Serve as my love. Serve as the man who taught a princess that duty without heart is no duty at all, but merely a cage with golden bars."
I pull her against me, propriety be damned, holding her as I've longed to hold her for years—openly, without shame or secrecy. The road ahead will not be easy. There will be resistance, resentment, obstacles at every turn. But we have already faced impossible odds and emerged victorious.
"My princess," I whisper against her hair. "My queen. My heart."
She smiles against my chest, her arms tightening around me. "Not just a princess anymore. Not just a duty or a crown or a political asset." She lifts her face to mine, eyes shining with a future now possible. "A woman who chooses. A queen who loves. Yours, as you are mine."
And in that moment, in that promise, we are both finally, completely free.
epilogue
. . .
One year later
Lirien
The coronetno longer pinches my temples like it used to. Strange how a year can transform the weight of duty into something almost comfortable—like the way Dain's eyes follow me across every room, heavy with protection and possession. My husband. My bodyguard. Soon, my king. The words still catch in my throat sometimes, sweet and impossible as honey.
I catch his gaze across the council chamber as the ministers drone on about trade agreements. Dain stands at his usual post by the wall, refusing the chair that's rightfully his as my consort. Even now, after the vows and the nights tangled in royal sheets, he positions himself as sentinel rather than royalty. Some habits of fifteen years don't break easily. Some, I've learned, don't need to.
The meeting finally concludes with shuffling papers and bowing heads. I rise, and Dain is instantly at my elbow, his palmhovering just above the small of my back—not quite touching me in public, but close enough that I feel the heat of him through my gown.
"You're frowning, Princess," he murmurs as we exit, his voice for me alone.
I am still "Princess" to him, even though in private he's called me by my name for months now. In public, though, he maintains the formality, the distance—as if titles can somehow negate the fact that he's seen every inch of me, claimed every part.
