Even in jeans and a jumper, with a smudge of something suspiciously chocolatey on her sleeve from hoisting Frank earlier, she radiated alertness. Her gaze kept flicking to the window, to the fire, to the corridor beyond, measuring.
Alexandra watched her and felt a familiar mix of feelings: gratitude, desire, a flicker of frustration she hated herself for.
Six years in, and she still couldn’t switch it off.
“You’re staring,” Julia murmured.
Alexandra glanced up. Julia was watching her over the top of her papers, eyes sharp, a small smile playing around her mouth.
“Am I?” Alex asked mildly. She hadn’t meant to say that much aloud.
“A little,” Julia said. “Don’t worry, she’s still very much in love with you. I checked.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like you ran her through a diagnostic.”
“I did,” Julia said. “It’s called ‘asking her how she is.’ You should try it. Preferably in a room where no one is trying to catapult themselves onto the curtain rail.”
As if on cue, Matilda and Frank launched themselves from the armchair toward an ottoman, shrieking. Erin’s head snapped around.
“Feet on the floor!” she called.
“But we’re defending the castle,” Matilda protested.
“Castles have stairs, not trampolines,” Erin said automatically.
Alex’s smile tugged wider despite herself. She shifted, tucking one knee under her, and reached for the mug of tea resting on the low table beside her.
The lights cut out for half a second, dropping the room into darkness.
Four small voices inhaled at once. Erin was on her feet before the power snapped back, lamp and fairy lights flickering to life again.
“That,” Vic said, hand over her heart, “was rude.”
Matilda turned in a slow circle, eyes wide. “Did the castle blink?”
“The electrics are just having a little think,” Alexandra said lightly, keeping her voice calm. She was used to power cuts; the palace wasn’t immune to the quirks of Victorian wiring. Balmoral was even older. “Nothing to worry about.”
“It’s the snow,” Hyzenthlay said, as if confirming something it had told her personally. “It’s getting heavier. It wants us to pay attention.”
“The snow would like to mind its own business,” Vic muttered, already reaching for her phone. “I’m going tocheck with Patel. If the backup generators don’t kick in properly?—”
“Vic,” Julia interrupted gently. “It was a flicker, not the apocalypse.”
“You’re all so blasé,” Vic said. “If the lights go out halfway through the triplets’ pageant, I’m holding the national grid personally responsible.”
“You can send them a sternly worded letter,” Alexandra said. “That always terrifies infrastructure.”
She caught Erin’s eye across the room. For a moment, their gazes hooked, an electric connection all their own. The line of Erin’s shoulders eased a millimetre. Alex felt it like a hand on her chest.
Maybe now, she thought. Maybe if they can keep the children all in one room for ten minutes, and Vic is busy threatening the power company, and Julia is here to supervise… maybe now.
She rose to her feet, smoothing her jumper down out of habit. The motion drew Erin’s attention; her wife’s eyes followed the movement, dark and intent.
Alex crossed the room, stepping around scattered toys and a discarded sock. Vic was pacing near the fireplace, muttering about surge protectors. Julia was saying something about contingency candles. The children had apparently decided the flicker was part of a game and were now crawling under furniture “searching for the dragon.”
“My love,” Alexandra said quietly as she reached Erin. “How’s the perimeter?”
Erin’s mouth twitched. “Snowy,” she said. “Cold. Largely uninterested in staging a coup, but I don’t trust it.”
