The castle was still dark when Alexandra woke.
For one blissful second she lay in the soft hush of Christmas morning, the pre-dawn light a faint blue glow behind the curtains, Erin’s arm heavy and warm across her waist. The fire in their suite had burned down to embers, leaving the room comfortably cool.
Alexandra inhaled deeply — pine from the garland over the mantle, lavender from Erin’s skin, a drifting hint of the cinnamon biscuits the children had left for Santa.
This, she thought, is Christmas.
She turned her head slowly. Erin was still sleeping, face soft and unguarded in a way Alex never saw during the day. She always forgot how young Erin looked while asleep. How peaceful with her lovely dark hair loose on the pillow.
How heartbreakingly beautiful.
Alex reached out and gently traced a fingertip along Erin’s cheekbone. Erin stirred but didn’t wake. Her brows knitted slightly, then smoothed.
Alex smiled.
But the serenity lasted exactly three seconds.
A thundering set of footsteps tore down the corridor.
Then —
“MUMMY! MUMMY! IT’S CHRISTMAS!!”
The door burst open so hard it hit the stopper.
Three small bodies launched onto the bed like missile fire: Matilda first, then Frank with astounding velocity, then Florence who, despite being the smallest, somehow managed to land on top of both her siblings in a tangle of giggling limbs.
Erin shot upright as if the mattress had exploded.
Alex nearly laughed at the contrast: her fierce former-bodyguard wife, jolted awake by three tiny humans in reindeer pyjamas.
“Merry Christmas!” Matilda declared, bouncing up and down on her knees.
“It’s morning!” Frank announced. “We checked the clock. It said five-something, but five is morning!”
“It is very early,” Erin croaked, rubbing her face, her lovely green eyes looked tired.
Florence shoved a present-shaped pillow into Erin’s lap. “Can we open stockings now? Santa came! I heard him!”
“You heard Juno snoring,” Alex corrected with a gentle smile.
Juno, sprawled on the rug by the fireplace, snored again as if in confirmation.
Before Alex could gather the children into a reasonable sitting position, a small knock sounded at the door.
Then Hyzenthlay appeared, clutching her stuffed rabbit by the ear and offering a solemn nod.
“It is technically morning,” Hyz said. “The sun is not up, but parent-waking protocols allow for exception on Christmas.”
Alex fought a grin. “Well, if the protocols allow it.”
Erin muttered something suspiciously like, “My kingdom for twenty more minutes.”
But Alex caught her eye — and in Erin’s expression was the same feeling blooming in her chest: exhaustion, yes, but something far deeper. Something warm and full.
Love.
“Come here, darling,” Alex said, beckoning Hyz onto the bed.
