Page 31 of Bred By The King

He settles behind me, his massive body cradling mine, his hand resting on my belly. I lean back against his chest and sigh.

“I love you,” I say softly.

“I love you too, wife. Even when you’re crying about pillows.”

“Especially then?”

“Especially then.” He kisses my hair. “I love all of you. The fierce warrior. The passionate lover. The pregnant woman who needs matching pillows. All of it. Every piece.”

I turn my head and kiss him, slow and deep. His hand slides from my belly to my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple through my nightgown. I moan, pushing into his touch.

“Soren…”

“Let me,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

He makes love to me slowly, carefully, surrounded by pillows and soft bedding and candlelight. It’s gentle and sweet and so full of love I think my heart might burst.

After, he holds me, his hand on my belly, feeling our daughter kick.

“She likes it,” he whispers.

“Of course she does.” I smile, burying my face in his neck. “She has good taste. Like her mama.”

“And her daddy.”

“And her daddy.”

We fall asleep in the softness, wrapped in each other, surrounded by gold pillows and love.

Perfect.

Twenty Six

LAYLA

We have our first real fight two months after the wedding.

It starts stupid. This kinda thing always starts stupid. Soren comes back from a border patrol. He’s been gone for three days, checking on the villages near the old conflict zone, and I’m hormonal and emotional and missed him so much I cried into my soup last night.

“You didn’t send a message,” I say the second he walks through the door.

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “I did. I sent two.”

“Two messages in three days? That’s it?”

He sighs, eyes turning soft. “I was busy, Layla. I was making sure our people were safe.”

“Our people.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Or your people? Because last I checked, I’m still the southern queen in a northern palace. And when you disappear for three days without telling me if you’re alive or dead, I get to worry.”

His jaw tightens. “I was doing my job.”

“Your job is to be my husband too. Your job is to not make me cry because I’m terrified something happened to you.”

He stupid, sexy mouth twitches. “You cried?”

“That’s not the point, Soren!”

The sexy grin spreads. Fuck me. “It kinda is, baby.”