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As ever, Queen Francesca knew how to claim a throne even when it was a pew. She knew how to sit so that there was no doubt whose Cathedral this was. Whose kingdom.

God, he loved her.

Her hair was still that strawberry blond, though there were lighter pieces here and there these days that told him that when she finally went white, she would be even more beautiful to him.

Though he wasn’t sure how that could be possible, when she still had the ability to stop his heart with a glance.

And Saviero knew that when all the pomp and circumstance of this day was done, and they waved their son off to begin this next phase of his life, he and Cesca would retreat to that same wing that had been theirs for so long now and lock themselves away in the two bedchambers they had long ago remodeled into one.

He would take down her hair, take off her clothes, and remind them both who they really were when they were out of the public eye.

Husband and wife, joined together by love.

On Christmas Day and every day.

And as the bride began her long walk down the aisle, and the groom turned to look at her—clearly fighting the emotion that swamped him—Prince Saviero of Liandero looked at his wife, his Queen, and mouthed, I love you.

Not caring at all who saw him.

Just as long as she did.

Because one lifetime wasn’t going to be nearly enough, Saviero had decided. And he did not intend to lose her.

So forever would have to do.

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