The Wild Villa becomes more than a secret getaway, it becomes a soft cocoon, spun from laughter, lazy sunrises, and the quiet rhythms of love. I didn't know I could feel this deeply.
Cassian spoils me shamelessly.
Jewelry boxes wrapped in satin ribbons appear beside my pillow in the morning; delicate anklets, pearl-studded hairpins, tiny heart-shaped charms that he claims symbolize "his girls", me and the one growing inside me.
He orders the palace chefs to deliver special meals daily, each one tailored to my newest craving: guava and spice soup, lemon pastries dipped in honey, and once, roasted yams with melted cheese and sugared nuts. A strange mix, but the baby seems to approve.
At night, we walk the garden under the moonlight, his hand constantly resting on my lower back or cradling my palm like it's the most precious thing he owns.
"This place suits you," he says one evening, watching me stretch lazily on the soft swing chair. "If I could trap time here, I would."
I smile, tilting my head against his shoulder. "Maybe one day, we'll bring Ray here. Teach him how to climb that mango tree the way you used to."
He stiffens slightly. I bite my lip. The mention of Ray. Still unspoken between us, my first child… his child. But not tonight. Tonight is about joy.
A few days later, Esther whispers something in my ear after breakfast, her face radiant with mischief.
"You have guests."
I turn, confused.
And then I see them.
Mama. Papa.
My throat tightens as I rush to the door, the sight of them dissolving me instantly. I haven't hugged them since the accident, since the last storm that nearly took me. Their faces are older, eyes softer, and proud.
Cassian stands a little behind them, grinning like a schoolboy.
"You brought them here?" I whisper.
He nods. "I thought you'd want them to hear it from you."
I lead them into the living room like a little girl showing off her dollhouse. Esther serves them hibiscus tea and sweet melon slices. We sit around the firepit, talking about Ray, about the state of the fields, about Mama's garden that's been overtaken by lavender.
When the laughter fades into a lull, I reach for Mama's hand.
"There's something I've been keeping," I say, my voice trembling with warmth.
Her eyes search mine. My father's brow rises.
I guide her hand gently to my stomach.
"I'm with child again."
Mama gasps, her lips parted in disbelief. Papa's eyes glisten instantly; those quiet, gentle eyes that rarely betray emotion.
Cassian speaks next. "She didn't want to say anything until she was sure. But now… we want you to be part of this joy with us."
Mama clutches me tightly, rocking slightly as if the news breaks something heavy inside her. "You've always been a light, Celeste. This child… this blessing… you deserve it. Both of you."
Papa stands to embrace me, then Cassian. "You've done well, son," he says with the voice of a man giving something he once withheld, trust, perhaps.
We spend the rest of the day walking the villa grounds together; my family, now whole in a way that brings tears to my heart. Mama insists on cooking a special soup from home, and Esther helps her in the kitchen, both of them laughing like sisters.
At sunset, as Cassian lays his head in my lap and listens to my parents' quiet chatter, I look out across the golden hills and whisper a prayer.
Let this peace last. Let it hold.
Because at this moment, I am not just a crown princess or a law scholar or the girl from Riverline. I am something new.
A mother again. A wife. A woman full of quiet hope.
***
The dawn arrives in soft pastels; pale gold bleeding into powder and pink, casting a gentle glow through the vine-covered windows of the Wild Villa. I wake to the hush of the wind whispering through the pines, and for a moment I wonder if I'm still dreaming.
Cassian lies beside me, one arm draped across my waist. His fingers trace lazy circles on my side, and I feel the steady rise and fall of his breath against my back. Our two-year-old routine of restless sleep has become something tender and new: shared warmth, quiet reassurance in the night.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, and pad across the cool wooden floor to the wide veranda. The air is crisp, scented with dew and wildflowers. Below, the garden hills roll into the horizon, and beyond that, the kingdom seems suspended between dream and day.
Suddenly, I feel Cassian's presence behind me, silent, familiar. His arms slide around my middle, and his cheek rests against my bare shoulder.
"Good morning," he whispers.
I lean back into him, closing my eyes. "Good morning," I reply, letting the silence stretch like a soft blanket around us.
We stand like that, swaying almost imperceptibly as the first birdsong rises. I rest my hand over his, our fingers entwining just above the small swell of my stomach.
"Can you believe it?" I murmur, half to myself. "In a few months, we'll hold this child in our arms."
He kisses the curve of my neck. "I've waited for this moment my entire life," he says quietly. "You and I both, Celeste."
I turn then, facing him. Our eyes meet in the gentle dawn light. I can see hope shining there, clear and unwavering. I press my palms to his chest, feeling the strength in the rise of his heart.
"I'm scared," I admit, surprising myself with honesty. "I've spent so long protecting everyone else; Ray, my parents, you. I've hidden my own heart so carefully. Now… I'm terrified of losing this too."
His thumbs brush away tears I didn't know I'd shed. "You won't lose it," he says. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "And even if a storm comes, we'll face it together. Like we always have."
His words steady something inside me. I trace the line of his jaw, memorizing the faint shadow of stubble. "I love you," I whisper. "All of you."
He smiles, that slow, knowing smile he gives only me. "And I love you. All of you." He dips his head to kiss me; soft, reverent, as though discovering a hidden treasure.
I melt into him, letting the moment stretch. No palace intrigue. No Queen's curses. No hidden identities. Just Cassian's arms, the morning's hush, and the promise of the child inside me.
Later, after breakfast, just a simple meal of fresh fruit and warm bread, we find a quiet spot by the lily pond at the edge of the garden. Cassian leads me by the hand until we reach a bench carved from oak, where wild roses creep up its legs. He sits, pulls me close, and tucks his chin into my hair.
"I wanted to give you something," he says softly. From his cloak, he draws a small, dark leather-bound journal. "For you to write in. Thoughts, dreams, prayers, anything. For this child."
My heart clenches. He knows me so well. I accept the journal with trembling fingers, opening it to find the first page already inscribed:
"For our little blossom, may these pages hold the story of your beginning, written with a mother's love and a father's hope.
Tears blur my vision. I press the book to my chest. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick. "I'll treasure it always."
He kisses my temple. "And when the time is right, you can share every word with our family."
I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling the quiet thrum of his heartbeat. In that moment, the world beyond the garden fades to nothing but distant echoes. I am not a princess under siege, nor a secret-keeper with a hidden son. I am simply Celeste; loved, hopeful, and ready to open my heart.
As mid-morning drifts toward noon, the veils of dawn finally lift. We return to the villa, where Esther has already packed our things. Soon, his car and driver will arrive to take us back to the palace, back to duty and duty's shadows.
But before we go, Cassian stands and pulls me into his arms one last time. His lips brush mine in a promise: we will protect this family. We will cherish this child. We will face whatever comes, together.
I rest my hand on my belly and on his chest, feeling the warmth of both our hearts beating in tandem.
"Together," I echo.
And in that quiet, golden morning light, the world seems full of possibility again. The fear and uncertainty fade, replaced by a gentle, unbreakable trust.
This is our secret sunrise, our unspoken vow. And as we step into the car that carries us home, I know one thing for certain:
We are ready. Together.