CHAPTER 118: RELEASING HER KNIGHTS

–Laura–

My babies are perfectly healthy in my first trimester. Exercise a little, walk, eat healthy, sleep well? Damn—this feels like a vacation. Meanwhile, my future hubby? He’s the one looking stressed, like he’s carrying the weight of three countries and a planet on his back. I feel a little bad for him... but not too bad, because he assists me in everything.

Right now, he’s still working. My sister Livana is helping him too, though she prefers to work alone in her study—doors closed, "disturb me and die" energy radiating through the walls. Damien? He practically hibernated today. I even called in a masseuse and a therapist to work the knots out of his stiff muscles—though I take care of the stiffest muscle. My favorite part. Just thinking about it made me grin.

I did wonder if he’d get all flustered with the masseuse, but turns out the masseuse is a blind man in his forties. The other therapist, also blind, is their lead. We have our driver pick them up specially. It wasn’t just Damien who got pampered—Sophia, Kai, Deanne, Jane, and the others got their turn too.

By the time it hit eight in the evening, my beloved fiancé was still asleep—naked under a thin cover. I set a tray on the table, padded over, and sat beside him. My palm slid over his chest, and he hummed low before catching my hand. His eyes blinked open, warm and lazy, and he smiled at me.

"Good evening, my gorgeous bestie," I teased, grinning. "I brought dinner." I leaned down, smothering his face in kisses until he kissed me back. God, he tasted like warm skin and the faint tang of mint. He smelled like comfort and heat. It made me instantly, embarrassingly aroused.

"Make love to me," I whispered.

He froze, hands gripping my shoulders as if I’d just threatened world peace.

"Laura," he sighed, "I love you. I’ll spoil you for the rest of my life, I swear. But right now? We can’t make love." His voice dropped to that deep, serious tone. "My manhood... you know it’s bigger than average, and I’m not risking our babies just because their mother’s feeling frisky."

I pouted. "You’re no fun."

"I’m protective," he corrected, slipping away to the other side of the bed. In a blink, he was in a robe, body all covered up like I was some scandalous stranger.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. He wanted it, I knew it. If I wasn’t pregnant, he’d have me trapped in this bedroom for days. If I got my hands on him right now, I’d make him give in.

I squinted at him as he sat at the table, perfectly composed, sipping from his goblet. "Will you eat me later?" I asked sweetly.

He choked on the water. I tilted my head, all innocent. "Are you okay?"

He didn’t answer, so I just grinned and stood. "I’m gonna take a bath and pamper myself."

I turned on the music in the bathroom, leaving the door open—just enough for him to see me. I couldn’t wait for our honeymoon. In a week, I’d be in my second trimester, and the doctor did say it’d be safer to have sex then. But of course, my man would still worry like I’m made of glass.

I heard him call that he was heading downstairs—probably to take the dishes back. I took my time drying my hair, rubbing lotion into every inch of my skin. When he still hadn’t returned, my mood soured.

Putting on my negligee and robe, I went downstairs... only to find him in the living room, yelling and cursing at the boys over a video game.

From the loft above, I glared daggers. "Damien." No reaction.

I sighed, slipped off one fluffy slipper, and launched it like a missile. It smacked him square in the back.

The boys froze, heads whipping toward me like soldiers spotting their general. Someone quickly yanked the controller out of Damien’s hands.

I took my other slipper and nailed him again. My glare was ice-cold. "You can sleep on the sofa."

David snorted. "Oh, damn, bro. You’re not even married yet and this is already a taste of marriage."

I turned on my bare heel and left without another word. Yeah, he could sleep there.

–Livana–

The day had been a long, unbroken thread of ink, paper, and decisions. I completed the last of my backlog, my fingers brushing over the raised dots of braille as I cross-checked each transcription against its computerized counterpart. Every letter mattered; even a misplaced dot could change the meaning entirely. My fingertips lingered on signatures, the subtle impressions of my pen confirming my final approval.

The air carried the faint tang of paper dust and warm ink from the printer—a scent I had grown to associate with control. Numbers in payrolls, balances in financial reports... none of them could be left unchecked. A missing decimal could be the whisper that unravels an empire.

Through the muted murmur of the building, I’d often catch the familiar cadence of my father’s voice or the crisp lilt of Aunt Casey’s laughter echoing in the hall. Frequent visitors to the boardroom. Frequent schemers. I knew without seeing them that their smiles hid sharpened intentions. My mother’s safeguards were our fortress: only Laura and I could hold the reins of this company until we named a successor.

I set my pen down and leaned back into my chair, the headrest cradling me. My closed eyes drank in the darkness that had always been my world. Resting them was ritual, not necessity, but the gesture soothed me. Laura deserved a break from this weight, yet... part of me thrived in the quiet chess game of leadership.

A knock interrupted the hush. Solid wood. Three deliberate raps, each spaced evenly. The door was locked—always locked—but my desk’s control panel gave me both sight through the camera feed and the choice to grant entry.

On the screen’s audio feed, I heard the faint scrape of shoes shifting, the rhythmic sound of someone leaning and straightening. Damien. His breathing was heavier than usual, carrying the faint scent of sweat and wind as I pressed the release.

"Liva!" His voice was warm and too loud for the quiet room, the sound rushing toward me like an eager tide. His steps shifted to my right, measured but with the prowling energy of a predator closing in. Then his warmth enveloped me—his arms looping around me from the side, the scent of his cologne settling into my air like a soft signature.

"I’m tired," he murmured, his voice holding the plaintive weight of a child seeking comfort.

I let out a small, knowing chuckle as he eased my chair away from the desk. His knees brushed the carpet, and then his face rested against my lap, arms tightening around my waist.

"Let’s just make love and sleep. Can we do that?"

"I have work to finish," I replied, my tone steady, the edges of my words deliberate.

"The venues are now settled. We can pick wherever you want."

"Perfect." My hand found his hair—thick, slightly mussed, strands sliding between my fingers like dark silk. "We’ll talk about it soon." My voice lowered, carrying the weight of a shift in topic. "About Caine."

"Hmm?"

"We can’t locate him."

His head lifted sharply, the motion stirring the air against my skin. "Ha?"

"There was an incident in Rhode Island. An ambush. He recovered the item, but the last they tracked, he was somewhere at sea. I’m... concerned."

"I gotta go there." His voice shifted instantly, sharp with resolve.

"There’s no need," I cut in, still gentle but leaving no room for debate. "I’ve already sent the Knights."

"Babe, Caine is my best friend and—"

"The wedding is in three days," I said calmly, as if it were the most unshakable truth in the room. "Calm yourself."

The silence between us stretched, broken only by his slow exhale.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, the word warm against the quiet.

My phone vibrated against the desk, the hum resonating through the wood before the chime followed. The tone I had set for the Knights—low, steady, and distinct—meant only one thing.

It must be news of Caine.

I had sent them to track him, to confirm he was alive. I could not—would not—let him die. Not under my watch. Now that my husband and I had committed to rekindling each empire, we were bound to guard one another as fiercely as the thrones we sat upon. The air between our families had once been thick with poison, decades of bad blood staining every alliance, every glance. But this time, I would not allow history to repeat itself—especially not by the hands of manipulators who thrived in the shadows of our distrust.

I accepted the call, bringing the phone close enough to feel the faint warmth against my cheek.

"Speak."

"Your Majesty," came the clear, crisp tone of one of the Knights’ commanders. His voice was like steel—measured, precise. "We’ve found Caine’s boots. The tracker on them was damaged beyond use. We’re still attempting to locate him."

"Did you also release the dogs?" My voice was calm, but my fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

"Yes."

"Find him as soon as possible."

"As you wish."

The line went dead with the faint click of finality, leaving the room wrapped once more in the still air of calculation and resolve.