I don’t waste a second.
“Morning or night person?”
“Night,” he answers immediately. “The kingdom is quiet then. I can think. But I don’t sleep too much either way, so I’m up early as well.”
“How many hours do you sleep?”
“Four.”
“Four?!”
“On a good night.”
“Agoodnight?” I say, staring at him in horror. “Oh my gods, you’re going to think I’m hibernating. I can sleep ten hourseasy.”
I love how his smiles keep reaching his eyes. He looks so handsome when he’s all stern and king-like, but the relaxed, stress-free version of Alaric is pretty gorgeous too.
“I think I’ll quite enjoy watching you sleep,” he says.
“Oh no,” I say, laughing. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s a lot of twisted blankets, far-flung legs, an open mouth, and lots of drool on the pillow. It’s not pretty. Or very queen-like.”
He grins. “It sounds quite entertaining.”
I let out a dramatic little huff. “Moving on. What do you do when you’re not ruling a kingdom?”
“I’m always ruling a kingdom.”
“Of course,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But when you’re not in king mode.”
He just stares at me.
“When you’re off. When you’re relaxing.”
More blank staring.
“You have to let loose and unwind somehow,” I say. “Do you dance, or play an instrument, or drink with friends? Anything?”
He lets out a long, heavy breath. “Being a king is all I know.”
My heart aches for him. I can see the pain in his eyes. The pressure. The intense burden he holds every second of every day. It must be so hard. I don’t know how a man can handle such strain without being crushed by it.
I make a vow to be that release for him. To help him get in touch with the real Alaric. The man without the ‘King’ title attached to his name. Relaxing a little won’t harm his kingdom. It will make him a more well-rounded, thoughtful, patient ruler.
And it won’t kill him to have a little bit of fun.
“Do you feel lonely as king?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m around people and wolves all of the time.”
“Right…” I lean in, lowering my voice. “But that’s not the same thing, is it? No one talking to you like you’re an equal. No one teasing you or telling you the truth when it’s uncomfortable. Every interaction must feel so…” I search for the word. “Performed.”
His jaw tightens—not defensively, but thoughtfully.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like,” I continue softly. “To walk into a room and know everyone has already decided who they need to be before you even speak.”
