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No causes, no people. Just the two of them and that farmhouse in Kansas. Walking the land. Tending to vegetables, listening to the wind in the corn, getting dirty beneath the sun and lying out at night to lose themselves in the stars.
Most future kings did not honeymoon on a remote Kansas farm, but then, Cayetano was not most kings. He intended to be the best King Ile d’Montagne had ever had. He meant to split his time between the sea and the mountains. He meant to make his people whole.
A prospect that was only possible because he had Delaney.
He never took her for granted again.
Like all the things he studied, once he’d decided to love her he threw himself into it, body and soul.
“I love you,” he liked to tell her when he woke her in the mornings, even years later, whether they were in their winter palace on the water or their summer castle in the hills. “I love you, little one. More today than yesterday.”
Every day it was true.
“I love you, too,” she would reply, always with that beautiful smile, wrapping herself around him while the morning sun danced in and the island breezes murmured all around them.
The way they’d woken up every morning of that honeymoon, tucked away beneath the eaves in that old farmhouse.
And he took care to love her there, when it was just the two of them. Deeply. Thoroughly. Before their children came bursting in. Before the concerns of the day took hold. Before they became King and Queen again.
First, they loved each other.
Fierce and ferocious, just Cayetano and Delaney.
Forever.
Just the way he’d promised.
