Tied to the Throne

chapter fifty two

The village hummed with life, a steady rhythm of chatter, laughter, and the occasional clang of metal from the blacksmith's forge. Cobblestones warmed under the soft kiss of the late morning sun, and the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the floral sweetness of wildflowers that lined the market stalls.

I held onto Nikolai's arm as we strolled through the busy square, my fingers lightly hooked around his elbow. His presence, steady and assured, grounded me. Around us, villagers bustled, their faces bright with purpose and their voices calling out greetings to us. I smiled at each one, answering their bows with nods and murmured words.

It felt good to be here, among our people, away from the castle's heavy walls and its whispers.

The children, though, were my favorite part of the village. They darted between the stalls, their laughter ringing out like music, cheeks flushed with exertion and joy. Their world was simple, untouched by the burdens of titles or duty. I envied that purity of happiness in a way I hadn't before.

Nik suddenly paused, drawing my attention. A small wooden stall caught his eye, its table scattered with intricate carvings of animals and mythical creatures. He let go of my arm and crouched down, picking up a dragon figurine no bigger than his hand. I could see the curiosity and appreciation on his face as he turned it over, his fingers brushing against the detailed wings.

Before he could speak, a tug at his sleeve stole his attention. A boy, no older than six, stood there, his dirt-smudged face tilted upward, his wide eyes locked on the dragon in Nik's hand.

"Is that a dragon, sir?" the boy asked, his voice small but filled with wonder.

Nik smiled—one of those rare, genuine smiles that could thaw ice. "It is," he said, holding the carving at eye level for the boy to see. "Dragons are powerful, but their strength comes from their heart. A strong heart makes a strong dragon."

The boy's eyes lit up as if Nik had just revealed a secret to him. "I want a strong dragon!" he exclaimed, his voice growing bolder.

Nik crouched lower, handing the dragon to him with a quiet laugh. "Then you must take care of him. Treat him well, and he'll never leave your side."

The boy gripped the carving with both hands, staring at it like it was the most precious treasure in the world. His mother called for him from a nearby stall, and he scampered off, shouting a thank you over his shoulder.

I watched Nik rise, brushing the dust from his knees, and the ache in my chest tightened. It wasn't a sharp pain, not like the one I'd felt all those months ago. This was different—softer, deeper, like the hollow sound of wind rushing through a cavern.

Nikolai, with his easy smile and gentle patience, was made for moments like these. He was good with children, not just in the way he spoke to them but in the way he truly saw them. Every laugh, every question, every tug on his sleeve—he met them all with the same earnestness.

I envied his strength.

And I loved him for it.

He turned back to me, his expression soft. "What?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as he noticed my lingering gaze.

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. "Nothing. You're just good at that."

"At what?"

"Connecting with people," I said, gesturing toward the children who now peeked at us from behind a nearby stall, their giggles betraying their attempts at stealth. "You make it seem easy."

His eyes held mine for a moment before he reached for my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. "They remind me of what's important," he said simply, his thumb brushing against my palm.

We continued walking, the villagers parting to make way as we moved deeper into the market. I caught snippets of conversations, the clink of coins, the shuffle of feet. But my thoughts remained on him—and the children.

My eyes lingered on a group of them playing nearby, their faces bright with joy as they chased each other around a water fountain. One of the girls tripped, her laughter spilling into the air as she was helped up by her brother. The sight sent a pang through me, and I quickly looked away.

It had been months since we lost the baby, but the grief still lingered, an uninvited guest that refused to leave. I'd thought time would dull it, that returning to the village might help. But every time I saw a child smile or heard a laugh like the one I might have known, the ache returned.

I stole a glance at Nik. He didn't talk about it much, not anymore. But I could see it in the way his hand sometimes lingered over mine, in the softness of his voice when he spoke to me in quiet moments. I knew he wanted a family.

And I wanted that too, with him.

But the thought of trying again terrified me. The hope, the fear, the heartbreak—it was too much. Yet, watching him now, his smile so full of life as he waved to another child, I couldn't help but think about what could be.

Nikolai P.O.V

She laughed at something one of the merchants said, the sound warm and rich. I stared, my chest tightening. If I could have bottled that laugh and gotten drunk off it, I would have. It was pure and unguarded, a reminder of everything good in the world.

And then she turned to me, catching me in my thoughts.

"What?" she asked again, her smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I shook my head, trying to hide my embarrassment. "Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I'm admiring," I admitted softly, surprising even myself with the honesty.

Her expression shifted, a mix of amusement and affection. "You've seen me every day for months, Nik. What's there to admire now?"

I let my gaze linger on her a moment longer, taking in every detail—the light in her eyes, the freckles that mapped her face, the way her hair caught the light just right. She didn't look pretty; she looked like art. Imperfect, haunting, and raw. She was the kind of beauty that defied convention, the kind that demanded you look closer, deeper.

"You're gorgeous" I murmured to myself.

She raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, a small laugh escaping me.

But it wasn't nothing. Bell wasn't just my wife; she was my partner, my anchor. And no matter how much the grief tried to consume me, no matter how many nights I cried into her shoulder or sat in silence, lost in my thoughts, she never let me go.

Arabella P.O.V

Maybe one day, we'd try again. Maybe we'd have the family we dreamed of. But for now, this moment—walking through the village hand in hand, surrounded by life—was enough.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt something close to hope.

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