𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

42⚚ Hopelessly Hers

Author POV:

The morning came sooner than expected.

Viraj stirred awake, his senses slowly adjusting to the warm sunlight filtering through the curtains. He groaned softly, feeling the slight discomfort of having slept in the same position all night, but the warmth pressed against him made everything else insignificant.

As his vision cleared, his gaze dropped to the little bundle curled up on his chest—his baby.

Amaira was tucked into him like she belonged there, her soft breaths fanning against his skin, her small fingers clutching his hoodie as if afraid he would slip away.

The comforter was loosely draped around them, but it wasn't what kept her warm—he did. She had snuggled so deep into him, her body completely relaxed, her delicate features peaceful and content.

Viraj felt his entire being melt at the sight.

His baby vixen was too much. Too precious. Too damn cute for his already weak heart.

A soft coo left his lips as he reached down to boop her nose with his.

Amaira scrunched up her face in the most adorable pout before whining and burying herself deeper into his chest, clearly not ready to wake up.

Viraj chuckled, his fingers automatically threading through her silky hair, massaging her scalp in slow, soothing motions.

How can someone be so damn cute? he thought, shaking his head with pure adoration.

Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he glanced at the screen—8:00 AM—and nearly sighed. His notifications were flooded with missed calls from his brothers, no doubt about the current situation.

He frowned, torn between duty and the little piece of heaven in his arms.

But as much as he wanted to stay like this forever, Amaira had responsibilities to fulfill as crown princess. If she didn't show up for her duties, the royals would doubt her, and the situation now was bad enough—they didn't need one more problem on their hands.

With a heavy heart, he gently shook her, his voice soft, "Wakey, wakey, my dear baby love."

All he got in response was a muffled hum as Amaira shifted, turning in his arms and nuzzling even closer to his chest.

Viraj let out a breathless laugh, utterly smitten.

"Of course, as always, she's being a little brat about waking up."

Instead of shaking her again, he let his hand roam to the back of her head, patting it gently to soothe her back to sleep for just a little longer.

"Five more minutes," he told himself, tightening his hold around her.

Because even with the world waiting for them, this—her warm, trusting weight against him—was where he truly belonged.

After 10 minutes, he tried again. "Come on, love, you need to get up," he said.

Amaira just let out a small muffled grunt, refusing to leave his warmth. Viraj shook his head with a small smile and slowly lifted her up from his chest, intending to place her on the bed.

But the moment her body lost contact with his, her eyes fluttered open in panic, her brows furrowing. Before he could take a step away, she made grabby hands at him, her lips wobbling as if she were on the verge of tears.

Viraj's heart melted instantly. He panicked, quickly picking her up again. "Ohh, baby angel, I'm here. Shh, don't cry, love," he cooed, rocking her gently in his arms.