A Royal Remarriage

Chapter 27 ~ salt and silence

The beach house was exactly what they needed—quiet, secluded, kissed by sea breeze and sunlight. Its wide verandas faced the horizon, and the walls breathed with the scent of driftwood and linen. The ocean was never silent, but its rhythm was soothing, like a lullaby only nature could compose.

Victoria stood barefoot on the porch the next morning, one hand resting gently on the soft curve of her growing belly. The sky was painted in faint orange and pink, and the early light danced across the waves like it was trying to reach her. She could hear Henry in the kitchen behind her, fiddling with something—maybe coffee, or breakfast, though she had little appetite lately.

"You're up early," he called out, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I couldn't rest," she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The baby's been kicking since dawn. Either it's practicing ballet, or we're going to have a very energetic child."

Henry chuckled, stepping into view with two mugs in hand. He handed her one, the warmth seeping into her skin. "Probably takes after you. You were practically a hurricane when we met."

She smirked at that, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't mind the hurricane back then."

"I still don't," he said softly, kissing her temple.

They sat on a padded bench overlooking the sea, the coffee forgotten as they watched the waves roll in. For a while, the silence between them was peaceful.

But peace never lasted long.

Later that afternoon, Victoria wandered through the halls of the house, running her fingers along old wooden railings and windowpanes warped ever so slightly by salt and time. Each room was soaked in light and memories yet to be made. But in the master bedroom, where gauzy curtains fluttered like whispers, she found Henry standing motionless by the window.

He didn't turn when she entered. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched.

"Henry?" she asked gently.

He blinked and finally looked over at her, as if surfacing from somewhere far away. "Sorry. I was... thinking."

"You've been doing that a lot lately." She crossed the room to him, placing a hand on his back. "You've been different since we met that man."

Henry's face twitched. "It's nothing. He just reminded me of a time I thought I'd left behind."

"Nothing about your nightmares feels like nothing." Her voice was calm, but laced with concern. "You cry out in your sleep, sometimes I can't even wake you."

He turned to her, guilt swimming in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Vic. I didn't want to bring that darkness here."

"But you did," she said gently, resting her forehead against his chest. "And you don't have to face it alone."

Henry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. The ocean wind sighed through the open window.

That evening, they walked along the shoreline, the sky above them deepening into lavender and dusk. Victoria leaned on him as they strolled slowly, their footprints fading behind them in the sand.

"I want this to work," she murmured.

"It will," he whispered. "We've already built a kingdom. Now it's time to build a home."

She smiled, despite the storm that still lingered behind his eyes.

And as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Henry looked back at the house—beautiful, peaceful, isolated—but something about it felt too quiet, too still. Like something was waiting.

Watching.