Late that night, after Leo had finally succumbed to a sugar crash and Isabella had retired to her quarters, William and Victoria sat on the plush rug in front of the roaring fire.
Outside, the world was silent and dark, but inside, the firelight cast a golden glow over them. William poured two glasses of vintage wine.
“To the Lioness,” he toasted, clinking his glass against hers. “Who saved the company.”
“To the Protector,” she countered softly. “Who saved the family.”
They drank, the wine warm and rich. William set his glass down and pulled her into his arms. The intimacy was deep and unhurried, a stark contrast to the stolen moments during the war with Arthur.
“I was thinking,” William whispered, tracing the line of her jaw. “This place… it’s big. Too big for just one child.”
Victoria looked up at him, her eyes widening. “Are you suggesting we expand the dynasty?”
“I’m suggesting,” William kissed her, slow and deep, “that I don’t want Leo to be alone. And I want to experience a pregnancy where I’m not fighting for my life. I want to do it right.”
Victoria smiled, pulling him down onto the rug. “I think that sounds perfect.”
It was the happiest moment they had ever shared–a peak of absolute joy, suspended in time, far above the problems of the world below.