“Do you, Zachary Raybourn, take this woman, Esme Hollycombe, to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the chaplain asked. The king’s hospital room was eerily quiet, except for the monotonous beeps of the monitors and the occasional whirr of the heating vents in the ceiling. Not exactly how he’d pictured his wedding day. In fact, Z couldn’t really remember ever thinking about marriage much at all, at least until he’d met Es and they’d struck their deal.

Still, here he was, and they were doing this—all to make the dying king happy.

And maybe because he wanted to make Es happy, too.

“I do,” he said, the words oddly rough in the small room.

She gave him a watery smile as she slid a simple platinum band onto his ring finger, her hands trembling. He held her icy hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze for support. She’d put on such a brave face through all this—handling all the arrangements, making the necessary statements to the media, even graciously dealing with the well-wishers and mourners who’d somehow gotten word about their quickie ceremony and shown up to fill the street outside.

“And do you, Esme Hollycombe, take this man, Zachary Raybourn, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” He was still bemused by the fact she’d written vows for him. They weren’t using them today, of course. Those would come later at their grand spectacle of a royal wedding for the people of Prylea and the press. Today was just for her father. Es exhaled slow and glanced at the medical team who were serving as their witnesses. Z wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her until that glitter of sadness left her eyes, but that wasn’t allowed. Per Es’s insistence, they were public figures now and needed to present a united, and stoic, front to the world during this difficult time.

“I do,” she said, blinking fast as he slid the diamond and platinum wedding ring that had belonged to her mother—a matched set with the ruby engagement ring—onto Es’s finger. From his hospital bed, her father smiled and gave a small nod.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The chaplain closed the small Bible in his hands. “You may kiss your bride.”

Finally, something Z had no hesitancy about. He leaned in slightly and brushed his lips across Es’s, keeping things chaste with all the onlookers watching.

A smattering of applause rang through the small crowd.

“Thank you,” the king said. “You’ve made me a very happy man.”

Z accepted the congratulations of the medical staff and the chaplain and received backslaps and handshakes from his security team members. Es was inundated with kisses and hugs and one of the guards showed her video of the crowd downstairs cheering at the news that their princess was now legally wed.

The king drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter and Z and Es sat by his bedside, a sad vigil for a man whose life was cut far too short by a horrendous disease. The medical staff drifted in and out through the night, checking some things, fiddling with others. Es knitted, the clack of her needles a steady rhythm of comfort and consolation. Around three a.m. the heart rate monitor began to beep more slowly and the king’s breathing grew labored. Es’s grip on her knitting needles became white-knuckled and Z knew the end was near.

The buzz of the staff around the bedside and the call for a crash cart seemed surreal. Z watched it all as if in slow motion, reaching for Es, but she pulled away, her gaze locked on her father in the bed as the team attempted CPR on his stopped heart before using the panels. They shocked him once, twice, each time the king’s body arching off the bed before flopping back down, pale and lifeless.

“Es,” Z said, trying to lead her out of the room, but she pulled away again.

“No. I want to be here. I want to stay.” When at last the doctor called time of death, Es swayed slightly, and this time, when Z slid his arm around her waist to support her, she let him. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “He’s gone and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Z kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, remembering the night his own parents had been killed in the terrorist attack. He’d never gotten to say goodbye to them either, and it was a regret he still carried with him to this day. Still, one of his foster families had told him that his parents knew how much he’d loved them and that they watched over him from heaven. Their death wasn’t really a goodbye because they’d never really left him. They were always with him, in his heart.

“He knows, princess. He knows how much you loved him and that you were here for him until the end,” Z said, holding her closer as she sagged into him, her tears flowing freely now that they were alone with her father’s body. The medical staff had quietly filed out to give them a moment. “He knows how brave you were, how strong. How capable. He died a happy man because of you, princess.”

Es turned her face into his chest and sobbed. Z held her close, his heart aching for her, this woman who meant so much to him. By this point, he wasn’t sure how he’d leave her when the time came. He wasn’t supposed to care, he knew that. It wasn’t part of their deal. He was supposed to stay until the baby was born then return to his SEAL team. That’s what he’d wanted, what he’d lived for. But now…

As he rocked Es slowly, stroking her soft hair and murmuring words of solace in her ear, he started to realize that things had changed for him. He’d changed. Es and their baby had worked their way deep into his heart, and they both now mattered to him far more than he’d ever expected. More than his past, more than his SEAL team, more than his need for control and his fear of being left behind.

“It’ll be all right, princess,” he whispered. “Maybe not now, but it will be, I promise.”

The slight swell of her baby bump pressed against his stomach and Z smiled, despite the situation. Hoping to lift her spirits a bit, Z asked, “Do you think the baby will be allergic to strawberries, like you and your father were?”

Es sniffled and lifted her head, frowning. “What?”

Z tilted his head slightly, cupping her cheeks to swipe away her tears with his thumbs. “The baby. Do you think he’ll be allergic to strawberries, like you and your father?”

“I don’t know.” Es shook her head. “Maybe. I suppose he could be. Such things are genetic, but I don’t think I’m really allergic.”

“Really?” Z cocked a brow at her. “So all the hives and itchiness is normal then?”

She bit her lip, but not before he saw a slight smile. Mission accomplished. Warmth and affection soared inside him. “Fine. I may have a slight allergy. And I know what you’re doing, trying to make me feel better. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He kissed her again, sweetly, before one of the staff ducked their head into the room. “We need to go.”

While Es said her final goodbyes to her father, Z packed up her knitting and gathered their things. As they walked out of the hospital suite for the last time, heading toward the back entrance that Z had had his security team prepare earlier for their departure, he kept his arm around Es. It was as much for his own need to feel her near him as to support and comfort her.

She looked far too pale for his liking. If he didn’t think she’d raise an unholy fuss, he’d just as soon carry her down to their waiting limo in his arms, but he knew Es would have none of that, strong woman that she was.

There’d be tough days ahead, with her father’s funeral to plan and Silvester still lurking about. None of that mattered to Z at present. All he wanted right now was to get his wife and baby home to the palace where they could eat and rest and mourn in peace.