Penelope stared at the miniature rocking horse on her desk, feeling as wooden and lifeless as the toy. She’d been off her game ever since she came back to her old store. Her creative well had run dry; no matter how many new designs she tried to draw up, they all felt joyless and pointless, and they’d all ended up in the trash. Even working the front and seeing the happy kids with their new toys couldn’t cheer her up. She wanted to blame the hormones—the first trimester was no joke—but she knew that was only a tiny part of it. The biggest reason she’d been so listless was sitting halfway across the city in one dusty library or another, carrying on his life as if she’d never been a part of it.

She put a hand on her belly, trying to hold back the tears. She’d made such a mistake when she’d let Simon into her life, into her bed. Now every time she looked at their child she’d see him. She couldn’t bring herself to regret it, though. She missed him with a ferocious sort of grieving anger, but she still wouldn’t give up their time together for anything.

“Miss Penelope Alcott?” came a voice. She jumped and looked up. A bicycle messenger stood in front of her, holding out a manila envelope. “Delivery for you,” he said. “Need you to sign.”

She scribbled her name across the clipboard he provided, frowning at the envelope when he handed it to her. The return address was the Castle’s law office.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was she being recalled? Had the toddler abdicated somehow? For just a second, she let herself imagine it: the life she’d been meant for. She saw herself on the throne, passing legislation and making policy changes that would benefit all the children of her country. She saw herself confident in her abilities. She saw Simon at her side, smiling at her, supporting her.

And that was where the daydream crashed to Earth. Because he wasn’t at her side, would never be again. The paper in her hands wasn’t to remake her as Queen. That life was over. When would she get that through her head?

She tore the envelope open with harsh motions. It was a summons, an order to appear at the law office for a deposition—to answer questions.

She frowned. Had she forgotten to sign something before she left? The summons was for this afternoon, which implied something urgent. She crammed the paper back in the envelope, gathered her bag, and told her staff she’d be back tomorrow.

Penelope arrived at the law office five minutes early and more than a little peeved. She’d had to race traffic to get there on time, especially after having to stop for two puking breaks. Whoever had come up with the term morning sickness had either been delusional or a man, because that shit happened all day every day. Or at least that had been her experience over the last week.

“Excuse me?” she called to the empty front office. “I was ‘summoned’?” She used air quotes even though no one could see her, hoping her tone would convey her irritation.

The door to one of the back offices opened—and Simon strode out.

She gaped at him. The sight knocked the breath out of her: perfectly-tailored Clark Kent suit, adorkable reading glasses, an expression that was half uncertain and half determined. He was sporting a day or two’s worth of stubble and his hair was half an inch longer than he usually let it go between trims. She wanted to run her hands through it. She immediately hated herself for the thought, and wrapped her arms around her ribs just to make sure she wouldn’t reach for him the way she was aching to do.

“You summoned me?” she asked, once she was sure the words would come out icy and not wobbly.

“Penelope,” he said, as if he were helpless to say anything else. That tone, those eyes, that look on his face—it made her want to tuck herself into his chest, and she couldn’t take it. She turned around and strode toward the door. “Wait!” he called after her. “Please. Just give me five minutes. I found something.”

She stopped but didn’t turn around. “What did you find,” she asked, her voice flat.

He moved a little closer. “A way to reinstate you. If that’s what you want.”

Hope flared in her chest, bright and painful. “What?”

“I found an old law. From the seventeenth century, but it’s never been amended, it’s still in effect. It says you inherit before the boy—he can only inherit if you’re not willing and able to be Queen. And Penelope, you have to know, you are much more than able.” He took a breath. “Are you willing?”

She stared at the door, unable to say anything. There was a catch. There had to be. “What about you?” she asked at last. The question hung in the air and she wanted to take it back. She didn’t want him to answer, didn’t want to hear what he had to say. If he rejected her again, she wouldn’t be able to take it. If he wanted her back, she wouldn’t be able to say no, and she had to say no, because he would only want her as a queen and not as his wife.

“I don’t have to be in the picture unless you want me to be,” he said at last. “I’ll disappear if that’s what you really want. But… if you can give me a chance to earn your forgiveness, to earn back a place in your heart, I want to ask you to be my wife. Again.”

She turned.

He hurried on before she could speak. “I wouldn’t be King. I found another old law, a way around the statutes. We could get married and ensure a strong relationship between Escona and Danovar without ever actually making me part of your reign—I’d have no official title, no official role in ruling.”

Speechless, she shook her head. He would give up all of that, everything he wanted? For what? “What would you have?” she asked, trying to figure out his angle. He had to have one. She couldn’t let herself believe otherwise. It was too dangerous.

“You.” His eyes met hers, igniting a line of pure electricity between them. “I want you back,” he said softly, “because you are my home, Penelope. I don’t need a title, or my own land, or a castle. I just need you.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. So this was his angle. He wanted her back, because he loved her, and he was willing to give up everything else he thought he’d wanted for his entire life to get her.

It was a pretty damn good angle.

Unable to hold herself back any longer, she threw herself at him, and he dropped the folder on the ground without a second thought to gather her up in his arms and hold her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry I was such an ass.”

“I’ll forgive you.” She sniffled. “Eventually.”

His chest shook as he laughed. “Fair enough.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure you’re willing to give up being King? Maybe we could… I don’t know, find a way to—”

“No,” he said, firmly but gently. “This is what I want. I’ll have my life of purpose, it’ll just be more flexible than I’d pictured. I’ll be able to support you in whatever role you need me to fill. I’ve never cared about the glory. I don’t mind being behind the scenes. It’s you everyone should be looking at anyway.”

She beamed up at him. Then, unable to deny herself any longer, she slid a hand down his shirt and fiddled with the first button. “What if I want to look at you?”

His grin smoldered, igniting something low in her stomach with a fiery need. “That could be arranged.”

She pushed him back, toward his office. He leaned around her to look at the folder on the floor. “Wait, the papers, we need to get them signed and sent off—” he protested.

“How much time do we have?”

“A few hours.”

She grabbed his tie and smiled. “All the time in the world, my love.”