Page 94 of Crowned

“Gotcha!” I say with a grin, lifting her up high.

“Nooooooo!” she wails dramatically, but her eyes are sparkling with laughter.

“I’m the butterfly now!” I declare, spinning in a circle with her in my arms, earning another shriek of delighted protest.

“Baba Bhodi,” she giggles, “you’re so silly.”

“I’m not silly,” I protest, giving her a mock glare. “I’mseriousabout protecting my butterflies.”

Her response is a grin that could light up the world. “Okay, Baba Butterfly.”

I set her down gently, and she runs back around the garden, already searching for the next butterfly to chase. I shake my head, grinning.

It’s moments like these – these simple, joyful, wild moments – that remind me why I’ve fought so hard. For the kingdom. For Malia. For this family.

I glance toward Malia, who is standing by the great oak tree, watching us with a smile on her face. Her eyes lock with mine, and I give her a grin of my own. She’s the one who brought all of us together, who rebuilt this kingdom from the ground up.

As I look back at Rhea and Artemis, who are now teaming up against imaginary enemies, I feel my heart swell. This is the life I’ve chosen. This is the life I’ll fight for. Forever.

The scent of roasted herbs and honeyed bread fills the dining room, mingling with the sound of laughter and the clatter of dishes. The long oak table is filled with platters of food, glowing softly under the warm candlelight. This isn’t a feast for the court, or one of Malia’s grand events – it’s something far better. It’s just us.

Rhea is the first to speak. She’s always the first to do anything. “Papi Reef, can I have another roll, please?” she asks, her eyes wide with determination.

I raise an eyebrow and look at the stack of bread already piled on her plate. “Rhea, are you sure you’ve got room? That’s your third one.”

“I’m in training,” she says with utmost seriousness, her small hands gripping the edge of the table like she’s ready to launch into a debate. “I need strength to fight Baba Bhodi tomorrow.”

A low chuckle rumbles from across the table, where Bhodi shakes his head. “You’ll need more than bread for that, little warrior.”

Rhea narrows her eyes at him, but before she can retort, I slide another roll onto her plate. “All right, Commander. But no complaining about a bellyache later.”

“I won’t,” she promises, her face lighting up.

On my left, Lyra picks at her food, humming softly to herself. She’s been arranging the vegetables on her plate into a neat little garden, complete with rows of carrots and potatoes. “Papi Reef, do you think Mama will like my bouquet?” she asks, her voice quiet but hopeful.

I glance at the delicate arrangement of flowers she’s placed beside her plate, their colours bright and cheerful. “She’ll love it,” I say, smiling at her. “You’ve got a perfect circle.” Her tiny fingers are moving with deliberate care. She pauses to glance up at me, her wide, thoughtful eyes brimming with curiosity.

“Papi Reef,” she says softly, “do you think the moon can see us?”

Her question takes me by surprise, but I smile, leaning closer to her. “I think the moon sees everything, Lyra,” I reply, my voice low and steady. “And I think it shines a little brighter when it sees you.”

She beams at me, her small hands folding neatly in her lap. “I hope it’s happy,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It is,” I assure her, brushing a loose curl from her face. “How could it not be?”

Across the table, Artemis is giggling uncontrollably, her laughter rising in pitch as Papa Cove pretends to wrestle a roast chicken leg onto her plate. “It’s too big!” she squeals, kicking her legs under the table.

“It’s just the right size for a fierce little hunter like you,” Cove replies, his voice filled with mock seriousness.

She puffs out her chest, taking the leg in both hands and waving it triumphantly. “I’m a dragon slayer!”

“Careful,” Malia interjects from her seat at the head of the table, her smile soft but her tone laced with warning. “Dragon slayers need to eat their vegetables too.”

Artemis wrinkles her nose but doesn’t argue. I watch as Malia reaches over to adjust the flower crown Lyra placed on her head. Even after everything she’s endured, she still carries herself with the grace and strength of a queen, but moments like this – quiet, warm, unguarded – are what make her shine brightest.

Bhodi leans back in his chair, balancing precariously on two legs as he pops a grape into his mouth. “I’ll say this much, Queenie,” he teases, gesturing to the table. “You’ve raised some wild ones. Don’t be surprised if they overthrow you in a decade.”

“They can try,” Malia shoots back, a playful edge to her voice.

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