Bride Behind the Mask

Epilogue

Epilogue

For some, ten years was long enough to forgive and to forge a new life ahead.

Prince Geoffrey, for instance, no longer wished to remain within the kingdom that had caused him insurmountable pain. He did, however, continue to serve the crown that his father had dedicated his life to. Even though it was the same crown that had cost him everything he'd loved and treasured.

He travelled far and wide, as an emissary of sorts, strengthening the kingdom's existing relations with foreign lands and forging new ones—something that had become second nature in his former life as Crown Prince.

At the same time, Prince Geoffrey became a conduit for Drake's trades with all those kingdoms and tribes he travelled to, their friendship and business dealings having grown out of what was once an uncomfortable relationship between victim and saviour.

And the King, who'd ultimately worked out the trickery of the contract with the Northern Emir, was happy to let it slide. For he was still building up his coffers with a healthy stream of gold from House Rohan's bountiful foreign trades. That, and he had much better things to occupy his attention with.

For others, like Drake, ten years brought greater chaos than ever before.

As it turned out, Amelia at twenty-six was no different to Amelia at sixteen, and all of her screaming at the start of their marriage was merely an initiation for the years that followed. With two little scoundrels to form a screaming trio with her, he definitely could not remember the last time he woke to the sound of chirping birds in the morn. In a few more months, they'd even upgrade to a quartet.

"Papaaaaaaaa!" A high-pitched screech sounded.

Drake looked up to see one of those little rascals hurtling into the study. An eight-year-old mongrel version of himself, with mud-spattered clothes and grass bits sticking out of that bird's nest of inky hair. "You should be studying, Lucien," he reminded sternly.

"But Elly is playing!" the boy whined.

"She is five!"

Lucien knew well that he could not win an argument with his father. So he rounded the large desk instead, and put all the strength in his little arms and legs into hauling Drake out of the chair. "Come play!"

Drake swept his eyes over the piles of business accounts he'd yet to go through and sighed. In ten years, he'd also expanded the trade routes for his people's businesses on land and sea, exporting many of Steersberg's goods to other regions. The part shares of gold he received from those were extraordinary.

More trade. More gold. More accounts. More work. Meanwhile, his wife... "Where's your ma?"

"She... is... busy..." Lucien heaved and groaned as he continued the tug of war with his father's leg. To no avail.

A frown crinkled Drake's brow. Ten years on, he still didn't like the sound of Amelia being 'busy'. "Busy with what?"

"Papa!" The young boy had no patience for his father's pointless, relentless questioning. He dropped the tree trunk of a leg and pouted with hands on his hips. "Come play!"

Drake grimaced at the signature puff of the cheeks that came from his wife and rubbed a hand over his forehead. This annoying little spawn of his was too cute to throw out the room. "Sit there"—he pointed to an empty chair in the corner—"and I'll play with you when I'm done."

His dear son's lips turned down at the corners as he dragged his feet obediently but reluctantly to the chair, scuffing his muddied boots on the carpet in the process. "So unfair," he moaned and grumbled. "Ma is climbing trees with Elly and pa won't even pla—"