Maxwell Peary brushed the hair from Nia Mitchell's face, admiring her peaceful sleep. Looking at her, he suddenly lost all desire to return to his study.
The idea of a king skipping court to linger in bed... tsk, tsk, the allure of such indulgence was immense.
"Uncle."
Suddenly, Nia Mitchell murmured.
Maxwell Peary looked at the small woman in his arms. He'd thought she was asleep.
"Mm? Go on, sleep, sweetie. I won't leave."
Nia Mitchell nodded, her eyes still closed. She was afraid to meet his gaze.
"Uncle, it's alright if you earn a little less money. Your health is the most important thing."
She recalled the things she'd said in the garden that evening. Though she'd said them deliberately to provoke him, thinking back now, she felt she shouldn't have.
He appeared glamorous, feared and revered by all, but who knew the sacrifices he made behind the scenes?
"Alright." Maxwell Peary gently stroked her hair. "Sleep now."
