Kaelir Valen had conquered nations with his words, commanded armies with a nod, and broken grown men with a glance.
But none of that prepared him for two six-year-olds staring at him like he was a suspicious snack someone left on the floor.
He stood in Alina's sunlit kitchen, dressed down in a dark sweater and slacks, sleeves rolled, royal rings removed. No entourage. No guards. Just… him.
And the twins?
They sat at the breakfast bar like royalty themselves—silent, watchful, and unimpressed.
Alina was nowhere in sight. Her only words that morning:
"You want to be a father? Go ahead. I'll be out for two hours."
She hadn't even left instructions.
He cleared his throat. "I, uh… I made pancakes."
Riven stared at them. "They're burnt."
Auron poked his with a fork. "And uneven."
Kaelir blinked. He'd been up at dawn trying to follow a cooking video—burned his finger twice, spilled batter on the marble floor, and nearly broke the mixer.
This was his reward?
"I don't usually cook," he said, trying to stay calm. "But I thought you might like them."
Riven tilted his head. "Do you cook for people you try to arrest too?"
Kaelir froze.
Auron spoke softly, "Mom said you were going to take us away if she didn't run."
He stared at them, something tight squeezing in his chest.
"I didn't know about you. I swear."
Riven raised an eyebrow. "So you didn't arrest her, but you would have if you'd known?"
"I—" Kaelir paused. "I don't know. I was angry. At her. At everything."
"She said you yelled a lot," Auron murmured. "And never smiled."
Kaelir looked between them. "She told you all that?"
"She didn't have to," Riven said. "We googled you."
Of course they did.
Kaelir ran a hand down his face. "Look. I wasn't ready then. I'm not proud of who I was. But I want to make it right now."
The boys stared at him.
He tried again. "Do you like sports? I could—buy a stadium. Or—take you to the palace. There's a tiger garden."
"Bribery," Auron whispered.
"Classic tyrant move," Riven added.
Kaelir's eye twitched. "I'm trying."
Riven leaned forward, deadly serious. "You made our mom cry. A lot. We heard her. At night."
Kaelir's throat went dry.
"We used to wonder," Auron added, "if you were a monster. Like the ones in her dreams."
"Are you?" Riven asked. "A monster?"
He didn't answer.
Because what could he say?
---
Two Hours Later
Alina returned to the smell of burnt syrup and the sight of her sons building a Lego fort—Kaelir sitting stiffly behind them on the couch, hands folded like he was at war council.
She smirked.
"How'd it go?"
Kaelir stood. "They think I'm a monster. Possibly a war criminal. Also a bad cook."
Alina arched a brow. "They're perceptive."
He didn't rise to it. Just stepped toward her.
"I want to try again. Properly. They're your sons—but they're mine too."
Alina didn't speak.
"They don't need a prince," she said finally. "They don't even need a father, Kaelir. What they need is someone who won't leave when it gets hard."
"I'm not leaving."
"We'll see."
---
Later That Night – Royal Palace, Private Line
Kaelir sat alone in his study.
A security adviser's voice crackled through the line.
"We've confirmed it. Alina Vale is Alina Moreau-Valen. And she's behind three hostile takeovers of royal-aligned corporations."
Kaelir exhaled.
"Any threats?"
"A dozen. And growing. Word is out—every power in the shadows wants her silenced."
Kaelir's fingers