The crowd cheered for him outside. The Atilian nobles and European aristocrats filled the pews. The famous Atilian choir sang ancient songs of power and glory.
But Ares’s gaze was on his family.
His fine, strong twins, Crown Prince Pollux and Prince Castor, who stared back at him with pride and love—something Ares had done his best to earn every day for two decades. Beside them, the rest of his children stood tall. His middle children, seventeen-year-old Leto and thirteen-year-old Nyx. And his second set of twins, his mischievous ten-year-old daughters, Helen and Clytemnestra, who looked like the young women they would become someday.
Someday, Ares thought as they beamed at him, but not today. No need to rush into it.
He had never built any significant bridges with his father, who had divorced and married twice more, but had never produced another child. The old king had died in a fury, and had been found with crystal shards all around him like a halo. Ares figured that was as close as Damascus was likely to get to the good place.
The older he got, the more Ares wished he could have worked things out with the man, but he understood the ache of it had more to do with his relationship with his own children. And the man he hoped he was in their eyes, the father he was first and always, before he was a king.
And when he talked to them about bloodlines, what he talked about was love.
Ares kept walking, taking in Pia’s brothers as they stood in the row behind his children. Because they were important to Pia, Ares had made them important to him, too. And as the years passed, he found Matteo Combe and Dominik James were more to him than a duty. They became more like...brothers.
And as all their families grew, with sets of twins to go around, it was hard to remember that Matteo was the one who had punched Ares at that funeral. Or that there was ever a time that Pia didn’t refer to her sisters-in-law, the impressive Dr. Sarina Fellows Combe and high-level Combe Industries executive Lauren Clarke James, as not only her sisters, but her friends.
With every step he took, Ares counted the ways he was a lucky man.
He had been born a prince, but it had taken Pia to make him a man. And it was only with Pia by his side that he could take his throne and become a king.
Ares reached the front of the cathedral and climbed the short stairs, then bent his head to accept the priests’ invocations.
He thought about his kingdom. About the Southern Palace that rarely stood empty these days, and more often rang with life and laughter, as it was meant to do. He thought about his people, who had accepted it when he’d told them that he’d kept his relationship with Pia secret because the two of them had needed a time that was only theirs.
And most of all, he thought of the woman who was there at his side when the priests placed the crown on his head, then handed him the ceremonial scepter.
He watched as they fit her with a crown of her own, but her gray eyes shined brighter than any crown. Especially when she looked at him and smiled.
Ares held out his hand to her, breaking ancient custom.
And Pia took it, because she always did.
Because she trusted him. She loved him.
And the way he loved her in return would have scared him, if she didn’t meet it so fiercely, so fully.
The only war he’d ever fought had been against himself, and Pia had taught him how to put down his arms.
He lifted her hand to his mouth.
“You have accepted the crown of the kingdom, and I have made you my queen,” he said.
“You have.”
“But there is a greater role for you to play,” he told her, knowing his voice carried not only to the furthest corners of the Great Cathedral, but was being heard on television sets and radios around the world. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld. I count myself lucky every day I get to spend with you. You have made me a better man, and in so doing, will help me be the fair and just ruler my people deserve.”
Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. She whispered his name.
“I promised you a long time ago that this day would come,” he said, and let himself grin, there before his children, his extended family, his subjects, and the planet. “Pia, love of my life, will you wield your crown not only as the queen of Atilia, but as the queen of My Heart?”
She stepped back, smiling, and then executed a perfect, deep curtsy.
“Your Majesty,” she said, distinct and sweet, while the gleam in her gaze promised him a long, hot night ahead, “it will be my pleasure.”
Ares kissed her when she rose, as if this coronation were the wedding day he and Pia had kept to themselves, and were now, finally sharing with the world. And she kissed him back as if they were alone.
The priests finished their blessings. And the roar of the crowd outside made the stained glass shake.