Chapter 28 — Lisabet
I peer down at my son, both exhausted and perfectly happy to stay like this for all eternity. The nurses have cleaned him up, wrapped him in a light blue towel that’s nice and soft against his tender skin. Miles is right beside me, seated at my bedside, supportive hand on my arm as he admires our boy.
“Peter,” I suggest.
Miles shakes his head. “He doesn’t look like a Peter. Richard?”
I curl my nose. “Absolutely not. Stephen?”
“With a P-H, or a V?”
“P-H.”
“Nah. Maybe George?”
“Hm. That might be nice. Very classic. We’ll have to put a pin in that one.”
All’s quiet on our floor of the hospital. As part of royal security protocol, the entire floor’s been reserved for our privacy. Only select staff are allowed to come and go to check in on me and the baby, limiting what information gets out to the press. There’s also the added bonus that I get the peace and calm that I deserve after giving birth.
It was totally worth it, though.
The walls of the hospital room are a warm beige color, decals of teddy bears and bunnies and frogs decorating the empty space to give the room a more child-friendly vibe. It’s nice and warm in here thanks to Miles’s tampering with the AC system. He’d spent the better part of an hour making sure that everything was perfect so that I could lie back and relax, worrying about nothing.
The little one in my arms is definitely going to grow up to be a looker like his father. He’s only a few hours old, but he’s got a head full of light brown hair that I’m sure will only grow darker and thicker with time. He’s got my dark black eyes, but his father’s sculpted nose and pointed chin. And now that he’s here, he’s my whole world.
And Miles is the one who gave him to me.
There are three soft knocks at the hospital room’s door. I look up to see Queen Isabella and King Albert, both of them entering with gift bags and helium balloons. I’d normally stand and bow to greet them, but I’m sure they’ll give me a pass this time around.
“There he is,” the Queen coos. “Albert, say hello to our grandson.”
This is the closest I’ve ever seen the King being happy. There’s a softness in his gaze I’ve never noticed before. The stern quality of his features has suddenly disappeared. His eyes look glossed over with happy tears, though I could very well be hallucinating that last part. I’ve been without sleep for almost twenty-four hours, after all. Anything’s possible when you’re this tired.
“Have you come up with a name yet?” the King asks, speaking softly.
“We’re going through a list of names now,” Miles explains. “But we can’t land on anything.”
“You should have had something picked out before hand.”
“We did. But then we saw him and realized Reginald just didn’t fit him.”
“What’s wrong with Reginald? It’s a good, regal name.”
“Too stuffy,” I say.
The King, luckily, doesn’t take offense to this. “How about Lincoln? You could call him Link, for short.”
“How very modern of you,” Miles jests.
“Now, now,” the Queen says. “Why don’t we leave the brainstorming for later? Lisabet looks like she could use the rest.”
“We can’t leave it for later,” the King counters. “We need to release the prince’s name as soon as possible for official purposes. The people of Oxland will want to know.”
“They’ll find out when they find out,” Miles says. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”
I smile at the King. “Would you like to hold him?”
He stares at me for a moment, and just when I think he’s about to say no, he nods. The King holds out his hands and picks up his grandson, cradling the baby with tenderness I didn’t know he was capable of.
“He’s beautiful,” he mumbles, choking back tears. “Grow up big and strong, little one. Just like your father.”
Miles chuckles. “Any sagely advice you’re willing to spare me?”
The King nods. “Kids will fall sometimes. And sometimes you have to let them. It’s the only way they’re going to learn.”
“I know you’re a fan of the tough love.”
“But,” the King stresses, “it’s all right to lend a helping hand when necessary. I know I didn’t do that very often, but I’m still very proud of the man you’ve become.”
“Thanks, Father. I mean it.”
I yawn heavily. “Albert.”
“Yes?” the King responds.
“No, I mean, let’s name him Albert. We can call him Al.”
Miles grins. “What do you think, Father? Is that a good, strong name?”
“Yes,” he replies with a smile. “Yes, I think it’ll suit him just fine.”