The Royal Heirs #46: Theo

The Royal Heirs #46: Theo
I couldn't sit still. The ornate chair behind my desk—crafted by master artisans to cradl the form of a king—felt like an instrument of torture. I paced instead, a tight circuit between window and doorway, pausing occasionally to check my watch. Ten thirty-two. Simpson had been with Emma for over thirty minutes now. What was he telling her? How was she receiving the news? The separation from my mate physically hurt, a dull ache behind my ribs that Aeson's anxious presence only amplified. I had caused this pain between us with my deception, my failure to trust in her strength. Now, as threats circled like vultures, I had never needed that strength more.
Mate needs us, Aeson insisted, his golden presence restless beneath my skin. Pups need protection.
"She doesn't want our protection right now," I muttered, running a hand through my hair for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. My reflection in the window showed the result—disheveled, eyes shadowed from a night spent staring at the ceiling of our empty bedroom.
The guest suite where Emma had spent the night was on the opposite side of the palace from our chambers. I could have crossed that distance in minutes, could have pressed my ear to her door to catch the sound of her breathing. But I hadn't. She had asked for space, and after everything I'd done, denying her that request was unthinkable.
Christian sat silently at the conference table, pretending to review documents while actually watching me with thinly veiled concern. He had arrived an hour ago, wordlessly placing a cup of coffee on my desk before taking his position as silent sentinel. My brother had always known when to speak and when presence alone was enough.
The door opened without a knock, Simpson entering with the brisk efficiency that characterized everything he did. I stopped mid-pace, turning to face him.
"How is she?" The question escaped before I could ask about the investigation, betraying where my thoughts truly centred.
Simpson's expression remained professionally neutral, though something like sympathy flickered in his eyes. "Concerned. Worried for her brother and sister-in-law. But holding up remarkably well, considering."
Christian stood, joining us in the centre of the room. "And the search? Any progress?"
Simpson repeated the briefing he'd given Emma—reconnaissance teams approaching the Blackwood property, the partial image from the forest footage, planned raids on Coalition locations. The facts washed over me, important but secondary to the knowledge that Emma was facing all this alone because of my mistakes.
"She should be there," I said suddenly, interrupting Simpson's detailed explanation of surveillance parameters. Both men looked at me in confusion. "When we raid the Coalition properties. When we find Elijah and Elena. She should be involved, not sheltered from it."
Christian's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded. "That's... surprisingly insightful of you, brother."
"I'm capable of learning from my mistakes," I said, more sharply than intended.
"Are you?" Christian challenged, crossing his arms. "Because you need to work out how to apologise to her properly. Flowers aren't going to cut it. Neither will promises you don't intend to keep about treating her as an equal."
Aeson growled at the criticism, but I silenced him with an internal command. My brother was right, and we both knew it.
"I know," I admitted, the words feeling inadequate even as I spoke them. I turned back to Simpson. "Let us know immediately when you have eyes on Elijah and Elena. And include the queen in all communications—directly, not through me."
Simpson nodded, the slight approval in his expression telling me this was the right decision. "Of course, Your Majesty. I'll head back to coordinate the raids."
After he left, Christian lingered, watching as I moved toward the door with newfound purpose.
"Where are you going?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
"To my mate," I replied simply.
The walk to Emma's office seemed both endless and too brief, not enough time to formulate the perfect apology, yet too long to be separated from her for another moment. Outside her door, I paused, my hand hovering over the handle as doubt crept in. What if she wasn't ready to see me? What if my presence only caused her more pain?
Then I heard it—a soft, muffled sound from within. Crying. Emma was crying.
All hesitation vanished. I pushed open the door without knocking, my eyes finding her immediately. She sat behind her desk, shoulders curved inward, face in her hands, dark hair falling forward to hide her expression. The sight of her grief—grief I had caused—tore through me with physical force.
I crossed the room in three long strides, not giving her time to compose herself or rebuild the walls I'd forced her to erect between us. Kneeling beside her chair, I pulled her against me, one hand cradling her head to my chest, the other wrapping protectively around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair, the inadequate words catching in my throat. "I'm so sorry, Emma. I've been an idiot."
For a moment she stiffened against me, and I feared she would pull away. Then, with a soft sound somewhere between a sob and a sigh, she melted into my embrace, her hands clutching the front of my shirt as if it were an anchor in a storm.
"You are an idiot," she agreed, her voice muffled against my chest. "But I love you anyway."
She pulled back slightly, wiping tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers. Her green eyes, bright with moisture, met mine without flinching. "I know you thought you were doing the right thing," she continued, her voice steadier now. "But you weren't, Theo. You just weren't."
"I know," I said, taking her hands in mine, desperate to maintain the physical connection between us. "I reacted out of fear, not reason. After seeing you hurt, after coming so close to losing you and our daughters..." I swallowed hard. "But that's no excuse. I should have trusted your strength—it's why I fell in love with you in the first place."
Aeson pressed forward, his golden presence reaching for Artemis through our bond. Strong mate, he insisted, the thought carrying from him to me to her. Respect strength.
A tiny smile flickered across Emma's lips. "Artemis hears him," she said softly. "She's still angry, but she's listening."
I brought her hands to my lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. "I'll spend the rest of our lives making this up to you if that's what it takes. No more lies, no more filtering information, no more decisions about your safety without your input."
"Promise?" She fixed me with a gaze that demanded absolute honesty.
"I promise," I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "You are my queen, my mate, my partner. Not someone to be sheltered, but someone to stand beside. And I was a fool to forget that, even for a moment."
She nodded, her expression softening further. "We'll need to work through this, Theo. It won't be fixed in a day."
"I know," I agreed, relief washing through me at the implied forgiveness in her words—not complete, not yet, but possible. "But we'll face whatever comes together. Starting with finding your brother and bringing him home."
Emma leaned forward, resting her forehead against mine, our breath mingling in the small space between us. "Together," she whispered, the word both commitment and challenge. "As equals."
"As equals," I echoed, a vow I would spend a lifetime keeping.