Being the monarch’s consort was a lot harder than he’d first anticipated and, if he and his wife were being realistic, he probably wasn’t cut out for the role. He’d never been particularly polite or well-carried, arrogance came with ease whilst politeness was a struggle, and he had hated being contained even more than Hisui did.
But there were some perks to the job, things that made any suffering he endured worthwhile beyond comprehension. One was finally scoring the woman he loved and keeping her from the harm of another, and the second of the many perks was his children. One of said children was currently cradled snugly against Sting’s side, the pale blonde hair dishevelled as the warm summer night’s air lulled him gently to sleep.
He peered fondly down at the young boy, his own eyes growing heavy with fatigue and drowsiness caused by the day’s heat. Thomas was the spitting image of his father; such a bright presence with his mother’s far more docile nature, and Sting had come to adore him even more for it. Every free moment he had was spent with the country’s second heir, his only blood child, just passing the time and ensuring his safety. Many of his friends had told him he’d become soft since he married into the Royal Family, but he didn’t care. This child gave him all the motivation to not only be a better man, but a stronger person in his words and in his actions.
A content sigh followed that train of thought, and he smiled as he drifted off in the Palace Gardens he knew so well, with the son he loved so much dozing peacefully by his side. He’d never been happier.
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