Frowning, he wandered toward the west wing. He found the butler reorganizing a wine cart. "Where's the princess?" Damien asked, already unbuttoning his coat.
The butler gave a gentle smile. "Top floor, Your Highness. On the balcony."
He trudged up the spiral staircase, and pushed open the double doors leading to the balcony.
She lay sprawled on a mattress that had clearly been dragged out just for her comfort—complete with a throw and a fluffy pillow. Her hair spilled around her, one hand resting on her belly, her eyes closed as if the chaos below didn't exist.
He stopped at the doorway, heart loosening.
"Wow," he muttered, to no one in particular. "I'm marrying a goddess."
She opened her eyes and smiled, a lazy, satisfied sort of smile that made his exhaustion melt away. "Hey, husband-to-be."
"Hey, queen-of-the-rooftop," Damien replied, walking toward her and crouching beside the mattress.
