Continues....

They celebrated Conrad's birthday. The garden was alive—bright with lanterns, laughter echoing between the jasmine vines Siya had planted.

Conrad stood at the centre—crowned in a paper hat he'd made himself, shouting in both English and Hindi: "Everyone! Cake time!"

Theo lit the candles.

Siya knelt beside him with Dev clinging to her sari—and sang. Soft. Sweet.

"Happy birthday to you..."

Even his parents joined—tentatively at first, then fully—as Conrad clapped wildly and blew out his five candles with one puff.

Fireworks followed—small ones (for safety), set off by a grinning gardener who'd grown fond of Conrad's mischief.

And when the final spark faded—

The boy ran straight into his father's arms:

"Papa! Best birthday ever!"

Theodore held him tight, eyes meeting Siya's over their son's shoulder—

this life...

once unimaginable...

Now more beautiful than any dream. Later that night, Dev and Conrad slept together in Conrad's room.

The house had quieted—candles snuffed, laughter faded, the last guest long gone.

Upstairs in Conrad's room, moonlight spilt across the floor.

Dev—tired from cake and fireworks—slept curled against his brother's chest. Conrad had one arm around him, thumb in his own mouth like he was little again.

A habit he only returned to when safe. When home.

Down the hall—

Siya stepped out of her gown with quiet grace and slipped into a silk nightdress.

Theodore waited by their bed—the fire low—eyes heavy with wine and warmth... but still bright when she walked in.

"They're together," she whispered.

"Like they belong."

He reached for her hand—and pulled her gently onto the mattress beside him.

"And we?" he murmured, lips brushing her shoulder, "do we belong here?"

She turned to face him—her eyes dark, full of memory and truth.

"Not just here."

Her fingers traced his jaw.

"Wherever we are... that's home."

And then—he kissed her slowly...

while somewhere down the hall,

Two brothers dreamed side by side,

one whispering "Maa..."

Before sinking deeper into sleep.

"So what's the plan tonight? My dear husband"

He rolled onto his back beside her, pulling her to rest on his chest and trailing fingers lazily across her spine.

When he did finally speak, it was a slow, sleepy murmur:

"Well... the servants are dismissed for the night. Our sons are safe and snoring..."

His hand slid just a bit lower, tracing her hip.

"You're wearing silk. And my head is still a little wine-dizzy. So... I'd say... we have options..."

"Oh, what are those?"

He turned slowly—shifting beneath her until she was on her back, one hand pinned above her head, the other tangled in his hair.

"Option one..." he breathed, "I take you slowly. Soft as rain. Like we're stealing time behind closed doors."

His lips grazed her neck.

"Option two..."

"I make you scream into this pillow... like I owe it to every lord who ever slept in this bed to ruin it with passion."

A pause.

"And option three?"

He smiled against her skin.

"We try all of them... and let the night decide how loud we get."

"What do you mean by all the Lord's? Is this room your ancestor's room?"

He chuckled—a gravelly sound. He'd meant it mostly as a joke... but then:

"It is."

He looked around, taking in the high ceiling... the heavy curtains.... The ornate headboard he currently had her hand pinned to.

"And from what I've heard... every lord of this manor has broken this bed in. Over and over."

He leaned in—lips against her pulse,

"But somehow.... They've never done it quite like this."

"You are lying."

He laughed, low and soft. No shame in his gaze. Nothing but mischief and warmth.

"You don't believe me."

He kissed the crook of her neck, her jaw, his voice a hot whisper between the two:

"This very bed... is where the first lord brought his first wife..."

His hand slid up her thigh, inching her nightdress high up her leg.

"Made children with her. And"

He pressed closer—his thigh sliding between hers—voice a velvet hush.

"...and where he later brought the housemaid."

His lips grazed her ear.

"Third lord? Fell in love with a French singer. She danced in here barefoot and broke three vases."

A smirk.

"Fourth? Rumour has it, he preferred men—but still needed an heir, so..."

He shrugged playfully.

"The bed's seen it all. Scandal. Love. Duty. Lust."

Then his hand stilled on her hip—and his voice dropped, low and true:

"But never... never... has it known anything like us."

"Who knows, you will also take a maid here," she teased.

He huffed a laugh. He was teasing. He was joking.... But the thought of it.

His hand tightened on her hip.

"Do you really think so little of me?"

He pulled his head back, gazing down at her.

"Do you honestly think I'd be able to even look at another woman in the manor... let alone bring one here."

His thumb traced her hip, fingers digging in.

"The only woman I want is the one pinned beneath me..."

"Then show me all."

Something darker flashed in his eyes. That familiar spark. The look he got when he wanted her desperately—wild and wanting.

"Show you...?" he repeated. "How badly I want you?"

His hand slid up her thigh, beneath the nightdress—teasing slowly.

"How desperately I've craved you since I first laid eyes on you?"

When he leaned in again, his nose brushed her jaw.

"Or how I've spent so many nights... dreaming of exactly this..."

"Theodore, I love you,"

He paused, his face still close. His hand was still tracing her skin. But his eyes softened—and his rough voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

"Say it again."

"I love you, my lord."

His breath caught—like his heart was skipping a beat. He closed his eyes for a moment... his fingers still tracing her hip.

"God... say it a third time..."

His lips grazed her jaw—

"And maybe—maybe—I'll start showing you how much I need you."

"I only love you."

He didn't speak.

Instead, he kissed her.

Deep. Hard. Full of everything he couldn't say.

Years of pride.

A lifetime of rebellion.

A war between blood and love.

And then, as if broken open—

He whispered against her mouth:

"Only you."

Not to the empire.

Not to his name.

Not to duty.

Only you.

And then he showed her—slow and fierce—just how deeply a lord could fall. The night unfolded in whispers and gasps—

First slow.

His lips on her neck. His hands were guiding her open like a secret he'd waited years to tell. Every stroke long, deep, tender—eyes locked with hers as if memorising the way she looked when he loved her.

Then rough.

A shift of breath—a grip on hips—a growl low in his chest as he drove into her with need that had been building for years. She arched beneath him, nails scoring his back—not gentle anymore, not restrained—but real. Wild. Their bodies speak louder than words ever could.

And then... slow again.

Exhausted breaths.

Fingers laced.

Heartbeats matching time under tangled sheets and moonlight through the curtains.

He didn't pull out—not yet.

Instead—he rolled onto his side... still buried inside her... pulling her back against his chest like she belonged there (and God knows she did).

Her head fell into the crook of his shoulder.

His arm wrapped tight around her waist.

One hand found hers—laced their fingers together.

And without another word—

they slept—

two souls who turned chaos into love,

and a cold manor...

Into the home.

"Their sons dreamed of dragons, 

while their parents rediscovered the fire between them."

Tonight was for love... but destiny was already knocking on their door.

NEXT CHAPTER IS FINALE. A NEW MEMBER IN THE FAMILY AND EPILOGUE