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“I really think I’m going to like you.”

“You know,” she said, puzzled, “when I’m around Atlanteans, I get that a lot.”

On the ground, Christophe started laughing. “Does this make me Lord Christophe?”

“In your dreams,” Marcus advised.

“Oh, no,” Christophe said, grinning that seductive, wicked smile. “My dreams are far more exciting than that.”

“Here,” she said, holding the package out to him. “This is for you. From Hopkins.”

Christophe opened it, still sitting on the ground, and then stared up at Fiona in astonishment. “Why on earth would Hopkins give me pajamas with barnyard animals on them?”

* * *

As they explored the gardens together later that day, Christophe suddenly lifted Fiona in the air and swung her around.

“Wait till our sons take up their first training swords,” he said, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “They will make us so proud. With magic plus might, they’ll be the toughest warriors ever to set foot—”

“Oh, no. My sons are not going to go around sword fighting. They’re going to be doctors. Or teachers. Or—”

“Daughters,” he said, wrapping a long strand of her hair around his fingers. “Beautiful, charming daughters, just like their mother. And the boys will be after them—wait. Damn boys. I’ll kill them. I’ll kill any boy who so much as—”

“Ouch! That hair is attached,” Fiona said, extracting it from his fingers. “Maybe before you get your pants in a twist over our future children, you could tell me more about just how we’re going to go about getting all of these sons or daughters?”

He bent down and lifted her into the air, then shouted out his joy and swung her around. “Maybe I could show you,” he said, bending to kiss her as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, right there on the path to the palace, in front of anybody who might care to pass by.

When they could finally breathe again, he pulled her a little ways off the path, into the palace gardens, and dropped to one knee. “I know this is the way they do things in your world,” he said, every ounce of the love he felt for her naked on his face. Exposed and vulnerable, just like his heart.

“Lady Fiona Campbell, will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

Her answer shone like the bright Atlantean sun on her face and in her heart. “Oh, yes. Most definitely yes.”