If there was to be any true sanctuary within the unrelenting bowels of this hard world, if a man with blood perpetually under his fingernails could ever claim a moment of grace,Alpheo believed it would look exactly like this.
The sweet, honeyed drift of jasmine clashing gently with the earthy aroma of mown grass drifted to the prince's nostrils. His left arm was intertwined with hers ,together, they stood on the stone terrace, watching the sight that made every scar on his body feel like a small price to pay for the blessing he was having.
Their children played without a care in the world in the sun-drenched garden. Alpheo's gaze followed Basil, who had just relented to yet another of his sister's endless demands. With a dramatic sigh of feigned annoyance, the boy turned toward a sprawling oak, pressing his forehead against the rough bark.
"One. Two. Three. Four," Basil's voice rang out, rhythmic and clear.
