Page 98 of Edge of Stars

“The king is dead,” he intones again—with a new addition that drops my stomach. “Long live the queen.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MAXIMUS

“Hello, everyone. I hope you all enjoyed your winter break and time away from campus. I’ll start on a personal note by saying I see many familiar faces in the room right now. A lot of you turned out to help with the fundraisers for rebuilding downtown after the earthquake, and I’m grateful.”

With a nervous swipe, I slide my glasses on. They’re just as unnecessary as they were back in August, unless my clattering nerves count as new sight impairments. I wasn’t ready for that quick part of class, but Kara urged me to try shedding some of my growly exterior to build rapport with the class.

I’d say that’s tiny enough.

“With the housekeeping taken care of, let’s begin. Welcome to Advanced Studies in Ancient and Classical Literature, the spring semester version.”

I’m comfortable enough to now look up from the podium at the front of the lecture hall, only to straighten my posture with a pointed look from the brunette in the front row. It’s her same expression from this morning’s lecture about letting my guard down. Still, I oblige gladly, since I’m wearing the decadent dark-blue sweater she gave me for Christmas. Though the garment makes me feel like my torso is being dipped in spun angel tears, Kara says it makes me look like a hot modern Lancelot.

I like being her Lancelot.

Better than that, I love being the object of the adoration in her smoldering eyes. Despite everything we’ve been through, especially figuring out our lives after the chaos in Crete, the woman still gazes at me in that incredible way—and I’ve given up trying to find gratitude for it.

“Uh…huh?”

My own stammer is my interruption, directed to a student about five rows up. He’s got the look of a goofball, but his all-here attention has me concluding otherwise.

Looks are hardly ever what they seem. And books are definitely not their covers.

I’ve been learning that lesson in interesting ways. From a witch on a beach, holding a nuclear isotope disguised as a grimoire. Then from a Hollywood princess suddenly planted on the throne of Olympus. Best of all, from the wife who’s declared she wants to become my peer in the ranks of academia.

The mental tangent has me comprehending only the last half of what the pseudo-goofball has queried. I’ll have to take a stab at the first part.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get to grading criterion in a few minutes. But first, the important stuff. The content you’re going to learn and know better than your favorite Rick and Morty episodes.”

There are a few appreciative laughs, including one from my wife. The poor goofball doesn’t join in.

“Not exactly my jam,” the guy mumbles.

“All right, then. How about Luke Skywalker?” As soon as I hook his smile, I go on with matching optimism. “It’s a better segue anyway, since the works we’re examining are related to an important theme. The hero’s journey.”

I pause to gauge the entire class’s reaction—and suppress a pleased grin. Not only is nobody sneaking a glance at their phones, but over half the room is still listening. Even engaged.

“Now, of course, The Odyssey will be our largest module. But you should also get your hands on copies of Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The editions from which I instruct are in the online syllabus. Since we’ll be starting with the former”—I ignore the tight groans and heavy sighs that extend up to the back doors—“I’d advise hitting the student store as well as a number of shops around town that offer student discounts. My favorite is Recto Verso, which isn’t too far from campus.”

How I forget my cardinal rule about control during class time, already flinging a quick wink toward Kara, is past my understanding—and apparently, my judgment. Awareness dawns as clear as the late-January sun that makes its way past the high windows and across my wife’s gorgeous head.

We’ve fought damn hard to be here. Faced more disgusting adversaries than a hundred or so college smartasses. So if anyone in the room wants to throw shade—or spitballs, or phone camera clicks, or snide side-eyes—because I’m flirting for half a second, they can absolutely bring the shit on.

To my shock, even after one sweep of the room and then another, not a single face is staring back with less than respect. And they’re still looking back at me. Not phones. Not website searches on laptops. Not even any adoring looks at pseudo-goofball guy.

Finally, I wave a figurative white flag—and make it evident in the new look I swing over to Kara. But my open curiosity is bested by hers. With wide eyes and a bashful smile, she clamps both hands across the perceptible swell of her middle. Her wonderment flows out to me, swelling my heart with its entrancing junction of darkness and light. Filling my world with as much magic as six months ago, when we stood in this same room and tried to assume that everything would be the same when we left it.

Nothing—nothing—has ever been the same.

Nor would I ever ask for it to be.

All the plot twists and the identity revelations. The hell dives and the rocket-launch highs. The red-carpet dramas and the paparazzi invasions. And so much more…

Even what happened on that beach in Crete.

I wouldn’t trade any of it if Kara and I weren’t guaranteed a moment like this in the end. Even with all the eyes on us and the subtle giggles around us. Even with a lot more swelling than just my heart. Even though I can’t do anything about it in this moment—though I cast a longer look at my wife, promising it’ll happen once we can get out of this lecture hall and into my office…