"We are proudly welcoming our daughter, Adeline, to the Duchy of Eastbroke and British royalty." Julian made a pause, gazing longingly at the curly ball of sweetness in his arms. "We wish her to be light, receive light and never forget that love conquers all."

The broadcast emission ended, and Freya, who was standing next to her husband, pecked their daughter's tiny forehead.

She was more than angelic. Her entire aura vibrated with purity, bliss and wonder. Her small lashes fluttered in a trice, her aquamarine orbs searching frantically for her parents. They both stared at her knitted snow-white bonnet at the top of her chubby face. Feeling the attention and the loving scrutiny, Adeline giggled, her miniature dimples popping out. She was wearing a pastel-pink tutu that left her chunky, little thighs in sight.

They managed to keep her shielded from inquisitive eyes, but tomorrow was the day the Queen herself would come and extend her greetings. That day, nevertheless, belonged solely to the family.

The royal couple and their exquisite offspring descended the stairs and entered the blooming garden. It was March, a year from Julian's confession and almost ten months from their first love-making.

The moment he flooded her bud of femininity with his semen was a suspension in time accompanied not only by their belly-clenching climax, but also by the genesis of the most rewarding experience of a woman: pregnancy. The months that followed were filled with laughter, their baby being gentle in her mother's womb. No pain, no agonizing labour, just love – the parents' love for their beautiful soon-to-be Adeline and for each other.

After putting an end to his daily duty, Julian would come every evening in their bedchamber to massage his wife's sore muscles. He would kiss her womb with great delicacy, fetch an eyeliner and write on her belly bump: "Ours." He would perform that ritual every day, for almost two hundred eighty days.

He was extatic. Maeve was equally thrilled to have been Adeline's godmother.

And, even though some of the impertinent royal peers would comment that a girl cannot be an heiress, Julian always flashed a queasy glare and retorted: "She will be the most beautiful and competent Duchess of all times, and maybe, later, even the Queen herself."

"I still cannot believe we are holding her in our arms." Freya stated, a motherly smile curling her lips.

"You should, because she was born out of love, and love conquers all boundaries." Julian responded, kissing his wife shortly on her lips.

She may have gained a few pounds, but she was even more radiant. Her every feature gleamed and beamed with the elation of being a mother.

Adeline put her tiny palm on Freya's breast, indicating that she was hungry. The Duchess chuckled and removed the upper half of her strapless dress.

Julian never considered himself among the men who despised witnessing a breast-feeding. It was innate and, to be honest, rather fascinating. To see Adeline's puckering lips gently sucking her mother's nipple was another proof of God's beautiful mysteries. Giving birth to a human being of the same flesh and blood was beyond stunning.

He rested his forehead on Freya's shoulder as she was feeding Adeline, watching the fragile heartbeat of their daughter aligning with her mother's. Afterwards, he kissed them both and thanked God for allowing him to indulge in such a blessed family.

He never imagined himself finding shelter in others, let alone in the one and only. But he did. And he had no regret to have stripped of reasoning and logic – he even embraced it.

Adeline soon fell asleep in Freya's cradling arms and they all returned to the bedchamber, where Julian put their daughter in the crib.

He then turned on the television, narrowing down the volume in order to let his wife sleep alongside Adeline. He heard faint news in the background, announcing that a molester was found dead in his cell, but he paid no attention.

What he thought of was the same thing he reminded himself every single day: „Love conquers all."