Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~9 min read
The day before the wedding, Aria woke to find the entire palace transformed.
Flowers everywhere. Streamers in Valdorian blue and Astorian silver draped from every surface. Servants rushing about with last-minute preparations. The air thrummed with anticipation.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
“Final dress fitting,” Helena announced, herding Aria toward the dressing chamber. “Then etiquette review, then the ceremonial tea with the noble ladies, then—”
“Is there any point in the day where I get to just breathe?”
“Tonight. After all obligations are complete, you get exactly one hour to yourself before you have to retire early for the wedding.” Helena softened. “I know it’s overwhelming. One more day. Then it’s done and you’re married and you can finally relax.”
Aria doubted she’d ever truly relax again. But at least she’d face it with Damien.
The dress fitting was emotional. The seamstress had outdone herself—the gown was a masterpiece of silk and lace, traditional Valdorian styling with Astorian embroidery worked into the train. A visual representation of two kingdoms uniting.
“You look like a queen,” the seamstress said, tears in her eyes.
Because that’s what Aria would be. Not just a princess anymore, but a ruling queen alongside her husband.
The weight of it settled on her shoulders like the heavy gown.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of obligations. The ceremonial tea where noble ladies offered advice (most of it terrible). The final walkthrough of ceremony logistics. The blessing from both kingdoms’ high priests.
By evening, Aria was exhausted and overwhelmed.
She retreated to the library—her sanctuary—seeking just a few moments of quiet.
She found Damien already there.
He looked up from the book he was pretending to read. “Great minds?”
“Or just two people desperate to escape their families.” She collapsed onto the couch beside him. “How are you holding up?”
“Terrified. You?”
“The same. This is really happening.”
“Tomorrow, we stand in front of both kingdoms and promise our lives to each other. No backing out.”
“Do you want to back out?”
“No. God, no.” He pulled her closer. “But I am scared. Of failing you. Of not being the husband you deserve. Of all the ways this could go wrong.”
“We’ll fail sometimes. We’ve already established that.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “But Damien, we’ve also proven we can face hard things together. The tax reforms, the contract negotiations, every fight and challenge—we’ve come through them.”
“Stronger?”
“Different. Maybe stronger. Definitely more certain of us.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just being together. No obligations, no performances. Just two people on the edge of forever.
“Tell me something,” Damien said. “A secret. Something I don’t know about you.”
Aria thought about it. “When I was young, maybe eight or nine, I used to sneak down to the palace kitchens at night. I’d steal pastries and hide in the pantry, reading books by candlelight. I felt like a rebel, even though everyone knew where I was and just let me do it.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Your turn. Secret.”
He was quiet for a moment. “After my mother died, I used to talk to her portrait. Tell her about my day, ask her advice. My father caught me once and said it was weakness, grieving for someone who was gone. I never did it again in front of anyone. But sometimes, late at night, I still talk to her painting. Ask her what she’d think of the choices I’m making.”
Aria’s throat tightened. “What do you think she’d say about tomorrow?”
“I think she’d be happy I found you. My father said she believed in love even when he didn’t. She’d probably tell me not to be an idiot and to hold onto you with both hands.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest. I wish you could have met her.”
“Me too.”
They fell quiet again. Aria felt the enormity of the moment—this last night before marriage, before everything changed permanently.
“I’m glad it’s you,” she said quietly. “Out of all the possible arranged marriages, all the princes I could have been matched with—I’m so glad it’s you.”
“Even with my difficult father and political complications and tendency to overthink everything?”
“Especially with all that. Because you’re real, Damien. You’re not perfect, but you’re honest. You try. You fight for what matters. That’s all I ever wanted.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad it’s you too. Even with your stubborn idealism and tendency to sneak out of palaces and complete inability to do needlework—”
“I’m good at needlework!”
“You’re terrible at it. I’ve seen your embroidery. It looks like a drunk spider had a seizure.”
She laughed, swatting at him. “You’re awful.”
“You love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
They stayed in the library until Helena came searching for them.
“Separate corners until tomorrow,” she said firmly. “Tradition. Bad luck. All that.”
“We’ve already broken every tradition,” Damien protested.
“Which is why we’re following this one. Come on, both of you. Time to prepare for tomorrow.”
Reluctantly, they separated. At the library door, Damien pulled Aria back for one more kiss.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.
That night, Aria stood at her window for the last time as an unmarried woman. Below, the gardens where she and Damien had first kissed were illuminated with lanterns. Tomorrow, those gardens would be filled with guests celebrating their wedding.
A knock sounded. Her father entered, looking unusually emotional.
“May I?” he asked.
Aria gestured to the window seat. They sat together, father and daughter, watching the palace prepare for tomorrow.
“You grew up so fast,” Aldric said quietly. “One moment you were a little girl hiding in the library, the next you’re getting married. Becoming a queen.”
“Are you going to give me advice? Tell me how to be a good wife?”
“No. You don’t need that advice. You and Damien have figured out what matters—partnership, honesty, fighting for each other. That’s more than most couples achieve in a lifetime.” He paused. “But I will tell you this: marriage is work. The love you feel now, the excitement—that’s wonderful. Hold onto it. But there will be days when it’s not enough. When you’re angry or hurt or disappointed. On those days, remember why you chose him. Remember the partnership you’re building.”
“Did you and mother have days like that?”
“Many. We fought about policy, about how to raise you, about a thousand small things that seemed enormous at the time. But we always came back to each other. Always chose the partnership over being right.” He took her hand. “That’s what I want for you. Not a perfect marriage, but a real one. One where you keep choosing each other even when it’s hard.”
Aria’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss her. Especially today.”
“She’d be so proud of you. Of the woman you’ve become. The queen you’ll be.”
“I’m scared.”
“Good. Fear means you understand the responsibility. But Aria, you’re ready for this. More than ready. You have the intelligence, the compassion, and the courage to be extraordinary.”
They hugged tightly, and Aria let herself be a daughter for just a moment longer. Tomorrow she’d be a wife, a queen, an adult with kingdoms depending on her.
Tonight, she was still her father’s daughter.
After Aldric left, Aria tried to sleep. But her mind raced with everything ahead. The ceremony. The vows. The wedding night. The rest of her life stretching out in front of her, bound to Damien, facing whatever came together.
Near midnight, a small wrapped package appeared at her door. No note, just elegant wrapping.
Inside, she found a book. Old, leather-bound, clearly valuable.
It was Damien’s poetry journal.
The note inside read:
“So you know all of me. Even the embarrassing parts. Forever starts tomorrow. I can’t wait. – D”
Aria opened the journal with shaking hands. Page after page of his handwriting, poems ranging from terrible to actually quite beautiful. About duty and honor and loneliness.
And near the end, recent entries. About her.
“She challenges everything I know
Makes me question what I’ve been
In her eyes, I start to grow
Into someone I’ve never seen
Tomorrow we exchange our vows
Tomorrow I call her mine
But she’s already claimed me now
With every word, with every sign
I was frozen, turned to ice
Convinced that warmth was just pretend
But she melted through my vice
Showed me how to live again”
Aria read through tears. The poetry wasn’t perfect. Some of it was melodramatic and clumsy.
But it was honest. Vulnerable. The most precious thing he could have given her.
She hugged the journal to her chest and finally felt ready.
Ready for tomorrow. For forever. For all of it.
In his own chambers, Damien also stood at the window, unable to sleep.
Lucian appeared with wine. “Thought you might need this.”
“Is it too late to run away?”
“Definitely. Half the kingdom is already here. Running would be remarkably difficult and embarrassing.” Lucian poured two glasses. “But you don’t actually want to run, do you?”
“No. I want to fast forward through tomorrow’s ceremony and get to the part where we’re actually married and I can stop being terrified.”
“You’ll be terrified for different reasons then. Marriage is its own kind of fear.”
“Comforting, thank you.”
They drank in silence. Outside, the palace glittered with lights and preparation.
“You did good,” Lucian said finally. “Fighting for the contract terms. Standing up to your father. A month ago, you wouldn’t have had the courage.”
“She makes me brave.”
“Or maybe she just lets you be who you actually are instead of who you were trained to be.”
Damien thought about that. Maybe Lucian was right. Aria hadn’t changed him—she’d given him permission to be himself.
“What if I fail her?” he asked quietly.
“Then you get up and try again. That’s what marriage is—two people constantly trying, constantly choosing each other. You’ll fail sometimes. She’ll fail sometimes. The question isn’t whether you’ll fail, but whether you’ll keep trying anyway.”
“When did you become a relationship philosopher?”
“I’m full of hidden depths.” Lucian raised his glass. “To tomorrow. To your marriage. To somehow pulling off this impossible alliance.”
“To somehow making it work,” Damien added.
They drank, and Damien felt the fear settle into something manageable. Not gone, but not overwhelming.
Tomorrow, he’d marry Aria. Stand in front of both kingdoms and promise forever.
And he’d mean every word.
As midnight struck, both Aria and Damien stood at their respective windows, looking out at the same gardens, thinking about the same tomorrow.
Neither could sleep. Both were terrified. Both were ready.
Their wedding day had begun.
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