Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~9 min read
The reception finally ended near midnight. Aria and Damien were escorted to the royal chambers—newly prepared for them as a married couple—by a procession of nobles and well-wishers.
Traditional blessings were said at the door. Wine was offered. More advice given.
Finally, mercifully, they were alone.
Aria stood in the center of the massive suite, still in her wedding gown, and started laughing.
“What?” Damien asked, loosening his collar.
“This is insane. Look at this room. Look at us. We’re married.”
“Yes?”
“We got married today. We’re husband and wife. That’s…” She spun in a circle, the heavy dress swirling. “That’s completely absurd.”
He started laughing too. “We are pretty ridiculous.”
“Extremely ridiculous.” She fumbled with the back of her dress. “Help me out of this thing before I suffocate?”
Damien moved to help, his fingers working the complicated closures. As the dress loosened, Aria could finally breathe properly.
“I’m never wearing anything this formal again,” she declared.
“You’re a queen now. You’ll wear formal gowns constantly.”
“Then I’ll decree casual clothing mandatory. First royal order.”
The dress finally came free. Aria stepped out of it in her underthings, not caring about modesty. They were married now. He was allowed to see her like this.
The thought made her nervous all over again.
“So,” she said. “Wedding night.”
“Yes.”
“Are we supposed to… I mean, everyone expects…”
“Aria.” Damien took her hands. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Wedding night expectations can wait until we’re both actually prepared instead of exhausted and overwhelmed.”
Relief flooded through her. “Really?”
“Really. Today was about performance. Tonight, let’s just be us.” He pulled her toward the ridiculously oversized bed. “Come on. Let’s talk.”
They climbed onto the bed—him still in his formal trousers and open shirt, her in her chemise and underthings. It should have been romantic.
Instead, they immediately started discussing the wedding.
“Did you see Lord Rothwell’s face when we signed the equal partnership clause?” Aria asked.
“I thought he was going to have an apoplexy. Your father looked delighted, though.”
“Because he’s wanted to undermine Stefan’s control for months. We just gave him ammunition.”
They analyzed every political moment, every conversation, every subtle power play. It was the least romantic wedding night discussion imaginable.
It was perfect.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up with them. They fell asleep tangled together, fully clothed, talking about policy reform.
In the morning, Aria woke to find herself alone in bed. She sat up, disoriented by the unfamiliar room.
“Morning,” Damien called from the sitting area. He was at a desk, already dressed in casual clothes, writing something.
“How long have you been awake?”
“An hour or so. Couldn’t sleep. Too much in my head.” He set down his pen. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got married yesterday. Still processing.” She climbed out of bed and padded over to him. “What are you writing?”
“Letter to the provincial governors. Following up on the tax reform implementation, making sure the relief aid is actually reaching people who need it.”
“You’re working? The day after our wedding?”
“The eastern provinces don’t care that we got married. They need help now.” He pulled her onto his lap. “But I can take a break. What do you want to do today?”
“Hide? Sleep? Avoid everyone and pretend we’re not now responsible for two kingdoms?”
“That sounds perfect.”
They managed to avoid obligations for most of the day, claiming newlywed privacy. Helena brought meals. Lucian delivered urgent documents. But otherwise, they were left blissfully alone.
They talked about everything—their fears about ruling, plans for reforms, concerns about Stefan’s continued hostility. They read together. Argued about governance philosophy. Kissed occasionally, still nervous and uncertain about the physical aspects of marriage.
It was awkward and comfortable and nothing like Aria had imagined married life would be.
By evening, they couldn’t avoid obligations any longer. A formal dinner had been arranged—one last celebration before the visiting nobles departed.
“Do we have to go?” Aria groaned.
“Unfortunately, yes. But tomorrow, most of the crowd leaves. Then we can actually start governing instead of performing.”
The dinner was exactly as tedious as expected. More toasts, more well-wishes, more political maneuvering disguised as celebration.
Aria found herself seated next to Lady Seraphine, a stunning Astorian noblewoman who’d been at Damien’s side frequently before the engagement.
“Congratulations on your marriage, Your Majesty,” Seraphine said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Thank you.”
“You must be thrilled. Marrying the crown prince is quite the accomplishment.”
The barb was subtle but clear. “I’d say we’re both fortunate to have found partnership in an arranged marriage.”
“Oh, is that what this is? Partnership?” Seraphine’s gaze flicked to where Damien stood across the room, speaking with his father. “Forgive me, I’d heard it was more… political necessity. That you’d essentially trapped him with your reforms and idealistic speeches.”
Aria’s fingers tightened on her wine glass. “You seem remarkably interested in my marriage.”
“Only because I care about Damien. We were quite close before your engagement was announced. I’d hate to see him shackled to someone who doesn’t appreciate what a remarkable man he is.”
“I appreciate him perfectly well.”
“Do you? Because from what I’ve observed, you spend most of your time arguing with him about policy. That’s not really a marriage—that’s a political debate society with legal paperwork.”
Heat flooded Aria’s face. The accusation hit too close to her own fears from last night.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Aria said, standing abruptly. “I need some air.”
She escaped to the gardens—her sanctuary. But tonight, even the gardens felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
Maybe Seraphine was right. Maybe she and Damien didn’t have a real marriage. Just a political arrangement where they’d convinced themselves proximity was intimacy.
“Your Majesty?”
Aria turned to find Helena approaching, concern written across her face.
“I saw you leave. What happened?”
“Lady Seraphine happened. She basically said my marriage is a sham and I don’t deserve Damien.”
“Lady Seraphine is a jealous snake who’s been trying to catch the prince’s attention for years. Of course she’s bitter.”
“What if she’s right, though? Damien and I barely know each other. We argue constantly. We spent our wedding night discussing provincial governance. What kind of marriage is that?”
“The kind where you’re actually partners instead of just playing house,” Helena said firmly. “Aria, I’ve watched dozens of royal marriages. Most of them are empty shells—couples who barely speak, who lead separate lives with separate interests. You and Damien actually engage with each other. You challenge each other, support each other, build something together. That’s rare. That’s valuable.”
“But we don’t have the other stuff. The romance, the physical intimacy, the—”
“You’ve been married two days! Give yourselves time to figure out all the aspects of marriage instead of expecting perfection immediately.”
Aria knew Helena was right. But the doubts had taken root.
She heard footsteps and turned to see Damien approaching, concern etched on his face.
“I saw you leave,” he said. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Aria.”
“I talked to Lady Seraphine. Or rather, she talked at me. Informed me that our marriage is a political sham and I’ve trapped you into a loveless arrangement.” The words came out more bitter than intended.
Damien’s expression darkened. “Seraphine has been spreading that narrative for weeks. She’s bitter that I didn’t choose her.”
“Maybe she has a point. We do argue constantly. We spent our wedding night talking about tax policy. We haven’t even—” She stopped, embarrassed.
“Haven’t what?”
“Consummated the marriage. Everyone expects it, and we’re just… not. Because we’re too busy discussing governance.”
“Is that what you want? To consummate the marriage because everyone expects it?”
“No! I want it to mean something. But Damien, what if we’re broken? What if we’re so focused on being partners in governance that we forget to actually be married?”
He stepped closer, taking her hands. “Do you remember the masquerade? When we talked until dawn, argued about philosophy, debated politics?”
“Yes.”
“Did that feel broken? Or did it feel like finally finding someone who understood you?”
“It felt like magic.”
“It felt like magic because it was real connection. Intellectual intimacy. That matters just as much as physical intimacy or romantic gestures.” He squeezed her hands. “Aria, I love that we argue about policy. I love that you challenge my assumptions. I love that we spent our wedding night discussing reforms instead of just going through expected motions. That’s who we are.”
“But everyone thinks—”
“Everyone can think whatever they want. The only people who matter in our marriage are you and me. And if what we have doesn’t look like traditional romance, who cares? It’s ours. It’s real. That’s enough.”
“What about Seraphine? She clearly cares about you—”
“I don’t care about her. At all. She’s a political connection, nothing more. I’ve never felt for her a fraction of what I feel for you.” He cupped her face. “You’re the one I chose. You’re the one I want. Stop letting jealous nobles make you doubt that.”
Aria leaned into his touch. “I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re being human. It’s been a overwhelming few days. But Aria, we’re solid. We’re building something good, even if it doesn’t look like everyone’s fairy tale.”
She kissed him then—not tentative or uncertain, but with real passion. He responded immediately, pulling her closer.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Aria felt steadier.
“Take me back to our chambers,” she said. “I’m done performing for other people tonight.”
They slipped away from the dinner, ignoring propriety. Let the nobles gossip. Let them speculate about the strange marriage of the prince and princess who argued about policy.
Aria didn’t care anymore.
In their chambers, away from crowds and expectations, they finally began to figure out their own version of marriage.
It involved talking and laughing and yes, arguing about reforms. But also kissing and exploring and learning each other in new ways.
It wasn’t a fairy tale.
It was better.
It was real.
And that was all that mattered.
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