Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~10 min read
“You look like hell.”
Damien didn’t bother looking up from the military reports he was pretending to read. “Thank you, Lucian. Your support is overwhelming.”
His best friend dropped into the chair across from him, studying him with the same tactical assessment he’d use on a battlefield. They were in Damien’s temporary study in the Valdorian palace—a room that felt suffocating despite its generous proportions.
“The formal introduction was yesterday,” Lucian said. “You’ve barely left this room since. Your father is starting to ask questions.”
“Tell him I’m reviewing trade agreements.”
“I’ve been telling him that. But eventually, you’re going to have to actually interact with your fiancée.” Lucian leaned forward. “What happened? The rumor is that you and Princess Aria had a private conversation and emerged looking like you’d both attended a funeral.”
Because they had. The funeral of whatever they’d found in the garden.
Damien finally looked up. “The girl from the masquerade ball.”
“What about her?”
“It was Princess Aria.”
Lucian’s eyes widened. Then he dropped his head into his hands. “Of course it was. Because your life couldn’t be simple. It had to be the plot of a tragic opera.”
“I didn’t know. She didn’t know. We were both—”
“Hiding behind masks and having a magical night with exactly the wrong person.” Lucian looked up. “Does anyone else know?”
“No. And they can’t. If it becomes public that we both lied about who we were, that we met before the formal introduction—”
“Political disaster. Both kingdoms would question the integrity of the engagement.” Lucian rubbed his temples. “So you’re pretending it never happened.”
“What choice do we have?”
“You could try being honest. Tell your fathers that you actually connected with each other before you knew your identities. Some might find that romantic instead of scandalous.”
“My father doesn’t do romance. He does strategy.” Damien pushed away from the desk, pacing to the window. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. The night we spent together was based on a lie. She didn’t know she was talking to the ‘cold, ruthless’ prince. I didn’t know I was talking to the ‘spoiled, vapid’ princess.”
“Are either of those things true?”
“No. But we spent that night complaining to each other about our arranged marriage. About marrying someone we’d never met. She was dreading marrying me, Lucian. And I was dreading marrying her.”
“Based on rumors that were wrong.”
“Based on assumptions we both made.” Damien leaned his forehead against the window. “How do we come back from that? How do I court a woman who now knows I thought she was a pawn, who thought I was a monster?”
“By showing her you’re not a monster. By being the man you were in the garden.”
If only it were that simple.
A knock interrupted them. “Your Highness? King Aldric requests your presence for dinner tonight. The Princess will be attending.”
Of course she would. More torture disguised as courtship.
“Tell him I’ll be honored,” Damien said.
After the messenger left, Lucian stood. “You’re going to have to face her eventually. Might as well start figuring out how to make this work.”
“She doesn’t want to see me.”
“Are you sure about that? Because from what you’ve described, she felt the same connection you did. Maybe she’s just as devastated as you are.”
Damien thought about the look on Aria’s face when she’d realized who he was. The betrayal. The pain.
“That doesn’t make it better,” he said quietly.
That evening, Damien dressed in formal attire and made his way to the private dining hall. His stomach churned. He’d faced enemy armies with less anxiety.
The room was intimate—a small table set for four. King Aldric was already present, along with a woman Damien assumed was Aria’s lady-in-waiting. And Aria herself, dressed in a gown the color of midnight, her dark hair swept up to reveal the elegant line of her neck.
She was breathtaking.
She refused to look at him.
“Prince Damien!” King Aldric stood, gesturing him forward. “Please, join us. I thought a smaller gathering might allow you and Aria to become better acquainted.”
“How thoughtful, Your Majesty.” Damien took his seat across from Aria. She was studying her plate like it held the secrets of the universe.
Dinner began with excruciating formality. Aldric made conversation about the alliance, trade routes, military cooperation. Damien responded appropriately, playing the perfect diplomatic prince.
Aria said almost nothing.
“Princess,” Damien finally said, unable to bear the silence any longer. “I understand you have an interest in history.”
Her eyes flicked to his briefly. “I do.”
“Perhaps you could show me the palace library tomorrow. I’d be interested in seeing the collection.”
“I’m sure a servant could give you a tour.”
The barb hit its mark. She was throwing his deception back at him, and he deserved it.
“I’d prefer to hear about it from someone knowledgeable,” he said carefully. “If you have time.”
“I’m certain the Princess would be delighted,” Aldric interjected, oblivious to the tension. “Aria, you practically live in that library. Who better to show Prince Damien the treasures of our collection?”
Aria’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, father. I’d be honored.”
The rest of the dinner crawled by. When it finally ended, Aldric suggested Aria show Damien the palace gardens.
“It’s a beautiful evening for a walk,” he said. “Helena can accompany you as a chaperone, of course.”
They had no choice but to agree.
The gardens were exactly as beautiful as Damien remembered—moonlight on roses, the scent of jasmine in the air. It should have been romantic. Instead, it felt like walking through a graveyard of what might have been.
Helena trailed behind them at a discreet distance, giving them the illusion of privacy while maintaining propriety.
They walked in silence for several minutes. Finally, Damien couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“For what? Lying about who you were? Or for thinking I was spoiled and vain?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t know.” He stopped walking. “Aria—Princess Aria—I never meant to deceive you.”
“And yet you did.” She turned to face him, and in the moonlight he could see the hurt in her eyes. “You let me pour out my heart to you. I told you things I’ve never told anyone. And the entire time, you were the man I was complaining about.”
“You did the same thing.”
“I know.” Her voice broke. “I know I’m just as guilty. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
They stood in the garden where they’d kissed just two nights ago. Everything looked the same. Everything had changed.
“That night was real,” Damien said. “Whatever else was happening, whatever lies we told—what I felt was real.”
“Was it? Or did you just like the idea of a girl who didn’t know you were a prince? Someone who couldn’t want you for your crown?”
The accusation stung because there was truth in it. He had loved the freedom of anonymity. The chance to be seen without the weight of expectations.
“It was both,” he admitted. “Yes, I liked being anonymous. But Aria, what I felt for you—for who you are, how you think, the way you challenge everything—that wasn’t about the mask. That was about you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you quote philosophers when you’re nervous. I know you have opinions about governance that most political scholars would envy. I know you’re brave enough to sneak out of your own palace to have one night of freedom.” He stepped closer. “I know that when you kiss someone, you mean it with everything you have.”
She flinched. “Don’t.”
“We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“We have to.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Because if we acknowledge it, everything becomes more complicated. We’re already trapped in this engagement. Let’s not make it worse by adding… whatever that was.”
“What if it wasn’t ‘whatever that was’? What if it was something real that could become something more?”
“Based on lies?” She laughed, but it sounded painful. “That’s a terrible foundation.”
“Then let’s start over. Right now. No masks, no deception. Just you and me, figuring out if we can make this work.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he saw the war playing out behind her eyes. Hope battling with hurt. Longing fighting with logic.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said finally.
The words hit like a physical blow, but he nodded. “Then let me earn it back.”
“How?”
“Give me time. Give me chances to show you that who I was in the garden—that’s the real me. Not the rumors. Not the cold prince everyone expects.” He held out his hand. “Start with tomorrow. The library. Let me prove I’m interested in more than just politics and alliances.”
She stared at his outstretched hand. He could see her weighing the decision.
“One chance,” she said finally. “Tomorrow. The library. But Damien—” She used his name for the first time since the recognition, and it sent warmth through his chest. “If you’re just playing a part, if you’re being who you think I want you to be—I’ll know. And I won’t forgive it twice.”
“I understand.”
She placed her hand in his. The same electric connection as before, but tempered now with wariness.
They walked back toward the palace in silence. Helena materialized from the shadows, giving Aria a questioning look. Aria just shook her head slightly.
At the entrance to her wing, they stopped.
“Tomorrow,” Damien said. “After breakfast?”
“After breakfast,” she agreed.
She left without looking back.
Damien returned to his chambers feeling something he hadn’t felt since the recognition: hope. It was fragile, tentative, possibly foolish. But it was there.
Lucian was waiting in his study. “Well?”
“We’re going to try,” Damien said. “Start over. See if we can build something real.”
“That’s good. That’s progress.” Lucian paused. “And if you can’t? If the damage is too deep?”
“Then I marry a woman I had one perfect night with and spend the rest of my life regretting that I ruined it.” Damien dropped into his chair. “But at least I’ll try. At least I won’t wonder what if.”
“You’re going to need to tell your father eventually. About the masquerade.”
“Not yet. Not until I know if there’s something worth protecting.” Damien looked at his best friend. “Can you buy me time? Keep him focused on the political aspects of the alliance?”
“I can try. But Damien—he’s going to figure it out eventually. The way you look at her isn’t exactly subtle.”
“Then let’s hope by the time he figures it out, it’s too late to stop.”
That night, Damien stood at his window, looking out at the gardens. Somewhere in this palace, Aria was probably doing the same thing.
They’d found each other once by accident.
Now they’d have to choose to find each other again.
This time, with eyes open and masks off.
This time, knowing exactly who they were choosing.
It was terrifying and exhilarating and absolutely necessary.
Tomorrow, the library. Tomorrow, a new beginning.
Tomorrow, the chance to turn a mistake into something real.
Damien touched the window glass where moonlight pooled.
“I’ll earn your trust back,” he promised the night. “Whatever it takes.”
And for the first time since the catastrophic recognition, he believed it might be possible.
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