Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~9 min read
Aria had expected courtship to be tedious. Formal dinners, stilted conversations, the careful dance of two strangers trying to become acceptable companions.
Instead, it was the best part of her day.
Every morning, she and Damien met in the library. Every afternoon, they rode together or walked the gardens. Every evening, they sat beside each other at formal dinners, and under the table, their hands would find each other.
To the court, they were the picture of an appropriate royal courtship—respectful, polite, properly chaperoned.
In private, they were falling impossibly in love.
“Read me something,” Aria said one afternoon in the library.
Damien looked up from the book he’d been studying. “What?”
“You said you write poetry. Read me one.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please?” She moved to sit beside him. “I want to hear it.”
“Aria, I told you they’re terrible—”
“I don’t care. I want to know how you see the world.”
He studied her for a long moment, clearly wrestling with embarrassment. Finally, he pulled a small leather journal from his jacket pocket.
“If you laugh, I’m never showing you anything again,” he warned.
“I promise not to laugh.”
He opened the journal, flipped through several pages, then cleared his throat. When he began reading, his voice was quiet but steady:
“I wear a crown of gold and ice,
A king before I’ve learned to live.
They taught me duty has its price—
That strength means having none to give.
But then I met a girl in green
Who saw past titles, past the throne.
She made me question all I’ve been,
Made coldness feel like overthrown.
Now I’m caught between two worlds—
The prince I’m meant to be, and more.
A heart that, once kept locked, unfurls,
Finding joy in what it fought before.”
He stopped, closing the journal quickly. “It’s not very good.”
Aria couldn’t speak. Her throat had gone tight with emotion.
“Aria? Are you—are you crying?”
“No.” She wiped at her eyes. “Maybe. That was beautiful.”
“It’s melodramatic and the meter is inconsistent—”
“It’s beautiful,” she repeated firmly. “And it’s how I feel too. Caught between who I’m supposed to be and who I am when I’m with you.”
He set the journal aside and pulled her closer. “Who are you when you’re with me?”
“Myself. Finally, completely myself.”
“Good,” he murmured against her hair. “Because that’s exactly who I want.”
They’d fallen into an easy physical comfort over the past weeks—hands held while walking, shoulders touching while reading, his arm around her waist when they rode. But they hadn’t kissed since that day by the stream.
Aria was acutely aware of it now. Of how close they were sitting. Of the way Damien was looking at her like she’d hung the moon.
“We should return to the reading,” she said, but didn’t move away.
“We should,” he agreed, also not moving.
“Helena is going to check on us soon.”
“Probably.”
“It would be inappropriate to—”
He kissed her.
Soft and sweet and perfect. When they broke apart, both slightly breathless, Aria couldn’t help but smile.
“We have terrible impulse control,” she said.
“The worst. Completely inappropriate for royalty.”
“Scandalous.”
“Absolutely.”
They kissed again, longer this time. When Helena’s footsteps sounded in the corridor, they sprang apart like guilty children, both trying desperately to look like they’d been reading the entire time.
Helena entered, took one look at them, and sighed. “You’re not even trying to be subtle.”
“We’re reading,” Aria said, holding up a book she’d grabbed at random.
“Upside down.”
Aria looked down. The book was indeed upside down. Damien was shaking with silent laughter beside her.
“You’re lucky I’m the one who came to find you,” Helena said. “If it had been one of your father’s advisors, this wouldn’t be nearly as amusing.” She glanced between them. “The seamstress is here for your wedding gown fitting. And Prince Damien, your father requested your presence for contract review.”
The mention of their fathers was like cold water. Duty calling them back from the stolen moment.
“I’ll be right there,” Aria said.
Damien stood, but before leaving, he caught Aria’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Until dinner?”
“Until dinner.”
After he left, Helena helped Aria to the dressing chambers where the royal seamstress waited with mountains of white silk and lace.
“Your Highness!” The seamstress beamed. “We’ve prepared several options for your approval.”
The next hour was a blur of fabric and pins and discussions about necklines and trains. Aria stood on a platform while the seamstress fussed around her, but her mind was elsewhere.
Six weeks had seemed like forever when the engagement was announced. Now, with just two weeks until the wedding, time felt too short.
Two weeks until she was married. Until this courtship phase ended and real life began.
“You’re smiling,” Helena observed from her seat near the window.
“Am I?”
“Like you have a secret. Though knowing you, it’s probably that the prince is actually wonderful and you’re terrified of admitting it.”
Aria looked at herself in the mirror—draped in wedding silk, hair pinned up, looking every inch the bride. “I think I’m in love with him.”
“I know.”
“How long have you known?”
“About two weeks. You get this look when he enters a room. Like the sun came out.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“It’s adorable. And he looks at you the same way.” Helena came to stand beside her. “This is good, Aria. You’re getting the thing most princesses only dream of—a true partnership in an arranged marriage.”
“I know. So why am I so nervous?”
“Because loving someone is terrifying. Especially when the entire world is watching.”
That evening’s dinner was particularly formal—a state dinner with nobles from both kingdoms. Aria sat beside Damien at the high table, very aware of all the eyes watching them.
“Smile,” Damien murmured. “We’re supposed to look appropriately pleased with each other.”
“I am pleased with you. That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
She couldn’t explain it. The vague feeling of unease that had been growing all day. Like they were building something beautiful on sand, and at any moment the tide would come in.
Across the table, King Stefan was watching them with cold disapproval. He’d been increasingly hostile as Damien and Aria grew closer.
“Your father doesn’t approve,” Aria said quietly.
“My father doesn’t approve of anything. Ignore him.”
“He’s going to be my father-in-law in two weeks. I can’t exactly ignore him.”
“Watch me.” Damien took a deliberate sip of wine, his attention focused entirely on Aria. “Tell me something. Anything. Distract me from this tedious dinner.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What you’re thinking right now.”
The honest answer? That she was falling in love with him and it terrified her. That every day brought them closer to a wedding that would bind them together forever, and she couldn’t tell if that felt like freedom or a cage.
“I’m thinking,” she said carefully, “that two weeks isn’t very long.”
“Until the wedding.”
“Until everything changes.”
“It doesn’t have to change. Not the important parts.”
“Damien, we’ve been courting under controlled conditions. Perfect library mornings and chaperoned rides and formal dinners. What happens when we’re actually married? When we have to rule together, make impossible decisions, deal with court politics and kingdom management and all the things that break people apart?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then: “We face them together. That’s what partnership means.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
“Then we figure it out. Aria, I can’t promise this will be easy. But I can promise that I’m all in. Whatever comes, we handle it together.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that the connection they’d built could withstand the reality of royal marriage.
But she’d seen too many political marriages crumble under pressure. Her own parents had been lucky. Most weren’t.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“Me too.” He found her hand under the table, lacing their fingers together. “But I’d rather be scared together than alone.”
It was the right thing to say. Aria squeezed his hand and managed a smile.
The dinner continued, conversation flowing around them. To everyone watching, they were the perfect royal couple—appropriate, cordial, exactly what was expected.
No one could see the way they held hands beneath the table. The way they anchored each other through the performance.
Later that night, after the guests had departed and Aria had returned to her chambers, she stood at the window looking out at the darkened gardens.
“You’re thinking too much,” Helena said from the doorway.
“I’m always thinking too much.”
“About the prince?”
“About everything. The wedding. The marriage. Whether love is really enough when you’re building it on top of duty and politics and two kingdoms watching your every move.”
Helena came to stand beside her. “You want the truth?”
“Always.”
“It’s not enough. Love alone won’t sustain a royal marriage. You’ll need trust, communication, shared values, the ability to compromise.” Helena paused. “But Aria, you have all of that with him. I’ve watched you these past weeks. You’re not just in love. You’re partners. That’s rarer than you think.”
“What if we lose it? What if the pressure of actually ruling together breaks what we’ve built?”
“Then you fight for it. But you can’t protect yourself from being hurt by refusing to be vulnerable. That’s just another kind of cage.”
Aria knew Helena was right. But knowing it and living it were different things.
She touched the window glass, cool beneath her palm. Somewhere in this palace, Damien was probably standing at his own window, wrestling with the same doubts.
Two weeks. Two weeks until she became Princess Aria of Astoria. Until courtship ended and marriage began.
Until she found out if the love they’d built could survive reality.
She pressed her hand harder against the glass, as if she could reach through it to wherever he was.
“I’m all in too,” she whispered to the night. “Even though I’m terrified.”
And in the morning, she’d wake up and smile and continue the courtship dance.
But underneath the performance, her heart was both soaring and breaking.
Because loving Damien was the best and scariest thing she’d ever done.
And in two weeks, there would be no turning back.
Reader Reactions