This chapter was getting SO LONG, but instead of splitting it again, I decided to give this extra-long chapter to you, so "The Prince and the Froger" can go out with a bang.
This is it. This is the final chapter. Thank you once again for your support and letting me share this with you ❤️
Please enjoy ❤️
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Anya burst through the balcony double doors, dragging Damian behind her, towards the palace's blinding light, with only the touch of Anya's hand guiding him.
He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness, and when he opened them again, she took his breath away all over again. Outside on the balcony he had been able to parse some of what she looked like using the light filtering in from the palace, but in the full light of the candles and lamplight indoors, he could finally see all of her.
She had grown a little taller and, while feminine before, she had developed a more womanly shape, which was enhanced by a dress so green it matched her eyes. It started off a beautiful dark forest green at the space below her collarbone, and as the layered fabric descended it melted into so many other shades of green, until the bottom of the dress which was a creamy white. It looked like layers and layers of leaves swirled around her, like she herself was the wind that made the forest dance and sway in the summer. Her glorious pink hair had been styled in an elegant updo, leaving pink wisps curled just above her exposed neck and shoulders - that he had been caressing up until two minutes ago.
He opened his mouth, about to tell her -
"You look amazing! And you're taller!" she gushed, completely unabashed. "I didn't know white and gold would look so good on you! And that cape!" She didn't even think as she reached for the heavy white-and-gold fabric that was draped across only one shoulder, and gave it a dramatic toss, watching it flutter around him. "So cool!"
Heat rose in his face. "Th-thanks." He had chosen the colours as the opposite to the royal black, but it was also customary for the host of any given occasion to try to stand out from the rest of the crowd, even if the thought of it made his stomach squirm.
At the reminder that he was the host, the anxiety returned to him in full force. There was so much he was still to do that evening: there was one more dance he had to complete with a girl he barely knew, customary of his mother's machinations, he needed to direct the musicians to play the next portion of the music, he needed to get the servants to check the candles, and the food -
All of that vanished when Anya grabbed his hand once more and dashed down the winding stairs, and he almost stumbled after her from the rushed descent. The light of the ballroom approached, getting closer and closer, and Damian's heart pounded in his ears, until they burst through it, and the knot tightened in his chest even more.
The music for the next dance had already started, and all the couples had already taken to the dancefloor, but a ring of people surrounded them, almost like a shield between the dancers and the world beyond it. Chaperones, guardians, wallflowers, all of them milled at the edge of the dancefloor, totally enraptured by the patterns couples wove in the wide space of the ballroom.
And then there was Anya, who charged through them all like a spear, penetrating their defence completely, prompting a wave of whispers rippling out from the epicentre of the chaos.
Before he knew it, Damian and Anya careened onto the dancefloor, his promise to his mother completely discarded, and in all the excitement the music spluttered to a stop. The couples closest to them recoiled from the disturbance, and Damian caught the view of their appalled faces.
It wasn't funny. He knew it wasn't funny. He wasn't allowed to find it funny.
In the span of ten seconds, all propriety had been demolished, all for the simple reason that Anya just wanted to dance with him. Her excitement completely clashed with the seriousness of the evening, and her actions grated against an entire horde of stuffy nobles.
It wasn't funny. It was hilarious.
"Pfft," Damian snickered, and he covered his mouth to hide his growing smile, but it was too late, and a strained wheeze escaped him as he tried to hold in his mirth.
"Damian-" Anya's eyes widened in worry as she watched him double over, convulsing with the effort of holding back his laughter.
He couldn't do it. He pressed his hand tighter over his mouth, trying to cover up the titters escaping from him, but the effort brought tears to his eyes, and before he knew it, the knot inside him loosened, and he threw his head back in raucous laughter.
"BAHAHAHAHA!"
His restraint was unshackled, his discipline undone. Like a torrent of rainwater falling from the sky after a drought, he couldn't stop it, and the laughter rushed out of him, ricocheting off the walls of the ballroom. He vaguely knew people stared, he could feel their curiosity pricking at him, but he didn't care. He didn't care because Anya didn't care, because she was so much freer than him, because she was Anya.
He gulped in the air, as the tremors slowed down, and he dabbed at his streaming eyes with a handkerchief procured from his pocket.
"What is it?" Anya's small voice was filled with worry. "Did I do something wrong?"
Damian's laughter dissolved, leaving sparks fizzing in his chest, and he was distantly aware of the gawking nobles surrounding them, no doubt wondering who this girl was that had unceremoniously dragged Prince Damian into the middle of the dancefloor, halfway through a dance, without any care for decorum or protocol. Even knowing all that, Damian smiled at her freely, and the knot inside him unravelled and completely fell away.
"Not at all," he said, loud enough that those nearby could hear him. Then, he reached for Anya's hand, and in a scandalously playful movement spun her in an improvised twirl. She landed against his chest, her eyes wide, and he lowered his voice only for her. "I just love you so much," he sighed contentedly, and he started dancing.
Why was I so scared?, he thought, his insides filling with warmth, that was so easy.
The musicians hurried to pick the music back up in time, and soon they had joined the circle of couples in their previous rhythm, the interruption thoroughly ignored.
Neither of them thought about the steps as they were swept away by the music, by the lights, by the feelings in their chests that just grew stronger and stronger as the music continued to swell. He wanted to savour how it felt to hold her waist, to guide her into the dance, to watch her eyes light up and shine along with his own, to see her gasp and smile and fall into laughter in every twirl. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.
The music faded, their last steps completed, and both Damian and Anya heaved for breath, their chests rising and falling in synchronicity. A light sheen of sweat covered his brow, and she glowed with delicate exertion.
She beamed at him. "You're a great dancer."
He returned her smile, grinning ear to ear. "You're a fast learner."
Their bodies were practically pressed against each other, their faces so close, he would only need to lean down a little to kiss her again…
A silver flicker of movement from above caught his eye, and Damian glanced towards the balcony that overlooked the ballroom. Demetrius leaned against the railing, overseeing the dancers below, and he made eye contact with Damian, before gesturing for him to come over.
Damian relaxed his shoulders, and loosened his grip on Anya's hand and waist. "I think my brother wants to talk to me," he said, and then he gave her hand a final squeeze, before stepping away. "I'll come find you before the last dance."
"I'll look forward to it," Anya gave him a soft smile. "I'd better go and speak to Becky…"
Damian reluctantly dragged himself away from her, and leapt up the stairs, closing the distance between himself and his brother, until they were both close enough that they clapped each other on the back.
Demetrius had cut his hair since the year previously, but it was still long enough to style in a suave ponytail, and his grey robes emanated a subtle silver sheen - a tentative step away from the King's colours.
"You wanted to speak to me?" said Damian, unable to hide his curiosity.
"Sorry to interrupt, I wanted to ask you something." Demetrius smiled apologetically, and leaned against the bannister with both arms. Damian noticed that the walking stick leaned against the balustrade nearby, but Demetrius made no effort to reach for it.
Damian waited expectantly, as Demetrius straightened himself.
"If you became King, what would you change the royal colours to?"
"Green," said Damian without thinking, before he shook his head in confusion. "Wait hold on, why are you asking me this? You're the one next in line. What would you change it to?"
It wouldn't have been an unusual question to ask Demetrius, as he was the future King - but Damian? He wondered what the motivation was, and why it was so suddenly out of the blue.
Demetrius' shoulders sagged, and he leaned further down on the balcony railing, prompting Damian to lean in further. "I was thinking I might not become King."
Damian was taken aback. "You mean, you're thinking of abdicating your position?"
"Think of it as withdrawing from the race," sighed Demetrius, his breath haggard and world-worn. "I don't think any of this is for me," and to complete his announcement, he gestured to the room in front of him with a despondent sweep of his hand.
"Demetrius," Damian used his brother's name to stall as he tried to think of what to say, but only one thing fell out of his mouth. "That's stupid."
It was Demetrius' turn to reel back, as he raked Damian with a shocked stare. "Excuse me?"
"That's not what's supposed to happen!" Damian raised his voice, feeling a justifiable anger rise in him. "You care about people! You care about fairness, about justice, and peace, and that's what will make you a great King, so don't you dare back down now! I've stepped up to my duty, to take that weight off your shoulders, so you can focus on the rest of it, and you'll be able to care for the people, and lead this country in an era of peace, and I'll be your ambassador -" he gave him a pointed look, "- like I've been trained to be, and I'll do the negotiations on your behalf in other kingdoms, and you'll look after things here while I take care of things everywhere else." It looked as though Demetrius was about to protest, so Damian cut in once more. "And I would be more than happy to be your ambassador! Don't think for a second that you don't bring anything to the table here, because you do!"
There was a pause as Damian tried to catch his breath back, and recover from his impromptu rant, and he managed to calm himself once again. "So, you don't need to give up so soon. We don't know yet what the future is going to be like so just… Just hang in there, alright?"
Demetrius only gaped at Damian, speechless.
He didn't have much time before Demetrius would no doubt regain himself and try to argue back, so before Damian would completely run out of steam, he made his final play.
"Oh, and by the way," Damian huffed, and braced himself for impact. "I invited Maria."
Demetrius choked on his breath, and turned a dramatic shade of purple. "You didn't!"
"I did," he confirmed, far more confident than he felt, and indicated to the edge of the dancefloor, in the corner closest to the Throne. "She's right down there."
"You utter bastard!" Demetrius hissed, aghast, and covered his face with one hand. "How can I face her after I broke off the engagement? It's been so long!"
"Five years isn't that long-" a glare from Demetrius, "-okay maybe it is, but in my defence, she's obviously still in love with you, and she hasn't married anyone else! I'm not saying you should invite her to dance with you at the final number and proclaim your intentions, but you should at least talk to her."
Demetrius turned his back on the ballroom as he leaned against the balustrade, and in a move that made him look a lot like his younger brother, he shoved his hands in his pockets sullenly, but Damian knew better than to think he was sulking. In direct contrast to Damian's troublesome impulsivity, Demetrius often needed time to think, to absorb information, before he decided what to do with it.
It seemed he had finally found something to say. "I thought that she wouldn't want to be with me after… everything."
After a beat, Damian softened. He knew that the period of time after the accident had been hard for his brother, and he had hoped that inviting Maria would remind Demetrius of a life unlived - that there was more out there for him other than duty, and responsibility, and being the advisor to the King.
In a soft voice, he added: "If she cared about the accident, she wouldn't have come."
Demetrius forced himself to loosen his shoulders. "You're still a prick," he grumbled, and he shoved Damian's shoulder playfully, "but fine. I'll talk to her."
Damian watched as Demetrius' eyes slid from Maria in her dark blue gown, to the pink-haired girl in a green dress Damian had just finished dancing with, who was currently chatting animatedly to a girl wearing the Blackbell purple. He recognised them both, of course.
And then it was Demetrius' turn to look smug, and Damian's skin prickled with unease.
"So…" Demetrius began, and raised an eyebrow. "Green?"
"Shut up," Damian mumbled, as the flush rose in his face.
"No, no, it's a good colour," Demetrius chuckled. "Symbolic of life, prosperity," he flicked his gaze to Maria, where she smiled and chatted with other guests, "hope."
Damian pictured emerald eyes, but he pressed his lips together, saying nothing. "Yeah."
A moment, while neither of them spoke, before Demetrius broke the silence once more. "Do you know what they call you?"
Damian groaned. "I know already, but I swear I've gotten better!"
"You have," Demetrius agreed. "Mother and Father are quite impressed."
Damian paused, and his heart stuttered in his chest. "They are?"
"Yes," Demetrius affirmed. "I know you've been keeping yourself busy with organising all of this, so you might not have had time to speak to them this year -" he studied Damian carefully, "- or maybe you've just been using that as an excuse to continue to avoid them…"
Damian looked away guiltily.
Demetrius continued. "In any case, everyone's noticed how hard you've been working. No-one's called you that nickname in over a year."
Damian's face reddened even more. "That's good, I guess."
He waited, leaving space for Demetrius to tell him his apparently redesigned moniker, but he never did. Instead, Demetrius tilted his head, his ear towards the dancefloor. "I think the music stopped now. The next dance is the last one."
Damian exhaled with a weary sigh, knowing that it was time to take his cue. "Right. Got it."
"Good luck," Demetrius murmured, and held out his hand to Damian. "Not that you'll need it."
To Demetrius' utter surprise, Damian bypassed the handshake, and pulled him into a brotherly hug instead. "Thanks," he said, and then with a wry smile he added, "now stop stalling and talk to Maria already."
Demetrius creaked his expression into an awkward smile, momentarily bemused that Damian had seen right through him, before he grabbed his walking stick, and he descended down the ballroom's back stairwell.
Damian turned away, ready to search for the familiar pink-and-green that he missed already, when a blonde girl suddenly entered his vision. He knew who she was, only because his mother had signed him up to dance with her, and with a pang Damian realised that she was the girl he had snubbed for a dance with Anya. He could almost hear his mother's voice berating him for his substandard manners.
Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Your Highness," she sighed breathily, and leaned forward a little, tilting her bosom into his view. "I believe you owe me a dance?"
Damian instantly soured as he saw through her intentions. "Not a chance," he said coldly. He couldn't get away fast enough, but as he brushed past her, he spotted a head of pink hair coming up the stairs to meet him, and he brightened instantly.
"Hey," she said, panting slightly from the climb. "The Queen said you were looking for me?"
"Unbelievable," Damian laughed and shook his head. How did his mother know? "But yes, I was hoping to speak with you."
"I was hoping to speak with you, too," she said shyly, and she clenched the material of her skirt.
"Oh?" Damian paused, noting her nervousness, and waited for her.
"Damian, I-" she swallowed, and the sound of his name fizzled across his skin. "You don't have to feel pressured to choose me, I know I'm not princess material."
Damian felt like he was punched in the gut. "What are you talking about?"
"You saw what I did down there," Anya's shoulders sagged as she said it. "I broke the peace, and the rules, I embarrassed you in front of everyone!" Her expression crumpled, and for a terrifying moment, tears welled at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry. So, I would understand if you think I'm not a good fit for you."
Seeing her upset was akin to having a knife twist inside him, and Damian jumped to reassure her.
"You have nothing to be sorry about, trust me," he assured, but he didn't know if his words were enough, so he breathed deeply and summoned the words from within him. "I already told you the night that we broke your curse. You're kind, and fun, and genuine, and you help me feel like all of this," he swept his arm out, "is actually worth it, like there's meaning here beyond what's expected of me."
Damian reflected that he had known what he had wanted from a partner since the start. The life of the palace was unbearably restrictive, even suffocating, and he needed someone who was the opposite of that. Someone who could remind him of the joyful parts of life, maybe even help him to appreciate them, or encourage him to take part and join in when he didn't feel brave enough to do it himself.
It was unquestionably Anya. It was always Anya. He knew it in his entire heart and soul that they were meant to be, that they had been brought together by a fate so much larger than themselves, in the same way that he knew he would love her even beyond death.
"You don't have to be princess material. You just have to be you."
He had never seen Anya look so captured by him. His speech had rooted her to the floor, her eyes wide in wonder and shimmering with tears, and just the fact that he could make her look at him like that took his breath away, but there was more that he needed to ask her, more that he needed to say, so he valiantly pressed forward before he lost his nerve.
"Look," Damian cleared his throat, and heat rose up his neck. "You've seen that this life isn't easy. I do want to be with you, but more than that, I want you to be happy. So, I was going to say that if you wanted to be happy somewhere else," he swallowed, "with someone else, then I would accept it, and I wouldn't force you."
He steadied himself with a fortifying breath. "There's no backing out after this, so I need to make sure it's really what you want. I already told you how it works-" he blushed fiercely at the memory, when he explained it all to her and she was still a frog, and he was sure that he would never get over that particular embarrassment, "-what I'm expected to do, the duty that I - we - would be expected to carry out."
Damian gathered his courage and met her enraptured gaze, imploring her. "If you choose to marry me, you'll be affected by everyone's expectations of you. You'll be royalty, and maybe that sounds fine on the surface but then there will be responsibilities, and heirs... " It was a lot of pressure, a lot to ask, and he needed to be sure that she knew what she was potentially signing up for. "Would you really be okay with that?"
Whatever Anya was expecting him to say, it was clearly not this, and a deep pink blush rose in her cheeks. She gripped her dress even harder.
Then, surprising him still, her lips split into a bashful grin. "You still doubt me?" she clutched her sides, holding in her laughter, and she wiped a tear from her eye. "Damian, I did homework for you!"
Damian gripped the bannister tighter, his nerves quickly fraying. "Just answer me, please. I need to hear it from you."
Her hands shook, but her voice did not. "Yes," she said quietly, and then raised her voice to him. "I want to be happy with you, I want a family with you, I want this life with you, so if you think you can be happy with me, then… yes."
Damian had no idea how much he needed to hear those words from her, until the relief crashed through him. If his laughter earlier was the sky cracking open, and washing away his tension, then her affirmation was the refreshing clarity that came after the rain, as if the world was born anew - the dawn of their fresh start.
Anya's next words jolted him from his thoughts.
"You should have danced with her," Anya said gently, indicating the blonde girl who had flounced off long ago. "You were a bit rude."
Damian sighed, shook his head. "It wasn't rude. It's the last dance, and she was trying to pull her luck."
Anya furrowed her brows. "I don't get it."
"Uh," said Damian, and a worry beyond all worries stood out to him. "Did Becky not explain it to you?"
"Um…" Anya folded her arms (cute), and squeezed her eyes shut (also cute), clearly trying her best to recall this crucial piece of information. "I basically had a crash course in nobility this year. I think she did explain it to me when we were in the carriage, when we left here, but it was so long ago now, I don't really remember."
Damian sighed, embarrassed. He couldn't believe that he had to explain it to her at literally the last minute, and it looked like he would have to start at the beginning. When he next saw Becky, he was definitely going to have to have a stern word with her.
"The Last Dance is a rare but socially accepted way for people to choose partners quickly," he began, trying to get the explanation over and done with. "Generally, you're supposed to dance with different people, and then at the last dance of the night, you dance with the person you're going to marry."
Maybe Anya hadn't been told about this, because she took a physical step back in surprise as she absorbed the new information. "That's confusing. You have to choose someone at the last dance of the Last Dance?"
Damian nodded. "That's why it's called a Last Dance. I didn't make the rules," he shrugged. "But yes. Every couple that wants to choose each other can do so, and no-one can challenge them."
Understanding slowly dawned in Anya's eyes as the implications sunk into her. "Not even the King?" Anya whispered reverently.
"Not even the King," Damian returned her whisper, before he inclined his head briefly towards the direction that the blonde girl had left from. "So, that girl over there thought that if she could get me to dance with her for the next round, then I would have to marry her."
"That's awful!" Anya gasped, genuinely horrified.
"I know," Damian sighed. "Imagine if I didn't know how to count, I might have actually fallen for it." And then he quirked an eyebrow at her, and an unusual rush of confidence rose in him. "But I fell for you instead," he grinned.
"Damian!" Anya blushed with a happy smile. "That's -" She used her hands to cover her flaming cheeks. "That was really cute."
It surprised Damian just how wonderfully bashful she looked, and it made him feel even bolder, and he knew that he would do anything to make her smile like that. Every time he looked at her, he was filled with a burning heat, and he never wanted to look away.
The musicians were quiet, waiting for his signal, waiting for when they would start the music for the last dance. A delicate tension shrouded the entire ballroom as they waited for Prince Damian to declare his choice. He was the host, and the last dance would not start unless he said so.
Damian stepped closer to her, closing the gap between them, and in that breath of silence her startled gasp was the only sound he heard over his loud, but steady heartbeat. Neither of them could barely breathe, and while they didn't touch, his body was alight with her proximity to him, and he wanted to pull her closer - but it was Damian that broke the silence.
"Anya, I…" His mouth went suddenly dry as he took in the magnificent sight of her, but he couldn't stop now. "This last year without you has been so hard, the hardest of my life, and I passed the point of just missing you a long time ago." He clutched his shirt right above his heart, and he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. "I ached for you."
It even hurt to remember it. How her absence left him feeling so hollow, he thought he would fall apart without her.
"I felt the same," Anya whispered back, unable to tear her gaze away from him, and she raised her hand to wipe away a pearlescent tear. "I missed my best friend, too," she said with a tearful smile.
It was so unfair that she could look so beautiful even when she cried. Every part of her shone with colour, glimmered with vitality, from the gleam of her hair and eyes and lips, to the glittering green swirling around her. Damian tried not to be distracted by it all.
"Even though this life can be hard, and it can be -" he choked on the word, "- lonely, I've never been happier than when you were at my side."
He forced himself to meet her gaze, as he bared himself to her, finally allowing the vulnerable part of his heart to be seen.
"So will you do it? Will you…"
He held his hand out to her, palm facing upwards in invitation, and he couldn't stop the hope swelling in his heart.
"... dance with me?"
Her lips trembled, sharing his same yearning for a life together, filled with love, and joy, and all the kisses they could want, and she heard the question beneath the question.
Will you spend your life with me?
Will you stay with me?
Will you marry me?
There was only one thing left to say.
"Yes," Anya breathed as she took his hand, accepting him, and his skin sparked at her touch. As firelight seeps through a room and connects everything in its sight, the warmth spread through them both, joining their hearts together in a golden glow.
Conscious that the entire ballroom was waiting for him, Damian almost moved to walk with Anya to the main staircase, but he immediately stopped himself, remembering what his mother had given him the day before.
"Wait, I-" Damian rummaged in his pocket, and brought out something small and shining. "I have something for you."
It was a ring, an emerald set in a gold band, flanked by diamonds. Anya held out her hand to Damian as he slipped it on.
"It's beautiful."
"It's yours," said Damian, closing his hand over it. Like my heart, it's always been yours. "It's an heirloom from my mother's side. She told me to give it to the person I choose tonight."
Her breath caught as he folded his fingers through hers, and his yearning gaze found her shimmering eyes. He left the other part of her instructions unsaid: that it would be a sign to all those at the dance that their intentions are true, that they had committed to each other.
As Damian escorted Anya down the stairs, hand in hand, he tried to prepare her for the dance to come: "Um, we're supposed to go to the middle of the floor, and then bow to each other, oh but wait, you can't bow to me, so maybe we should do something else-"
"Damian," Anya placed her other hand gently over Damian's arm, and gave him a gentle, reassuring smile. "Stop worrying! It's just a dance, so no matter what it's still going to be fun!"
"Yes. Right. Fun," Damian pushed himself to exhale his worry in a forced breath, and allowed himself to smile. He placed his hand over hers on his arm, and gave it a grateful squeeze. He wanted to convey so much to her: that he was so happy she was there, that she said yes, that she was being exactly herself, and encouraging him to do the same, but all he could manage to say was: "Thank you."
An expectant hush fell over the hall as Prince Damian walked Anya to the centre of the ballroom, his back tall and sure as an oak, while Anya glided next him, graceful like leaves on the wind. When they got to the assigned place, Damian gently signalled though his hold on her hand to start by standing opposite him, and Anya's skin prickled with the stares of a hundred people.
"Everyone's looking at us," she whispered, and her eyes flickered to the intimidating crowd of people that circled them. She hadn't quite been prepared for the feeling of being put on display, and it made her sweat.
Damian didn't tear his eyes away from her. "Just look at me," he said under his breath, and though a part of him felt embarrassed as he said it, he also felt the confidence rise in him. He was a royal. He had been the centre of attention before, and he hadn't died. He would do as much as he could to shield her, to protect her from what he knew from experience could be scary and uncomfortable. "It'll be okay. No-one else matters but you and me."
She nodded, and allowed him to take her trembling hand. "Okay."
But instead of pulling her into the start of the dancing position, Damian inclined his head down, down, in a low and elegant bow to her, and brushed his lips against the back of her hand.
Anya sucked in a gasp when her skin tingled from the ghost of his breath. Was she supposed to do the same? Damian knew that she couldn't -
But she didn't need to worry, because in the next moment he straightened and brought his other hand to her waist, her signal that she should hold on to his shoulder. She searched his eyes, looking for what she should do next, but she couldn't breathe at what she saw.
An intake of breath, and a soft smile, and a longing that could end empires. A whisper, layered with true and everlasting love, and the promise of a blessed life together.
I love you.
The musicians held still until the very last moment.
And then the last dance began.
It was a dance that inspired envy, desire, joy, hope, adoration, and so much more, to anyone who watched. White and green spun with each other, like leaves on the wind, and it was clear from the moment that they started dancing - no, from the moment they descended together - that they loved each other. No one could deny that Prince Damian's infamously brittle exterior had miraculously softened, and that the elusive and mysterious Miss Forger was the young beauty that had tempered him and opened his heart. The couple dancing before them were in total bliss, completely enamoured with each other, and just beholding their love could bring colour to even the blackest of hearts.
Not only that, but Prince Damian had bowed first to her, and kissed her hand; a gesture that, to the untrained eye, could be construed as merely polite, or romantic, but in practice symbolised absolute devotion.
It wasn't long before Bill and Becky joined them on the dancefloor, not needing to declare their union to the world, but simply to show support for their friends, and soon other couples followed. Couples who were already courting, or engaged, or married, and soon there were couples who were braver still, declaring themselves as engaged at the last dance of the night, knowing that nobody could challenge them.
Not even the King.
The King and Queen sat on their thrones, on a slightly raised section that allowed them to oversee the action on the ballroom floor, while Demetrius leaned on his cane nearby, able to perform his role as the confidant for the King or Queen at any given moment. Both he and the Queen flicked their eyes warily to the King, waiting on his comment, because although he couldn't challenge their choice, he could choose to make life enormously difficult for them. Demetrius hoped with all his heart that the King would accept them as they were, and leave them to their happy ending.
A flash of deep blue blurred in his periphery, and Demetrius dared to glance her way.
Maria was as beautiful as ever. He would thank Damian, and curse him in equal measure for inviting her, for daring to give him that hope that he so desperately needed, but he realised that Damian was right. Maria hadn't come to the Last Dance with anyone, hadn't danced with anyone. She was waiting for him.
He vowed that he would at least talk to her. Once the dance was over.
Demetrius heard the King stir in his seat, and the breath caught in his chest.
A great sigh passed through the King's lips, weary like a mountain that woke from a thousand-year sleep, or like a stone statue had taken its first breath. "An unconventional choice," he eventually noted, before he composed himself once more, and the dust settled around him once again.
It was enough. The Queen visibly relaxed, and let out a relieved breath, more grateful than she had ever been. "A wonderful choice," she affirmed, and she finally allowed herself to smile for her son. The son that fought for love, and through responsibility managed to show his true, glorious colours.
Though the King had been present through the Last Dance, quietly looming on his throne, swathed in his royal colours and sigil, he saw the world as if looking through layered panes of frosted glass. None of it mattered to him. None of it even came close to him. Ordinary things like peace, happiness, and contentment were far too out of his reach, and knew he was cursed to forever carry the burdens of the crimes he had committed.
The war had taken a great toll on him, but it burdened the country even more. He had fought hard to achieve peace, going to great lengths to fight tooth and nail through those dark years, and he lowered himself to commit those terrible atrocities. He survived. They all did, but all the colour had drained from his life, and all he saw, all he felt, all he knew, was black. Anger, rage, despair, it didn't matter, they all shared the same colour to him. Colour was something that didn't belong to him. He wasn't worthy of it.
Something moved in the King's vision and he blinked, bringing the world into focus, and colours blossomed before him, all smearing together like paint, but at the centre of it all he saw his son, and something about his bearing caught Donovan's attention.
Damian, the second prince, his son, danced in a room surrounded by colour, and he was smiling.
He honestly couldn't remember the last time he saw his son look like that.
King Donovan dragged his gaze away from Damian, to the young girl twirling in his arms, a young girl made of colour. Luminous green and delicate pink, she stood out completely next to Damian's brilliant white and celestial gold, and the King held back from shielding his eyes from their brightness. He squinted at the couple, so radiant with joy that it nearly blinded him.
As the King watched them dance, smile, laugh, something strange and unfamiliar stirred in his chest. It was tiny, but there was no telling how it would grow.
A single star in a sky of pitch black, but it was there all the same.
Hope.
.
.
.
.
.
And there we have it! I cannot believe this is the final chapter. Our journey with "The Prince and the Froger" ends here, but the memories live on.
This story was SO much fun to write, not just because Frog Anya was freaking adorable and Prince Damian melted my heart, but because every single one of you joined me on this journey and made me excited to deliver this story to you!
MASSIVE thank you to the artists who created beautiful works inspired by this fic. I am honestly so honoured that anyone would draw a piece inspired by my work, and honestly, I am so appreciative of how much work it would have taken on your side!
In timeline order of works produced, thank you to:
Peanutseagle: Thank you for your beautiful drawing way back at the start of this project! As you know, that piece ended up being the "cover" for this story on both and Twitter, and thank you for letting me use Frog!Anya as my pfp on other platforms. I will treasure her dopey face forever. (Thank you also for spamming me with froggy doodles in between, they made me laugh so much)
hhaisha: Thank you so much for your stunning artwork of Damian and Anya in front of the fireplace, both with Frog!Anya and Mirage!Anya which I just loved so much. I will keep looking back on both pieces with such wonder because you really captured the scene so well!
Marshmallow: Thank you for your hella cute doodles of Damianya when she was both a frog and a human, your style is so much fun and it really made me so laugh to see Frog!Anya asking for a kiss like that ? Utterly killed me
HUGE thank you to everyone who left a comment, especially the regulars (you know who you are!) for your constant support and encouragement, which gave me even more motivation to give you a story you could treasure.
And thank you also to the kudos-givers and the quiet readers who have not yet left a comment but enjoyed this story all the same. I hope that this story will stay with you in your heart, as it will in mine ❤️