Before the story, please read my rating explanation, especially if you are a younger reader!

I spent a long time thinking about the rating for this fic. After some research, I have decided that this fic is suitable for readers 15/16years old and over, following British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) guidelines. This is because this story follows Damian and Anya's wedding (and wedding night), which means that there will be repeated verbal references to sex, and there is a love scene in Chapter 3 - but it is not explicit. It is not smut. It is a love scene because it focuses on emotions, rather than describing actions, hence my rating decision. (Readers younger than 15/16, please proceed with caution! And if anyone has any issues or concerns, feel free to catch me on discord or Twitter )

Okay now that's out of the way - thank you for reading! I am so excited to return to this AU, because I love these dorks so damn much. I've honestly missed this world and I can't wait to get stuck back in 😍

Enjoy!

The Prince and the Froger: Heart, Body, Soul

Chapter 1 - One Year Later

There were many times in Damian's life that he had been nervous. When he was younger, every time he saw his father the familiar weight dropped in his stomach, every time that he wanted to do well on an assignment set by Master Henderson, the first time he rode a horse and he thought he would fall off and be trampled to death.

That was small potatoes, because then he was nervous about carrying a frog in his pocket that was secretly his best friend and not getting caught, nervous about his first kiss when he was so scared that Anya would stay a frog forever, nervous when he offered her a chance to leave if she wanted to, even though he desperately wanted her to choose him still. When they danced together he thought that his heart would jump out of his chest, and when he asked her to marry him it felt as though he was on the precipice of death.

And yet - and yet, none of those moments held a candle to how Damian felt the day before the wedding.

His entire body clenched in on itself, wound up tight like a spring, and he would have barked at every passing servant, every stray noble, if it weren't for his mother's endless patience in directing people where to go and taking the weight of final decisions off his hands. It felt like a red veil was draped over his sight, discolouring everything, making it hard to focus, made all the worse that he wasn't allowed to see Anya until she would walk down the aisle.

If she was there with him, at least he could hold her, and she would laugh, tease him about his nerves, and somehow unwind him at the same time.

But she wasn't there, and he thought he was going to die.

"Damian, are you even listening?" a voice snapped, and Damian's head jerked up.

"Huh?" he mumbled. "What's going on?"

"Don't be hard on him, Demetrius. He's exhausted," came his mother's voice, and Damian dragged his palm across his eyes.

"Sorry, Mother," he grumbled. "I'm just… It's tomorrow, and we haven't even discussed the… things… with the other thing. The flowers. The rings."

So, yes, Damian had never been this nervous before. There was so much to remember, so much to do, it was like choreographing an entire musical when you only know the lyrics to one song. It was so overwhelming, his body had decided to do the safe thing and start shutting down without his permission.

"Tell you what," his mother, the Queen, sighed. "I'll handle the details. You go and rest, take a hot bath. It will be a nice opportunity to refresh yourself, and rest before tomorrow."

Damian groaned, but he was glad for an excuse to get away. If he had to make one more tiny, stupid decision, he honestly thought he might fling himself off a cliff. He quickly exited the drawing room - where his mother had set up 'headquarters' for the wedding planning - and stalked away from them as fast as he could.

Obviously he was nervous. He had spent the better part of a year talking details with his mother, studying a more advanced curriculum with Master Henderson, and even getting the chance to spend time with his brother, Demetrius, during which he had very cautiously disclosed the story of how he and Anya really met. Demetrius didn't believe him (he laughed, the asshole) but he did slap Damian on the back with a grin, and said something about "at least you have your fairytale princess", which just made his ears turn red when he thought back to it.

They knew he was nervous. They reasoned that he would want everything to go according to plan (he was a little bit of a control freak after all), and that the days apart from Anya were killing him, and that he would have to make sure the ceremony went off without a hitch and he didn't drop the rings and oh god what if he stuttered, what if he said something wrong, what if -

Damian tried to shake the worries off of him, because all of those worries were nothing compared to what he was really nervous about. What he had been too distracted to think about during all the planning, that had only just hit him about a month ago, and Damian had no idea who to turn to for advice.

The wedding night.

Oh god. Oh no. It would be the end of him. He would die. He would make a fool of himself, and he would definitely do everything wrong because he had no idea what to do and how did anyone even learn this stuff without asking someone it was so embarrassing there was just no way he would be able to get out of this alive, and it's not like he could tell his mother that this is what really worried him because she was his mother for god's sake -

Damian forced himself to stop in the corridor and take a breath. Then another.

This was ridiculous. He was getting far too carried away.

(Because his life was about to end and he was going to look like an idiot - )

"For fuck's sake," Damian hissed aloud, and turned on his heel towards the rooms. He was out of options.

It was not like he hadn't thought of asking for help before, but what could he do? He couldn't exactly ask his brother. Considering the circumstances, that would be too cruel to Demetrius, and even more embarrassing for Damian. Demetrius was a no-go.

A year of befriending the Forger's did mean that Damian was now on very good terms with Sir Loid Forger, but asking him was out of the question. No matter how trusting their relationship was, he could not just ask a man how to please his daughter in the bedroom. Absolutely not.

As for asking his own father -

EVEN WORSE. NO WAY. Damian nearly choked at the thought. Even though their relationship could now be considered 'strained' instead of 'outright hostile', Damian would rather walk on broken glass the length of the kingdom than ask his father for that sort of advice.

Damian's feet moved on their own, taking him to one of the guest rooms in particular. He raised his hand to knock, and then faltered at the last second.

He'd had awkward conversations with Master Henderson before. This wouldn't be the first time. He could convince himself that it wouldn't even be the worst. But Damian was a creature of habit, and that habit was crippling anxiety, so he lowered his fist, and shuffled away with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

What was he doing? It was literally the night before the wedding. His absolute last chance to get any semblance of advice. He would be foolish not to take it.

Damian spun on his heels, back towards the door, but when faced with the thought of asking such an embarrassing question, Damian froze once more.

Fuck it. Nevermind. He didn't need to know that badly -

"Something keeping you up?" said a voice from his right, and Damian leapt out of his skin.

"GAH!"

And then he caught a glimpse of who had just startled him, and Damian staggered to remain upright, his hand clutching at his chest.

"Fucking hell, Watkins! You gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," said Bill sheepishly. Despite his gargantuan size, he could be remarkably good at being light on his feet.

There was a moment of awkward silence, as Bill watched Damian back away slowly from Master Henderson's door, one rectangular eyebrow raised.

"You know, I was pretty nervous the night before Becky and I got married."

Damian couldn't help it, his jaw dropped open and he gaped openly at Bill. "You were?!"

"Of course," said Bill casually. "Every man gets performance anxiety."

Damian worked his jaw trying to come up with a coherent response. How on earth could Bill say that to him with a straight face? Like it was fine? Like it was normal?

"I'm… I'm not - " Damian stammered, but his mouth went completely dry, and his feeble protest vanished into the air.

This was it. The universe had heard his anxieties and his silent plea, and had sent him an answer on a silver platter.

But old habits die hard.

"I don't need advice or anything, I'm perfectly capable of… of…" Of doing whatever it is I'm supposed to do.

An embarrassing flush rose in his cheeks.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Damn it all to hell.

Sensing Damian's debilitating discomfort, Bill jabbed a thumb behind him. "There are still some guests in the banquet hall. Want to get a drink?"

Defeated, Damian hung his head.

"Yes, please."

Clunk.

Bill put down the glass in front of Damian, which he then promptly lifted to sniff the contents. He made a face as the amber liquid burned his nostrils, and then took a tentative sip.

Fire burned on his tongue. Whisky.

He took a large gulp without hesitation.

"Whoa, slow down," Bill chuckled as he sat down next to Damian, glass of whisky in his own hand. "I'm not that scary."

Damian wished he was the kind of person that could say something witty back, something that would make Bill laugh, make him see him as an actual adult instead of some immature prince, but alas, he was not that person. Forever chained to the weight of his responsibility, of course he would find it difficult to relax with others.

Bill cleared his throat. "So…"

Heat flooded through Damian and he resisted downing the rest of the whisky. "Just help me already."

He had spoken to Bill before. A few times, actually. Not least because he attended Bill and Becky's wedding last summer not long after the Last Dance, with Anya on his arm as his fiancee. It was a wonderful wedding, and he would have never guessed that Bill was anxious at all. He seemed so calm, so genuinely overjoyed, and Damian wondered how on earth he could have been anxious underneath all that.

The fact that Damian needed any help at all was embarrassing enough. Add that it was Bill Watkins ultimately taking the lead to give him advice - big, strong, manly Bill, who almost certainly didn't have problems ever and seemed to float through life like everything was all hunky-dory and perfectly fine - was insulting, but it was the only option he had.

"Well, you at least know how it works, right?"

"I know," Damian seethed. He was going to need more whisky.

"Okay, so. Do that."

Rage simmered inside him. Was Bill enjoying this?

"Thanks for the amazing advice," Damian grumbled. "I think I'll just go and bury myself in a hole. Goodbye."

Damian made to rise from his seat - maybe run away forever - but Bill's voice halted him: "I'll start by telling you what my father told me."

Damian couldn't help it. He sat back down.

Bill took a deep breath. "He said, and I quote: 'make sure that you hold back your full strength, or you could put her in the infirmary'."

Damian had never turned this shade of red before.

"WHAT?"

That could happen?

And then, to his horror, Bill slapped him on the back, knocking the air from his lungs, and laughed heartily.

"Don't worry, that's just a traditional bit of Watkins' wisdom, but I'm sure it won't apply to you."

"Uh, sure…" Damian gulped. He had no idea what had just happened, but he was strangely grateful. It was as though he was on a boat in the middle of a storm, and while he still had no idea if he would survive, suddenly he had someone with him to weather it with. A crewmate. A friend.

"Well, that was his words to me, but I had some good friends that helped me put things into perspective. They reminded me that Becky was probably just as nervous as I was, so there was no need to rush things."

"Did it help?" said Damian, genuinely curious.

"Yeah," Bill affirmed. "You can hear some strange things out there, especially if someone's just trying to show off or thinks they have something to prove, but honestly I think the thing that matters most is trying to relax." He gave Damian a small smile. "Even if it feels impossible."

Damian took another sip of his whisky, disappointment evident in his face. Relax? Him? He truly had no hope.

"I really mean it. Try not to put too much pressure on yourself, because otherwise it's easy to get lost in your own head, which is not where you want to be. In my opinion it's about having fun, going with the flow, and enjoying each other's company." He gave Damian another nudge with his shoulder, along with a playful smile. "So, you'll be fine. Really."

It just occurred to Damian that he was completely hunched over his drink, not the picture of a relaxed prince at all. He consciously brought his shoulders down, and leaned a little further away from the table.

Well. Maybe it was a start. Even if he was a little sceptical about Bill's advice.

Damian awoke with a start in a cold sweat.

It was the morning. The morning of the wedding.

Despite Bill's earnest reassurances the night before, Damian's anxiety returned to him in full force. He had spent almost a year with his mother and brother planning for this very day, and if anything went wrong he wouldn't know how he would be able to cope.

He wished Anya was there.

It was tradition for the bride and groom to not see each other for three days before the wedding, but for Damian it was absolute torture. When he was overcome with stress, when he was in a bad mood or simply when he had a bad day, she made everything better just by her presence. They didn't even need to speak. All he had to do was glimpse her pink hair from afar and he instantly felt his heart lift. Without her near, his self-control turned to dust.

Maybe Bill was right. Being around Anya was so easy. She had a wonderful ability to soothe him when he felt wound up tight, and remind him of the things that really mattered. He felt her absence aching in his soul, and he needed her more than ever to tell him everything would be okay.

It was still early. Damian didn't need to be up for another hour, but he feared that if he went back to sleep he would accidentally miss the entirety of his own wedding, so he roused himself from bed, and started to get dressed.

A knock at the door.

Damian knew that it wouldn't be Anya, but he couldn't help but hope -

"What are you doing here?" Damian mumbled, and rubbed the tiredness from his face.

"Good morning to you too," said Becky with a cheery smile, and then held up some kind of wrapped block as an offering. "Bill asked me to give this to you."

Damian took it in his hands cautiously, but Becky gave no signs of trying to fool him. He slowly broke the wax seal on the edge of the paper and started to unwrap it slowly.

Not a block. A book.

"What is it?" Damian asked, curiosity now getting the better of him.

"Beats me," Becky shrugged. "But he seemed pretty intent that I give it to you now, like, right this second."

Damian eyed the book carefully. It didn't have a title on it, nor an author, and the pages looked well-worn. He thumbed the yellowed paper, and flipped it open to a random page.

Heat rushed to his face, and Damian slammed the book immediately shut.

His chest had completely constricted with shock, stopping the airflow to his lungs, and Damian's throat burned with embarrassment. He tried to say something, but it came out as a squeak.

Damian cleared his throat, inhaled sharply.

"Tell Bill 'thanks'," he said eventually with a strained voice, entirely conscious that his face had probably turned some dark shade of red.

Becky pouted, obviously curious about the mysterious gift that Bill had asked her to pass on, but she didn't pry, and instead left him to get ready for the rest of the morning. As soon as Becky left, Damian shut the door of his room, and then after a thought, decided to lock it.

Damian held the book with his fingertips, almost as if it was cursed, like it could potentially open up at any moment and swallow him up. Then, deciding that he had nothing left to lose, Damian slowly opened it again at another random page, only daring to look at it with one eye open.

He frowned at the picture in front of him, trying to decipher it, and Damian turned the book this way and that, looking at it from all angles, even turning it upside-down before he gasped with horrified realisation.

Knowing that he needed to get moving, Damian buried the book deep in his trunk, hopefully where no-one could find it.

He could curse Watkins and thank him in equal measure.

Becky brought the brush slowly through Anya's long hair, separating each tangle gently before the start of the evening. She was almost envious of Anya's luscious locks, so long and beautiful, and she could see why Damian always had his hands in her hair every chance he could get.

Normally, because they were secretly kissing, not that Becky would tell anyone that.

Becky glanced at the mirror in front of her, and watched Anya carefully as she hummed to herself, rubbing some kind of cream into her skin in small, slow circles. She seemed so happy, so carefree. Looking at her, one would never have thought that it was the night before her wedding.

Becky cleared her throat.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" she asked, ever the best friend and dutiful matron of honour.

So it surprised her when Anya made eye contact with her in the mirror, utterly baffled by Becky's innocent question.

"No, of course not," said Anya in genuine confusion. "Why would I be?"