"Oh Anya, you look beautiful," Becky sniffed, as she dabbed at her eyes with the corner of a clean lace handkerchief.
For as long as Anya had been a human, she had never been one to be overly focused on her looks at any given point, opting instead to let Becky and her attendants do all the work of dressing her up for events, but on this occasion, Anya had to agree.
Layers of gleaming white fabric cascaded down her legs, cinched in at the waist, reminding her of the ethereal mist of waterfalls. Floaty sleeves decorated her shoulders, while she had her lovely pink hair braided and tied up, the picture of elegance and grace. Becky had delicately placed ornate gold pieces in various parts of the ensemble, gracing her neckline and wrists, and sparkling in pieces through her updo. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, and glistened on her hair, her skin, the golden pieces of jewellery, and it took Anya's breath away. She almost looked like the sun itself.
Becky was right. She did look beautiful.
And Anya felt sick to her stomach.
When she was a child, she had seen weddings from afar, and she had enjoyed seeing the women in their pretty dresses, surrounded by smiles and flowers from their loved ones. Then, when she met Damian, she endured torturous fantasies of being a human once again, of one day being able to have a day where she could celebrate the love that she felt for another person - and when he freed her from being a frog, she knew in her heart that she would do whatever the universe asked of her so that she could be with him like this. A wedding was the ultimate expression of love and unity, second only to the true love's kiss, so of course it made sense to her that this would be the natural next step.
Watching Damian plan the wedding was a joy. His excitement was infectious (and sometimes, so was his stress), and he strove to get everything perfect - not for his own satisfaction, or his mother's, or even his father's, but in the way that he knew she would love.
But there was one thing that took her by surprise, and that was when he filled her in on some of the more traditional aspects of royal weddings - including the parts that were non-negotiable.
"Since my parents are the King and Queen, they will be seated on the right hand side, to symbolise the celestial connection, while your father will sit on the left, but it's still tradition that we both have to show respect to them before the ceremony. So when you walk down the aisle, you'll have to bow -"
Damian stilled.
"Oh god. You'll have to bow to them."
Anya felt the blood drain from her face. "But you can ask them to remove it, right?"
He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out of his mouth.
"Damian, please," Anya pleaded, her voice becoming more and more desperate. "I haven't even formed a connection with my magic yet. If I bow, if I show deference to another, I don't know what it will do, or what will happen to me-"
"Wait, I can try, I-" Damian stammered, and swallowed dryly. "I can ask."
But from the look on his face in the days and the weeks that followed, Anya knew that it was futile. Showing 'respect' to the King and Queen wasn't just non-negotiable - not to do so was seen as absolutely unforgivable. Possibly even treasonous.
Anya stared at herself in the mirror, the white dress flowing all around her, and she tried to hold in her tears.
What was she going to do?
A tap on her shoulder, and Anya nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Anya," said Becky gently, as if she could tense Anya's fragile state. "Your father just knocked at the door. What do you want to do?"
"Let him in," Anya sighed, and wiped at her eyes quickly while Becky bustled him inside, and then stepped out quietly, taking the other attendants with her, before she closed the door to give them privacy.
Anya barely heard her father's footsteps as he approached her from behind, but if she closed her eyes, she could feel the vibrations they made in the air. How tentative his steps here, walking towards her. Scared. Just like her.
Her throat tightened, and she tried not to cry.
"I don't know what to do," she croaked, when she felt his presence stop right behind her. "What will happen to me?"
She didn't say anything further, but she didn't have to. Anya turned to her father with tears in her eyes, shimmering like glass, and he pulled her to him tightly.
"It'll be alright," Loid whispered into her hair, sounding as sure as a father would. "We'll figure something out."
"How? It's today!" Anya's throat hurt from keeping her voice down. "Everyone will know what I am, and then they won't let me marry him anymore, and it will be all for nothing!"
As much as she loved Becky, and loved that Becky knew her past as a frog and kept that hidden, she still didn't want to broadcast her magical status. While being a witch wasn't forbidden, exactly, their presence did cause some unavoidable tension in each kingdom. History had not forgotten how magic wielders had colonised and oppressed non-witches for centuries, until they developed cannonfire and gunpowder, and fought back with vicious retaliation. The subsequent war lasted decades - too many years to count - until Damian's father had ended it all with an attack so brutal and monstrous, that he had left his humanity behind forever.
The result was that magic wielders became so few in numbers that they sought refuge in neighbouring countries, living lives as unassuming as possible, and hidden from sight. While witches were not hunted, or outlawed, they were most certainly unwelcome - until someone required their unique services.
If the people knew that their new princess was a witch, there was no telling what would happen, and despite the rumours and the myths and the legends, one fact pervaded through all of it:
Witches never bow.
"I have an idea," said Loid, his voice halting and reluctant, "but I'll need to know what your source is."
Anya jerked her head up. "What? Why?"
"Every witch has a source of their magic, but some of them are more… let's say 'forgiving' than others. Take your mother for example - her source is a storm, but storms are known for being completely relentless. If she ever showed deference to anyone or anything else, the storm would take her magic from her, or worse."
"That's why she couldn't stay with you," Anya breathed, and suddenly her parent's past became a lot clearer in her mind.
"Yes." Loid's face became clouded with the memory of it, of the sadness and regret from years ago. "She couldn't hide who she was as easily as I could, and she paid the price."
"But you could hide," Anya said quietly, almost reverently. "How?"
"You know that my source is the moon," Loid began, and Anya nodded eagerly in response. He had told her a little bit about his own source, but not much, and she waited for any information as excited as a child. "She waxes and wanes, so sometimes I can be a little flexible, which has helped me to hide who I really am from everyone in this kingdom."
Anya pinched her lips together in silence as she thought through everything he had just told her. Her father had hidden himself from society for nearly fifteen years, all the way until she had managed to return to him, and even before her mother had ever been revealed, and was forced to run away. If anyone knew how to hide her true identity, it was him.
Sensing her renewed determination, Loid spoke up again. "Will you trust me?"
This time, Anya nodded, although she still couldn't help but hesitate. Even though her body rebelled against her, and she held herself back from shaking and running away, Anya cupped her hand to his ear and stood on tiptoes to get closer.
No sound could be heard in the room. In that moment when Anya told her father the source of her magic, the air had gone deathly quiet. No wind blew outside, no draught tried to make its way through the cracks in the windows and the walls, as if it knew that Anya wanted to keep her source a secret, and it held back from carrying her answer anywhere outside the walls.
Loid's eyes widened, and he leaned back, blowing a low whistle under his breath. "Wow. Really? That's your source?"
"Papa!" Anya flushed. "Don't make fun of me!"
"I'm not, I swear! I'm just surprised, that's all -" Loid held up his hands, palms facing outwards.
"Please don't tell Mama! It's so embarrassing!" Anya whined and threw her reddening face in her hands.
Loid paused for a moment, to take in the full sight of his daughter. She was flushed, but glowing, and he had truly never thought that he would see the day where she would get to wear a wedding dress and he would walk her down the aisle. He didn't get a chance to be her father while she was young, but he swore he would do everything in his power to protect her now, as a father should.
And Loid had a lot of power.
"Anya, there's no need to be embarrassed! Your source is very rare… but it's workable."
Anya raised her head from her hands. "Really?" she croaked.
Her eyes were just so full of hope, he would never forgive himself if he let her down, and she didn't get to have her happy ending.
Loid cleared his throat. "Yes. I have a plan. Just do exactly as I say, and everything will be alright. Okay?"
"Yes. Okay." Anya nodded, and started to visibly relax. She took a final shuddering breath to steady herself. "I promise."
"Good," Loid sighed in relief, and brought his daughter in for another hug. "Now that's settled, I just have one more thing to say."
He pulled back from the hug, but kept his hand on her head, stroking her hair. "I'm so proud of you. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to help before, but I'm here now, and even though you're getting married today, I'll always be there for you."
"Thanks, Papa," Anya sniffed.
And suddenly in no time at all, Anya had finished being dressed and carted into a glistening carriage, until she and Loid stood together behind the door of the church. She held onto his elbow, obviously nervous but trying not to show it.
"Oh, Anya! I can't believe it's finally happening!" Becky burst into tears and pressed her best friend in a giant hug. "Today is going to be so special, I just know it!"
"Mm-hmm," Anya squeaked and tried not to move. The lace clung to her skin, and Anya knew that if she turned too much that she would rip the fragile fabric of her dress. She gripped her bouquet with one hand, a lovely arrangement of white lilies and roses, and let its' beautiful scent waft over her in a calming wave.
Music swelled up from inside the church, and Anya couldn't help but imagine what must be inside. All the royal guests seated in their benches, decked in glorious colours and festooned with fascinators and silvery brooches. Anya had invited some of her classmates, but with very little family, only one chair was saved for her father at the front, and a chair for her mother 'in memoriam' (since the public still thought that Sir Loid Forger's wife had passed away long ago). But from the flow of the breeze that day, Anya knew that her mother would be nearby watching the ceremony from above. At least she could feel reassured that her mother was also there, even if she couldn't see her.
And then there would be Demetrius, seated by the King and Queen themselves…
Anya's throat went dry when she thought of what she would have to do next, but she squashed down her anxiety, and thought instead of the handsome young man that she was about to marry.
He would look dazzling, like he always did, his eyes warm and soft on hers, like just being near her kindled a fire in his heart, and that alone could have kept him alive and his heart beating. Anya had no doubt in her mind that Damian would do almost anything for her, that if she asked him to prove his devotion and love to her, he would do it in a heartbeat.
At some point it was Becky's turn to walk down the aisle first as Matron of Honour, and she dutifully held her own mini bouquet, and tried not to cry as she made her way down the aisle, the forest green chiffon flowing around her.
The music leaked in through the doors behind her, and Anya held on tighter to her father.
"Deep breaths," he said, his voice steady and true. "It'll be alright."
His certainty helped her to feel less nervous, and Anya followed her father's advice, closing her eyes and letting herself breathe in with the full knowledge that she was surrounded by love, and that the love she felt for her father and for Damian would help carry her through this moment.
Because after she bowed to the King and Queen… she would get to marry Damian. Their trials would be over, and they would be free to love each other forever and there would be nothing else in their way. It would be the fairytale ending that they had both been working so hard for.
Anya opened her eyes. "I'm ready."
The music propelled her forwards, and the doors burst open, announcing her presence. She squeezed her father's elbows, and tried to follow his instructions to the letter.
When the doors open, keep your gaze down to the floor. Don't look up until I tell you to. Bow when I give you the signal.
She didn't want to look too conspicuous, so she kept her head down just enough to pass as merely "demure", looking every part the blushing bride she was expected to be. Anya walked slowly, following her father's lead as he set the pace for her, knowing that she was too nervous to do it herself. Her heartbeat roared in her head, blocking out the whispers of admiration from everyone in the venue, and she did not hear the compliments or lovely comments whispered under the breaths of some of her favourite people.
Instead, she was focused on one thing: on getting through the bow, so that she could be free to wed her truest love.
They reached the end of the aisle, and her father steered her to turn to face the right hand side, and Anya knew that the time had come. Her body practically vibrated with nerves, and she honestly thought that she was about to be sick.
What if it went wrong? What if she messed it up? What if she couldn't do it after all, and everyone would know that she was a witch?
"Look up," her father whispered in her ear, and Anya's long eyelashes fluttered upwards.
Her heart soared in her chest, filling her with light and with love. Right in front of her, was her source. She didn't know how, and she didn't question it, instead letting her instincts guide her, and she inclined her body in a gentle curtsy. She held the pose for what she knew would be the appropriate amount of time, and rose slowly, before gazing once again on the scene before her.
But the scene had changed. Instead of seeing her source, the King and Queen sat before her. The King's impassive, stony expression told her nothing, but the Queen gave a gentle, encouraging smile, and it kicked Anya's mind into gear when she realised what must have happened.
An illusion. She cast a sideways glance at her father, who gave her a calm smile, and Anya blushed. He must have known that her source would be forgiving, especially if she herself thought it was the real thing.
So embarrassing.
But then it was time to keep moving forward, to get to the altar, and Anya didn't have to look down anymore.
Damian looked back at her, his gaze shining, and his eyes shimmered with love for her, and a flush high on his cheeks. He was magnificent in his military-style suit, a dark green that reminded her of the days of swimming in ponds and leaping over lily pads.
Anya couldn't get to his side fast enough - literally, because her father's elbow locked her in place, even though she wanted to run the final leg to the altar, where she could start her happy ending. When her father stopped at the end to give her away, she gave him a hurried kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said out loud, not just for his illusion that protected her, but for everything else that she didn't have time to put into words.
And, finally, she turned to face Damian, her true love, her fiance, her future husband, her future, and she didn't know how she could be so full of love for him and not burst. How on earth did the world still spin while time stopped for her, every time she looked at him? How did the sky itself stay standing, when it felt like it swirled around them, and only them, keeping them in their own precious bubble?
"You're so beautiful," he whispered to her, and love surged through her all over again. She wanted to tell him so much, that he looked so handsome, that she couldn't believe it was happening, that they were finally getting married, that what they were both dreaming about for so long was finally within reach, but the ceremony moved on and before she knew it, the minister had launched into his address.
Everything around her fell away when she stared into his golden eyes, and it took all she had to remember to repeat the vows given to her by the minister, until suddenly he had taken her hand, and slid the wedding band onto her ring finger, and she had repeated the same motion on to him.
"You may now kiss the bride," said the minister, his voice resonating through the church, and it brought Anya back into herself.
Kiss? Here? Now? She panicked, and her eyes briefly landed on the congregation that she had entirely forgotten about for the past thirty minutes while she stood at the altar.
"Everyone's looking at us," she whispered, but his warm hand on her cheek turned her back to fix his gaze on him.
"Just look at me," Damian whispered back, low enough so that only she could hear him.
And suddenly she was transported back to that beautiful moment where they got to announce their engagement to the world, when he guided her onto the floor of the Last Dance.
I'll be okay. He said in her memory, and she imagined him saying it again to her now. No-one else matters but you and me.
"Okay," Anya breathed, and she tilted her face up to his, and no sooner than their lips touched did the entire congregation burst into cheers and applause, drowning out the sound of her racing heart, filling her once again with so much love that it brought tears to her eyes.
She could feel that he wanted to crush her to him, like he usually would when they kissed behind closed doors, but still his kiss was firm, possessive, and so full of devotion, as if he was trying to remind her that she was his and he was hers, and that was all there was to it. It could be so simple, they could just be a young man and a woman in love, and that was all that mattered. If the wedding vows helped them to show their hearts to each other, then the kiss was what sealed it, making sure that from that moment on, their hearts were entwined together as one.
Damian's hand meandered from the side of her face, where he held her in place, and travelled down the length of her arm, where he held tightly on to her hand, and she knew that he would never let her go. A dashing smile played on his face as he interlaced his fingers with hers, and together they faced their families and loved ones, and walked back down the aisle together, into the daylight beyond.
Anya had been so focused on walking with Damian out of the church, on not tripping over her dress or falling over, that she hadn't quite noticed how green the view was becoming, until suddenly they stood outside -
And they were surrounded by frogs.
Frogs of all sizes and various shades of green had gathered outside of the door of the church, and blinked up at Damian and Anya with wet eyes and floppy smiles.
Confusion overtook them both for a full minute, before Damian and Anya exchanged a glance, and burst out laughing.
"I don't believe this," Anya wheezed, and wiped a tear from her eye. "I never thought I'd see another frog again in my life!"
"They must have come to see you off," Damian laughed again, "since you're their Frog Princess!"
"Oh no," Anya cried, laughing even harder. "Don't you dare!"
Damian grinned at her and held out his hand in invitation. "Come on, Frog Princess," he laughed. "Our carriage awaits."
Anya took his hand, and together they took a few tentative steps forward, wondering if they would even be able to make it through the sea of green, when it soon became clear that with each step that they took, the frogs would clear a path for them. Like they had recognised her, or like she had drawn them together somehow, as a final farewell to that time in her life.
Damian helped her inside the carriage, before they waved at those left behind in the church, caught between being elated for the happy couple, or wary of the chirping and warbling carpet of frogs in front of them. In amongst them all, Damian spotted the particularly shocked face of Demetrius, who couldn't decide between staring at the frogs, or at the girl who started it all. Maybe after this, he would be inclined to believe Anya's story.
Anya tried to contain her giggled behind her hand, but it was no use. The laughter spilled out of her. "Imagine if they didn't leave," she chuckled, "there would be no one at the reception!"
But then she raised her head to see Damian's stricken expression.
"Not that that would happen," she hastily reassured him. She had nearly forgotten how much stress he was under all year, and she knew how much the success of the event meant to him. "I'm sure they'll go away soon."
"Don't even joke about it Anya," Damian sighed and his shoulders sagged, but a mirthful smile still played on his face. "You know my mother would never let me live it down."
"Yeah, and you would never let me live it down," she leaned across the seat to give him a gentle kiss on his cheek. "But I don't mind. Today has been unforgettable already, and it's not even over yet!"
Damian groaned. "Don't remind me! We still have to get through the dinner, the speeches-"
"Damian," Anya said gently, capturing his full attention. "It's going to be great. Don't worry."
His eyes softened on hers, and he pulled her closer to him for another kiss, thankfully shielded from view inside the carriage. After all this time, they were finally free to be together, and kiss in private as much as they desired.