Hello all! I really loved writing this chapter, it filled me with so much warmth and love and I poured my heart into the emotions of it, so I really hope you enjoy reading it.
As a reminder there is a love scene at the end of this chapter, which this website will not let me write symbols to separate the scene so ive separated it with the usual page marker if you want to keep an eye out to skip it. The scene is not explicit in any way and is written with metaphor in mind, but by the context I would say it's pretty obvoius that it's a love scene, hence the heads up!
Enjoy xx
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Anya breathed in the cool summer hair, savouring the way that the gentle breeze felt on her skin. She didn't even realise how hot it had become in the banquet hall, and the parts of her body that had stuck to the dress relished the chance to ventilate and cool down.
The wind picked up in strength, and Anya felt her excitement building, until she heard the gentle step of bare feet on the stone behind her.
"Mama? Is that you?"
She turned and ran to her mother's waiting embrace. "You're here!"
"Of course, darling," Yor purred. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Without quite knowing why, tears sprung to Anya's eyes, and she tried to hastily wipe them away, but Yor gently held her daughter's face, and used her thumb to swipe beneath Anya's eye, catching the tears.
"I'm just so happy you're here," Anya sniffed.
Yor smiled, clearly trying to hold back her own tears. "I'm happy you're happy."
She pulled Anya to her in a loving embrace, conveying with just her touch just how much love she had for her daughter, but Anya quickly sensed that there was more to her mother's visit, and that there was a question in the air that she couldn't quite answer.
Anya tilted her head in puzzlement, a subtle motion to ask her mother why her mood had subtly shifted.
"My darling Anya," said Yor in hushed tones. "We should talk about what to do for your first time."
"Mama!" Anya flushed. "I already told Becky that I'll be fine. I'm not nervous at all."
"Not that one," said Yor calmly. "The other one."
Anya stilled, and understanding washed over her. "Oh."
Yor continued: "It's important that you do it soon. Your magic is still young, but if you don't seal the connection before long, it will become more difficult later."
"I know that, Mama," said Anya quietly, and she pulled at the ends of her fluttering white sleeves with unease. "I understand."
Having a powerful and full-fledged witch for a mother was… complicated. On one hand, Anya knew that she would be supported for anything, that her mother would always be behind her whenever she needed her, along with whatever blessing or spell she likely would need, even if she did not yet know it.
At the same time, being the daughter of a witch meant that conversations rarely lingered on the more worldly worries, only serving as a reminder to Anya that she had more to consider in her daily life than most.
"Do you know what your source is?"
Anya nodded, not saying anything, and after a pause, it became clear that Anya wasn't going to say a word of it.
"You're not going to tell me?" Yor enquired gently, but she had her lips lifted in a small smile, showing that she took no offence. For some witches, their source could be incredibly personal.
"It's… embarrassing," Anya flushed, and stared at the ground.
"It's all right," said Yor encouragingly. "Well, I'm sure you will build a beautiful and strong connection." She leaned down, and Anya instinctively closed her eyes just as Yor gave her a kiss on her forehead, her skin tingling with the new blessing. "And remember to be careful."
When Anya opened her eyes, her mother had disappeared back into the wind.
And her husband stood at the door, one hand resting on the frame. "Anya?"
"Oh! Damian! You're here!" Anya gasped, startled, and hurriedly wiped at her eyes before Damian could notice her blossoming tears. "Are you okay?"
"I came to ask you that," he said, eyes full of concern for her. "You got up pretty quickly. Is something wrong?"
"No, no, nothing's wrong," said Anya, and she smiled at Damian to show that she meant it. "I just needed some fresh air, and then my mother said hello and gave me another blessing, and well, now I'm crying, but I promise, I've never felt so happy."
Damian swept his gaze over her, noting her fidgeting hands, her eyes flicking the side, the very faint tear tracks down her face, and in an instant he crossed the balcony over to her side.
"Are you sure?" he said, the worry all over his face. "I can call the carriage if you're not feeling well? Or find somewhere to sit down-"
Anya interrupted his worried thoughts with a tender kiss, standing on the tips of her toes to meet him, and before she knew it, she had caressed his face with both of her hands, his skin warm on hers, and not just because of the wine.
"Thank you for coming to find me," she whispered, and leaned her head into his chest. She closed her eyes, savouring his warmth, and breathed in slowly, her senses swimming with his scent.
Damian encircled her loosely, both hands coming to rest on the small of her back. She was the perfect height for him, with the top of her head coming to just under his chin, and he couldn't help but lean his head on hers as they swayed gently together on the balcony, shrouded by the night in a private moment just for them.
"My father's speech didn't scare you off, did it?"
He tried to say it lightheartedly, but too late, his chest constricted at the last second, and the tension was obvious in his voice.
Thankfully, Anya only chuckled. "It was very… him."
Damian grimaced at the memory of it. King Donovan had sat silently for most of the banquet, overseeing it from his magnificent chair set in the prime location - Damian was frankly surprised that he had even attended at all - and when it came time for the toasts, Damian's heart clenched in his chest when he saw his father rise from his seat.
Anxiety flooded through him, and Damian could barely hear his father's speech over the sound of the palpitations drumming in his chest, but what he heard didn't surprise him in the slightest.
Responsibility. Duty. Heirs. Preserving the legacy of the royal bloodline.
As if he needed a reminder.
And then, as an afterthought, he blessed their union. Damian was almost certain that his mother had forced him to say it, and he found himself annoyed just for the mere fact that he felt annoyed by his father's speech, and annoyed that he still had a hold over Damian's emotions.
Damian closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of strawberries and mint, bringing himself back to her.
"You were glowing today," he breathed, picturing the sunlight bouncing off her white dress, the way that her smile lit up the room.
So, he was confused when Anya tensed in his arms. "What?! Why didn't you tell me?"
It only took a second for him to realise his mistake. "Wait - I mean - not glowing like you do when we kiss, but glowing like - that you look really beautiful." Damian cringed inwardly at himself. "That meant to come out a lot smoother."
"Oh," said Anya, embarrassed, and then she pressed her face tighter in the nook of his shoulder so that he wouldn't have to see her reddened face. "Thank you."
He didn't trust himself to say anything else, but he turned his face into her neck, slowly breathing her in, and together, they swayed under the moonlight, listening to the melodic laughter of the guests and the joyous colours of the music swirling around them, lifting them into the night sky.
On the carriage ride from the reception, Damian wished he hadn't had so much wine. He wasn't drunk, or out of control, but he was tipsy enough that the carriage ride made him feel a little nauseous on their way to leave the banquet. Even with Anya snuggling into his arm, and nuzzling her face into his neck, he felt like his stomach was continually turning inside out.
Until he realised - the wine had flooded him with warmth, but the nausea was coming from somewhere else entirely.
It was easy to get caught up in the festivities of the day - the ceremony was everything he had hoped, and he couldn't believe how lucky they were that everything had gone according to plan. Anya was truly a vision as she came down the aisle to meet him, although he shared her anxiety when it came to being able to bow to his parents. Damian had tried his best to get her out of it, until Sir Forger had let him know that he would be able to help Anya overcome her limits, if just for the day.
Damian understood that witches couldnt bow, but he didn't fully understand why until Sir Forger had explained it to him a few weeks' prior: that their magic relied on connecting with a source, and that connection was maintained with something akin to worship, or reverence. He also explained that bowing to something which was not the source could, in some cases, cause the magic connection to break entirely, or as Sir Forger explained, the magic would be "revoked".
So, Damian wanted to protect Anya's secret and help her as much as he could, even if that meant relying on Sir Forger's secret plan to keep her safe - and when he saw Anya manage a slight curtsy to his parents - the King and Queen - the relief that washed through him nearly brought him to his knees. Everything worked out and he was actually able to enjoy the rest of the wedding as a groom should, because he was finally able to marry his best friend, the love of his life, and he wanted to enjoy the day with her and remember it forever.
She was resplendent in her dress, and Damian had to resist shielding his eyes from the magnificence of her light. And with her hair curling around her face and tied up in a lovely style, revealing the skin of her neck, he wanted nothing more than to close the gap between her - and if not for everyone watching them, he would have covered her skin in a thousand kisses.
He held himself through the entirety of the reception, where the food and wine was more than enough to ensure that the guests were happy and well taken care of. He half-remembered giving a short speech, proud that he was actually able to hold his ground in front of the hundreds of guests and not ruin anything, and he managed to be suitably besotted while keeping his princely persona on, all the while looking forward to when he and Anya could finally have their moment of privacy, and he would be able to be completely himself again.
Thankfully, the carriage ride didn't take too long and soon they had been escorted into the lovely cottage that would be theirs for the night. The royal attendants had already unpacked all their belongings, and arranged the interior of the cottage to be welcoming and warm, lit by the glow of dozens of candles interspersed throughout the place.
Damian's stomach churned as they made their way through the cottage, while Anya held tightly on to his arm, her eyes wide and completely in awe.
"Damian, look!" she gasped. "These paintings are so pretty! And is this kitchen just for us? Oh, and those cushions look so comfy-" She let go of his arm to jump down onto the sofa, leaning back against it with her full weight. "This place is so cute! How long do we get to stay here?"
"Just two nights," Damian said, and cleared his throat, hoping that the nausea in his belly would pass, but if anything, it was only getting worse.
"I can't believe that after nearly two years I get to have you all to myself again. Do you remember the fireplace in your room? And all those late nights studying?" she grinned at him, and it didn't matter that there were candles lit all throughout the cottage, because her smile alone could have lit up the room.
He wished that he could have appreciated it more, but Damian could barely concentrate with how loudly his heart pounded against his ribcage, like it was trying to escape, and how his palms suddenly became clammy, and how his mouth had completely dried up.
And it wasn't until she had dragged them into the bedroom that his heart stopped in his chest, he understood why his body was reacting the way it was.
The festivities of the day had kept him suitably distracted, but at that moment, it all came crashing back to him. How he would lie awake for hours, worrying about everything that would go wrong, wondering if Anya would even show up, wondering if she would regret marrying him after all, thinking up increasingly impossible scenarios of how he could make a big fool of himself this time - and the one anxiety that loomed above them all.
His father's speech at the banquet made it abundantly clear that he cared very little about his son and daughter-in-law, but rather, that his entire focus was on what their union was supposed to produce. Like a business arrangement. It was like a stark reminder to Damian that the day wasn't about celebrating love, or joining two people in a spiritual union, it was ultimately an arrangement that was supposed to benefit the kingdom. Duty laid heavy on his shoulders, and the crushing weight suddenly made it hard for Damian to breathe.
It was a while before he noticed that someone was trying to get his attention.
"Huh?" Damian gasped, as more beads of sweat rolled down his neck.
Anya followed the droplets with her eyes as they disappeared beneath his collar, before she returned her gaze to his.
"I said, are you okay?"
His breath came in ragged gasps.
"I'm fine," he wheezed, but then the fire flooded his chest, and Damian gasped, and gripped the front of his shirt, doubling over in pain.
"It's okay, it's okay," her murmurings reached his ears through the terrible pounding of his heart, and he felt her gently guide him into a sitting position on something soft and bouncy. "I've got you. It's okay. Take a deep breath. That's it. Now let it go. One more time-"
His vision swirled before him, and it was all he could do to follow the sound of Anya's voice, to keep breathing as she was instructing him to do, and though his heart rate and his breathing started to slow, the nausea still didn't subside, and he kept his head still in his hands, leaning his elbows on both knees.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I just - I don't know - what's - happening - to me -"
"It's alright," she said again, even more gently than before, if that were possible, and once Damian lifted his head from his hands, his heart jumped in his throat.
Anya kneeled before him, so beautiful, her white dress reflecting back the light from the candles, and she flickered like the stars in the night sky - and looking so worried that he felt guilty for having a fucking panic attack on their wedding night and ruining everything, and his chest tightened with remorse.
"I'm - sorry-" he wheezed, barely able to speak, but he jolted when Anya covered his hands with hers.
She must be so disgusted with him. That her hands were so soft and warm, while he was shaking and sweating, and unable to even form a real sentence. But he couldn't let go of her. He couldn't let go even if he tried. She was a lighthouse, a beacon to guide him through the tumultuous storm swirling inside his body.
"Damian," her voice cut through the clouds, another ray of light that made him orient towards her. "What do you think we're doing here right now?"
His lips were suddenly dry, and he licked them quickly, trying to build up the courage to be able to speak.
"Um," he croaked, and cringed at how small his voice sounded to him. "Well, we have to - I have to - continue the bloodline, and make a child, and…"
He trailed off. He knew it didn't sound right, but truthfully, he didn't know how else to put it, or what else to say. The duty to continue the royal bloodline was the entire reason that his father, the King, had pushed him to seek a bride in the first place, it was the entire reason that he was actually able to marry Anya - the love of his life - and now that their future was secure, all Damian could think about was the responsibility that laid on his shoulders alone, and how he would be expected to carry it out. Even so, his own words rang so horribly shallow, haunting him in his own mind, to the point where Damian questioned why he had so thoroughly leaned into his father's expectation.
Anya was right. What was he doing?
She squeezed his hands, acknowledging the weight that had been placed on his shoulders for so long, and he couldn't help but look into her large, imploring eyes, glittering with candlelight.
"We just got married, Damian. Isn't that so amazing?"
Damian didn't know what to say. He tried to think of where she was going with that, but his mind drew a complete blank.
She drew a fortifying breath, and unconsciously, Damian followed her lead, strengthening his lungs with the unshakeable love that he felt for her.
"I know you're under a lot of pressure, and that's okay," she began, and she turned his palm over, drawing gentle circles on his wrist with her thumb and making his skin tingle in response. "But the hard part is over. Your father agreed for you to host the Last Dance, he hasn't challenged our union, and it's not like we could start a family by tomorrow, so, let's take our time. Let's cherish the time we have together."
And then Anya lifted his palm up, and held it to the side of her face, so that he was caressing her, with her palm over his, and just the sight of her eyes shimmering up at him took his breath away.
"We just got married. Do you remember when we thought this would be impossible? When we had no idea how things would turn out, and we had to fight for our chance to be together?"
Damian nodded mutely, mesmerised by her. Suddenly, it occurred to him that he was alone with Anya, his wife, and no-one else mattered at that moment in time.
Anya sighed, and a knot in Damian's chest released, as if he needed to hear it. Her sigh was a reminder of the promise that he made to her two years ago on the dancefloor of the Last Dance - when he demonstrated his undying devotion to everyone in the room, and by extension the kingdom. The promise that they would marry, that they would share their life together, and the promise that he would love her even beyond death.
Anya turned her head slightly, and kissed the inside of his wrist, so lightly that it left a tingling on his skin, but the softness of her lips and the gentleness of her touch and the warmth of her gaze had him rooted to the spot.
"We got married!" she smiled, and oh, his heart could have melted for her. "We did the impossible and now we get to celebrate, just us. We get to share our love with each other, heart, body, and soul."
While before he couldn't breathe from the pain, and from the pressure overwhelming him, looking at her now, he couldn't breathe for an entirely different reason. How could she know exactly what he needed? How did she know exactly the right words to bring him back to the moment with her?
Damian swallowed, and his throat tightened with emotion. He was so lucky that she was his wife. He almost couldn't believe it. After all this time, he was finally free to be with his best friend, the woman he loved.
"Tonight is about us," Anya said quietly, her voice like a gentle breeze, cooling the anxieties bubbling in his mind. "It's about the love we feel for each other."
And then she brought her other hand round to the back of his neck, bringing him in closer to her.
"So let me love you," she murmured, just before she closed the gap, and so, so gently, pressed her lips to his, the touch so light that he might have only imagined that she kissed him at all.
It happened so quickly, and she pulled apart before he even had time to catch his breath, watching him carefully for his reaction: would he pull away? Would he shut down?
Damian did neither of those things, and instead let out a cathartic, shuddering breath, almost as if it came from the depths of his very soul.
"Thank you," he whispered to her, and he smiled, finding her eyes with his, and he lifted his hand from her cheek to gently push back a lock of her from her eyes. "I'm so lucky that I'm married to you."
Even in the dim lighting of the room, he could see the pink blush that graced her cheeks.
"That's my line," she said shyly, and seeing her shyness thawed the fear in his heart.
He brushed his thumb across her lips, and for the first time that day, he could drink her in properly, without feeling watched, without feeling nervous or crushed by anxiety, without feeling like he had to rush into the next item on the schedule.
White pooled around her, the lace of her dress catching the candlelight, and even her skin glimmered in the low-level glow all around them. Tendrils of hair had escaped her carefully-styled updo, slightly curled from sweat, and Damian couldn't help but twirl them around his fingers, noticing how her hair gleamed and shone like silk - but most captivating of all were her eyes, tender and shining, with a warmth that she saved only for him.
Everything about her pulled him in, and he knew that he belonged to her completely.
Love flooded through him all over again, filling all his senses so that she was at the centre of his vision, and everything else faded away, and then the emotions surged through him and tumbled out of his mouth in a delicious sigh, brought forth by his pure adoration for her:
"You're everything I've ever dreamed of."
He said it without even thinking, but once the words were out of his mouth, he was surprised to notice that he didn't feel embarrassed at all. Quite the opposite, her demonstration of love and support restored his strength, and the tightness in his chest had dissipated entirely, all because she was right. Anya had reminded him that they had really come so far, they had overcome so much, and they had finally achieved their happy ending - everything else could come later. All he wanted to do right then was to stay in the moment with her and forget the world.
Yet as the relief flooded through him, and the pressure lifted, the only thing left behind was utter exhaustion.
It was over. Anya was right, that they had done the hard part, and they could both relax now, but it appeared that his body had taken those instructions far too literally, and he could feel himself beginning to shut down.
Damian leaned in to her, and relished in the feeling of being able to embrace her fully, with no fear of being interrupted, and knowing that she wanted to hold on to him just as tightly. He turned his head into the skin of her neck and breathed her in, letting the scent of strawberry wash over him.
"Can we stay like this for a bit?" he said, and the exhaustion from the day weighed down his voice, but he felt her nodding against him.
"Of course" she replied, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Help me get out of this first?"
The attendants had done a fine job in weaving the corset of Anya's dress - he couldn't deny it - but he couldn't help but think of how long Anya must have had to sit still for them to set it up for her, and he spared a moment of gratitude for how his own clothes weren't so restrictive. Anya perched delicately on the edge of the bed while he slowly worked through all the knots, undoing them one at a time, almost hypnotised by the subtle shine of the satin ribbons as they glided through each ringlet. Trying to put the image of her naked body out of his mind, Damian distracted himself with the thought that at least with every knot undone Anya could breathe a little easier, until finally she was able to step out of the dress in only her silk underslip, and she draped the beautiful dress over the other chair before she sat back down for him to do her hair.
Once again, Damian had to be impressed with the amount of work that went into her wedding attire, and while the golden hair ornaments were few in number, he couldn't count the volume of hairpins that he had pulled out of her hair that was no doubt keeping the updo solidly in place throughout the entire day. The small pile of hairpins kept growing in size and number on the edge of the bed as he pulled them out one by one, until finally, he was able to rake his fingers through her glossy pink curls, pleased with his work, and confident that she would be able to sleep comfortably with no more pins in the way.
As locks of her hair fell through his hands - soft, so soft - Damian had to hold back from pinching himself to remember that this was real. He had just married the love of his life, his best friend, and they were about to share their first night together as husband and wife.
Damian cleared his throat.
"I think that's all of them," said Damian, and carefully transferred the pile of pins to the side table, while Anya pulled back the covers of the bed and tumbled in, falling against the plush pillows.
"Sooooo soft," she moaned, and pulled the duvet over her shoulders. A dreamy smile played on her lips and soon she, too, felt the exhaustion of the day weighing on her, tugging her eyelids closed.
Damian carefully blew out each of the candles in the room, and then when he returned to the bed, his heart soared to see Anya so perfectly illuminated in the moonlight, her eyes already closed, and her breathing starting to even out. He soon undressed and laid his wedding suit carefully over the back of the chair, before he slipped under the cover, careful not to move too much so as not to disturb her. He shuffled closer, mesmerised by the way the moonlight seemed drawn to her, with how the light caressed her hair and skin, gorgeous and ethereal. He was almost too scared to blink, or breathe, in case she disappeared, taken by the fae into another world.
Under the covers, Anya's hand found his, and she folded their fingers together.
"I love you so much," she whispered, on the edge of dreaming.
Warmth bloomed in his chest and he squeezed her hand gently.
"I love you too."
His eyes drifted closed to follow her into sleep.
Damian dozed and drifted in and out of consciousness, half-remembering that he had just married the love of his life, and the other half of the time certain that he was in a wonderful fantasy. He blinked and blinked again, emerging slowly from his dreamlike state. Ribbons of moonlight streamed through the window and settled over them both like snow, and Anya's hair shimmered with starlight.
His eyes travelled to her face, wondering if she was still asleep, but somehow he wasn't surprised to see her emerald eyes shining back at him, with a languid smile playing on her lips, waiting quietly for him to wake. Sleep tried to pull him back, but he couldn't help but gravitate to Anya, such was the magnetising power of her eyes. Under the moon's gentle guidance, he found her lips, and as their lips touched he couldn't help but remember their first kiss together, when he saw her as she truly was, and she transformed into a human, and they were surrounded by magic and light.
She was still just as beautiful as she was in that moment, just as real, only now, they were free to be with each other fully, as they were always meant to. There were no more barriers for them to love, to touch, to kiss and embrace and be lost in the other, and Damian knew that he would never stop loving her, would never stop gazing on her with the reverence that she deserved.
Her soft fingers skimmed his skin, and travelled up his waist and torso, blazing trails of heat, until she pressed her hand flat against his chest, above his heart. Damian placed his hand over hers, and his heart beat drummed through them both, steady and strong and hypnotising.
"It's yours," he whispered, but there was a quiet desperation in his voice that carried his aching longing for her. "It's always been yours."
Already, a steady shimmer coursed through her, and it took his breath away. His golden eyes easily found hers, glittering green in the inviting darkness, and he closed the gap between them once again, kissing her with more heat than ever before, more than he ever thought possible. He couldn't get enough of her softness, her warmth, from the way that Anya kissed him back with increasing intensity and passion, he knew that she felt the same way.
I love you
Damian wanted to worship her, admire her, just as the moon admired the sun. He thought of how beautiful she was, how perfect, how much he wanted her to be closer to him, closer, closer -
I love you so much
He threaded his fingers through her soft hair, and wondered how two people could possibly love each other as they did, with such astronomical power that the stars could disappear from the sky and he wouldn't even notice. Desire flowed through him, through both of them, and Damian felt as though he was witnessing the beginning of the universe, with bodies of stars and galaxies colliding and merging and sending beams of light careening into space. And then there was Anya's own light, growing in strength and interstellar beauty, and it filled him with a heat that he couldn't control or describe - he had to have more of her, he needed to sink into her smell, her hair, her glow -
I love you I love you I love you I love you
Anya's glorious golden light rippled through the room like a starburst, and she blazed with the same heat, the same desire, and a part of him was sure that they were beating from the same heart. It nearly blinded him, but he couldn't tear himself or his eyes away from her even if he wanted to. Anya illuminated the night, and together, their love illuminated the world, and with every movement, every heartbeat, every kiss and every breath, their love for each other grew and grew until, fused as one soul, they transcended together in a realm of light.
As with the formation of any star, turbulence and gravity and energy leads to eventual collapse, and Damian could have sworn that the sky looked entirely different. Stars and colours he had never seen before spiralled in his vision - and in his arms, Anya flickered with her residual glow, until stardust danced around her skin like fireflies, and both sighed into the other, succumbing once again to the promise of sleep and dreams.
Bill was right.
He didn't need that book after all.