Epilogue: the final chapter of 'The Prince and the Froger' series.
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It didn't happen as quickly as they wanted it to, but as far as Damian and Anya were concerned, that was exactly how it was meant to be.
Their days were blissful, and untouched by the worries that had plagued them before. This time, they were free to be with each other as much as they wished, for as long as they wanted, and no one could tell them otherwise.
"Good parry!" Demetrius called, aiming his sword towards Damian once again, and steel struck steel as Damian grinned.
"Don't fool yourself," he said cockily, pushing his weight against the crossed swords for only a second. "It was an excellent parry!"
And then he leapt back, ducking out from Demetrius' swing, sweat beading on his brow from the exertion of it.
He couldn't remember when he had suggested to Demetrius that they could take up sparring matches with each other, but it had been something that they had been practising for the last year and a half, and as Damian and Demetrius' skills with the sword improved, so too did Demetrius' balance. In fact, he could now spar with Damian for an entire session, only needing his cane to take the edge off as they would walk back together to the castle afterwards, ready to refill and regain their energy.
Demetrius lunged forward and thrusted towards Damian, only for his sword to be knocked out of his hand, and suddenly he found himself knocked off of his feet too, with Damian's sword tip against his throat.
"Good match," Damian panted, and then he sheathed his sword, before offering Demetrius a hand up.
As he pulled his brother to his feet, a tugging sensation pulled on his heart, and he lurched on his feet.
"Whoa, steady!" Demetrius laughed, clapping his younger brother on the back. "Don't tell me that all that exercise has gone to your head…"
He said some other things, too, but Damian could no longer listen. The tugging sensation had quickly become more insistent, more urgent, until the edges of his vision clouded with a golden-green tinge.
"I… I have to go," Damian gasped, still breathless from the sparring match, but now also breathless for an entirely different reason. The knowledge pulsed through him, loud as a bell and just as striking.
Anya.
"Already? But it's only been -"
"She needs me," Damian interrupted, now getting desperate. "I have to go! I'll be back later - probably - see you!"
Damian turned on his heels, and with as much force as he could, he pushed his weight from the ground, breaking into a straight run towards the castle, leaving his brother and his sword behind in the forest clearing. As the orange and gold trees streamed past him in a blur, he concentrated on the tugging sensation in his heart, leaning into it the way that Anya taught him.
Please work, please work, please work…
A patch of air in front of him shimmered, wavering like a ripple, and Damian breathed in, letting his heart take over, taking him to where he needed to be, and then he leapt -
- twisting, turning, breathing, weightless, falling, gasping, flying -
- and landed on cold stone, skidding from the momentum of it, and crashed into the wall opposite.
"Argh!"
"Damian!" Anya's voice called to him, and Damian looked up as he massaged his shoulder, probably bruised from the impact.
"Are you okay?" she looked at him with concern, and then suddenly, her brow creased and she screwed her eyes tightly shut as what looked like a wave of pain rolled through her.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Damian admonished her gently, and he leaned down, letting her hold him for support, ignoring the twisting pain in his shoulder, telling himself that it was nothing compared to what she was going through. "I got here as fast as I could."
As Anya waited for the pain to end, he gave her a quick once-over. She was still in her nightclothes, but at least she was wearing her dressing robe, some additional layers in the quickly cooling palace, and she appeared to have been leaning against the wall when Damian crash-landed through the window. He wondered how long she had been braving the pain alone, how long she had waited before calling him to her.
"I called you…" she whimpered, her voice quiet and distant, as though her mind was somewhere else.
"I know. I heard you," he said quietly, and kissed her forehead, the skin burning along with the rest of her. "I'm here."
Anya's response was unintelligible, lost in the air as she groaned, and she gripped Damian so tight that he grimaced, and held his breath until she was able to release her grip again.
"Did you already send for the midwife?"
Her pink hair looked like it floated around her as she shook her head.
"Come on, let's get you to the bed," he whispered as he guided her along, taking advantage of the brief pause between her contractions.
They had known that the baby would arrive any day now, not because of the royal physician, who would examine Anya at least every few days to make sure that everything was coming along smoothly, but because Anya herself had been able to sense their daughter from the very beginning.
They had been completing a royal tour of a town on the other side of the country, a diplomatic trip for Prince Damian to embark on with the still-new Princess, and as Damian was sipping tea with the local lordship, a crash had brought the conversation to a startling stop.
"Oh!"
He looked over to see Anya's shaking hands rise to cover her mouth, staring at the broken shards of the cup on the floor.
"I'm so sorry, please forgive me," her voice shook with something that Damian couldn't identify, and it worried him immediately.
Servants rushed to clear the mess, but Damian raised his hand to stop them.
"Leave us," he said, his voice low and calm, but his eyes did not leave his wife, even as the servants scurried out of the room, followed shortly by the noblemen and ladies that were present.
In the empty room, Damian covered her trembling hands with his.
"Are you alright?"
Anya's eyes were huge and shining, the unshed tears magnifying them ever more by the second, and without speaking a word, she brought his hand to her abdomen, pressing his palm flat against it with hers.
Her mouth opened, closed, trying to put into words the wave of emotions that had flooded through her, but it turned out that she did not need to, because Damian understood.
"Are you… Are we…" His breath shuddered, but there was nothing on earth that could contain the feeling within it. "Is this real? Are we really having a child?"
Anya nodded, the tears spilling over onto her cheeks, and she laughed with relief. "We're having a daughter!"
Damian blinked, and soon he, too, was crying. "A daughter."
It was automatic, the way that he pulled her towards him, as if it was the last time. He leaned his face down into the space of her neck, inhaling strawberry and mint, while one hand tangled in her beautiful pink hair, and the other remained firm on her belly.
"We're having a daughter," he choked up. His breath skimmed her skin and he tasted her perfume.
They held each other for a long moment, breathing into the other, and the only sound was their hearts beating as one. She held him with just as much emotion, just as much relief and joy and gratitude, and it was a long time before either moved from the other.
"How did you know?" he couldn't help but ask, the curiosity overwhelming him, and Anya smiled.
"Do you want to see?"
"Please," Damian nodded briefly, and closed his eyes when Anya held his face with both hands, moving him down to her level.
"I gift you with my sight," she whispered, before kissing him gently over each eye, and when he opened them, Damian had to consciously remember not to blink too soon when the sight surprised him.
Because there it was. Of course Anya would sense her own pregnancy so soon, when their daughter's spirit was so bright over her belly, emanating a pink as glorious as a sunset. Damian could have watched it forever, seeing the way that the colour blurred and rippled like watercolours, but then he blinked without realising, and the vision disappeared - but not before he had committed the special sight into his memory.
Hot tears streamed down his face, and his throat tightened with emotion.
"Thank you," he managed, and he kissed Anya so gently, and with so much reverence that he could have melted them both on the spot. "Thank you," he said again, but this time he kissed her on her forehead, on her hair. He had meant it to be thank you for showing me, but very soon, the gratitude in his heart had deepened:
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for giving me this joy.
"Thank you," he whispered, kissing her lips for a final time, both smiling into the kiss.
From that day, Anya had always been able to sense their daughter. When she was growing, turning, kicking, and then, much later in the pregnancy, when she was happy, frustrated, and sleeping, and more.
"She loves your voice," Anya had told him, when they were talking together in the gardens, one hand cradling her growing stomach. "She wants to meet you."
It never failed to make Damian smile. "I can't wait."
So, while the royal physician could make his best guesses on the baby's arrival, Damian and Anya both knew as the day grew closer when they could finally meet their daughter. But the knowledge also made Damian particularly restless, and he had hovered over his wife to such an extent that she had no choice but to banish him to spar with his brother, if just to give her a bit of space, with the agreement that when it was time, Anya would call.
Damian gathered the pillows around her as best as he could, making sure that she could lean back as comfortably as possible, and he was halfway to turning to the door, when Anya grabbed his hand.
"Wait," she called, and Damian held his breath as she guided his hand to her belly for the last time. "Can you feel how excited she is? She wants to be with us."
Damian couldn't help but interlace his fingers with Anya's, resting it on her roundness, unable to quite form the words of what he felt inside. No words were enough for him at that moment. This was the moment that they had dreamed of for so long, the moment that they had fought and hoped for with all their hearts.
And then Anya's grip on his hand tightened as her face scrunched into a grimace.
"Will you stay with me?" she gasped, her voice strained and quiet. "I know you're not supposed to…"
"We talked about this," Damian whispered, pushing back the damp strands of her hair with his free hand, so that he could see her eyes unobstructed. They were jewels that shone with her love for him, but through their bond, Damian also sensed her fear, her pain and her trepidation. It solidified his resolve to focus only on the love of his life, the mother of his child, the centre of gravity in his world.
"I'm staying with you. No matter what."
But her fear was not dissuaded.
"What if the physician takes you away?"
"He won't."
"What if the midwife pushes you out the door?"
"That won't happen."
"What if-"
"Anya," Damian interrupted her gently, lovingly, leaning his forehead against hers, the way a lover would. "It's going to be all right. Nothing and no-one in this world or beyond could stop me from being here with you. I want to meet our daughter - together."
Anya nodded, the relief shuddering through her breath, and when she next met his gaze, she had drawn the strength she needed from their shared heart, briefly glowing with power, before the luminescence settled into her skin.
"Together," she affirmed.
Pink hair and golden eyes.
Damian couldn't look away from them.
The moment that she was placed in his arms, her tiny hands grasping the air towards him, it was as though the skies themselves had parted to let celestial starlight bathe them in gentle love, and the oceans and winds had stilled, the whole world going quiet so that he could hear her first precious breaths. The magic that he already knew existed in the world was incomparable to the spell that had been cast over him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and cradled her to his chest as indescribable emotions cascaded over him. A waterfall of powerful, protective love, of fierce and gentle adoration.
Though he had already spent his tears weeping with joy, and exhaustion, and relief, his eyes threatened to spill over, all over again.
"She's so beautiful," whispered Damian, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. "Just like her mother."
Anya smiled as she leaned against the plush pillows, able to see the adoration so clearly on his face that her heart ached with tender happiness. She had already been attended to by the physician and midwives, and had cycled between the edge of sleep and wakefulness while Damian held their daughter, letting Anya rest for as long as she needed to.
So, it was only the three of them in the room. Her family.
"She has her father's eyes," she said quietly, lovingly, noticing that his aura flared with unrestrained joy at the mention of it. So much so, that he was drawn to her, and Damian climbed onto the bed next to Anya, holding their daughter so carefully as he laid next to her.
He wrapped one arm around Anya as she brought another hand to support his, both holding their daughter, wrapped together in circles of protection.
As Anya gazed into the aurelian eyes of their beautiful daughter, watching as she grasped at her outstretched fingers, Damian gazed at his wife, her features softened by devotion.
There were many times in Damian's life where he had been completely in awe of Anya; when she transformed from a frog to a human, having survived the wilds for seven years of her childhood; when she learned magic and travelled to him by wind; when she bound her soul to his after their wedding night and strengthened the unbreakable bond of their love.
He knew that she was magical, and amazing, and tenacious, and resilient, but he had no idea she was so strong .
"You were amazing," he gushed at her.
"I couldn't have done it without you." She rested her head against his shoulder. Though it had been hours, her breath was still laboured and shallow with fatigue, and Damian shifted himself so that Anya could rest on him more comfortably.
But they didn't rest for much longer, as soon they were interrupted by a curt knock on the door.
A royal guard entered, holding the doors open.
"Your Highnesses, please welcome the King and Queen," he announced, and King Donovan entered the room, swathed in his royal colours of black and gold, closely followed by Queen Melinda, whose gaze immediately locked on to the baby.
"Oh, how beautiful!" Queen Melinda exclaimed, and rushed towards the bed with the newly-blessed royal couple on it. She promptly seated herself in the plush chair by the bedside, and leaned over the edge of the bed.
Damian and Anya tried to sit up straighter to welcome her, but the Queen only waved her hands, as if she were batting away a nuisant fly.
"Please! Do not exert yourself on our accounts. Goodness knows you need all the rest you can get - especially you, my dear," she beamed at Anya. "You have done a marvellous job. What a beautiful baby!"
She cooed endlessly, encouraging the little girl to grab onto her fingers. "Oh, I haven't seen such a beautiful baby since I held my little Damian!"
"Mother!" Damian mumbled, a flush rising in his cheeks, but his mother promptly ignored him, continuing to keep her focus on the baby.
"Who has her father's eyes? You do! Oh yes you do…"
A throat cleared, and the Queen stilled. Her playful demeanour dissipated immediately, and the joyful expression on her face froze into a pained visage. It was there for only a moment, before she carefully masked her expression with a neutral look and leaned back, to allow her husband to approach.
The King stepped forward, nearly sucking the air out of the room.
"May I see the child?"
Damian blinked, the politeness of the King's request surprising him. Even so, his hold on his daughter tightened out of instinct, and he realised the strong urge to turn away from his father, protecting his child from the King's stern gaze.
But Damian resisted, and instead turned to his wife, the mother of his child. With only a glance, Anya understood his worries and his fears, and with only a glance, she gave him the reassurance he needed.
Anya nodded slowly, and the message resonated in his heart. I am here with you.
Damian's mouth went dry, but he swallowed, and nodded, standing carefully with the newborn in his arms. It was a miracle that she didn't cry out as he moved, especially with his heart beating as hard as it was, since Damian was sure that she would be able to hear it through his chest.
As he walked the few steps towards his father, Damian's chest tightened, some of the residual fear that coursed in him whenever he did see the King, but though Damian felt dread at that moment, he noted that Donovan was not looking at him at all.
King Donovan could not seem to take his eyes away from the baby in Damian's arms, and when he finally stood before his father, he couldn't help but hold her out to him.
"Do you want to hold her?" Damian found himself saying, at the same time that his heart palpitations returned.
What was he thinking holding out his firstborn child to his father? Was he insane? What if something went wrong? What if he regretted it?
And yet, something in him knew that it was the right thing to do. It would be all right. It was a moment that had been destined for a very long time, set in motion a long time ago, on a day when he had stormed from the castle in anger.
King Donovan, Damian's father, reached out and gently, so gently, took his grandchild from Damian's hold, handling her so carefully that he almost couldn't believe this was the same man that had once locked him in his room, and tried to force him into a marriage, all in the name of carrying on the royal bloodline. Now, it seemed as though a different man stood before him, and Damian wondered when it was that his father had changed, when he had been tempered. Was it when he announced his engagement to Anya? When they wed? Was it when they announced the pregnancy? Or was it before that - at the conclusion of the Last Dance?
A pang of guilt twisted in Damian's heart, knowing that at some point, something in his father had changed, and it took him so long to notice. He had missed it.
"What is her name?" said Melinda gently, her voice effortlessly guiding Damian back into the room.
Damian glanced back towards her, but in doing so, caught his wife's beautiful eyes. Emerald green, as bright as the forest on the day they met by the lake. He had dreamed of her without knowing that it was her, and then fell in love with her, and married her, and danced with her on the surface of that very same lake, under the light of stars and magic.
Everything started by that lake. When he was only a boy, and she was only a frog.
"Her name is Lily," said Damian.
In the corner of his vision, Donovan held a single finger towards Lily, weathered from time and shadows and laden heavy with signet-rings. As babies do, she gripped his finger, hard, and Damian watched as Donovan could not tear his own eyes away.
"Lily," he echoed, and nodded firmly to himself. "She will make a fine Queen."
Damian's shoulders loosened with something that he couldn't name, and the backs of his eyes prickled uncomfortably.
A gentle silence shrouded the room, as Donovan handed her back to Damian, just as gently as when he took her.
"You did well," he said calmly, and that was all he said before he turned to Anya stiffly and gave her a short bow, before leaving the room.
"I'll go too," said Melinda, pushing herself back from her seat, and quickly embraced both of them, her touch as fleeting as a bird's. "I am so proud of you both."
And then she was gone, hurriedly following in the footsteps of the King.
Damian exhaled, somewhat in relief, along with a mix of something that he couldn't name. As his strength left his body, Damian allowed himself to sit back on the bed next to Anya, keeping his hold on Lily secure.
And finally, he looked down at his daughter, seeing her the way that his father did; golden eyes as bright as their royal crest, unburdened and hopeful, a herald of the continuation of the royal bloodline…
Or…
Could that really be what his father thought? It wasn't as though Damian could read minds, nor did he really know his father well enough to guess what his own thought processes could be.
He held out his hand to Lily and stroked his thumb against her impossibly soft cheek, so round and yielding to his touch that he wanted to squeeze her.
When the time came for Lily to be fed, he carefully transferred her to Anya, and returned to his place beside her. It meant that as Anya nursed their child, he could be there for his wife in whatever way she required; if she needed food or water, or extra pillows, or if she just wanted him to hold her, then he would do all of that and more. Whatever it took for Anya to feel safe and comfortable, knowing that she had his support for everything.
Maybe he would never know what his own father had seen in Lily, but Damian knew his own heart, and it had never before shone with so much warmth that it stilled his breath and brought tears to his eyes. As he took in the image of Anya, his great love and the mother of his child, with their beautiful daughter in her arms, he wondered if heaven itself had blessed them, because before him was everything he had ever dreamed of.
Once upon a time, it was something that he could not dare to hope for himself, but now he had everything that he wanted to fight for. Everything that he had wanted and worked towards for his whole life.
Love. Pure, shining, and eternal.
She found the King at his favourite balcony, leaning on the edge with both hands. With the sun dipping behind the horizon, his silhouette could have been striking, but Queen Melinda had years of practice to look past his majesty, and see the man. Even in the years where his humanity had disappeared, Melinda had only ever wanted to see him - her husband, the man that she fell in love with.
"My love," she whispered, in a way announcing her presence to him so that she would avoid startling him. Donovan could often lose himself in his thoughts, to the extent that the world around him could become closed off and far away - although Melinda often wondered if that was really because he was lost in thought, or because he was trying to hide from the world.
Donovan did not react to her words, but she approached him anyway, standing at his side like she always had. She folded her hands in front of her to rest on the stone balcony, and kept her gaze on the receding sunset before them. Purples and pinks splashed before her, interspersed with tangerine and orange. It was a gorgeous distraction, but Melinda knew her husband well, and she knew when he wanted to say something, even when the words would take a while to come.
He must have known that she was there, but still he said not a word, and when the silence between them threatened to overwhelm her completely, Melinda finally turned to look at her husband -
And her breath caught in her chest.
The glimmer of a tear on his cheek. It shone amber like the sunset before them.
"It's beginning to rain," he said gruffly.
Melinda turned back to the sunset, covering his hand with hers.
"So it is."
They stood in silence, watching the colours of the sunset change into lilac dusk, then into the dark blues of night, and all the while, they didn't let go of each other.
Anya didn't have to wait long for her mother's visit, although it took a different form than previous occasions.
With her face turned towards the clear night sky, Anya stood on the stone balcony of her private chambers, resting her elbows against the edge as she let the wind rustle her hair and gown.
"I miss you," she said, and although she was quiet, she knew that her voice could be heard clearly in the wind.
The trees rustled in the background, the shadows of them moving in such a way that Anya could still picture their lush green tones of summer, and then, the flow of the wind moved closer, soon reaching Anya on the balcony.
If she closed her eyes, Anya could hear her voice:
My darling, my love.
A zephyrous hand stroked the side of Anya's face, caressing her cheek so gently. Though it was a summer's night, this part of the wind was still so warm on her skin, and Anya sighed into it.
"I wish you could hold her," she said, her voice tightening. "You didn't have to go so soon."
It was my time, came her mother's voice on the wind. I am sorry.
Tears emerged at the corners of her eyes, but the soft breeze of her mother's presence carried them before Anya herself could wipe them away.
The wind calmed, almost as though it was retreating, but Anya cried out: "Wait!"
There was a hesitation, as a breeze returned back to her, circling her in the night with a feline curiosity.
Anya opened her mouth, but had no idea what to say. She didn't know how to interact with her mother like this, didn't have experience of communicating with spirits the way that her mother was so used to practising in, and though she ached to feel the warmth of her mother's embrace one more time, Anya wondered if she could learn to see it as enough. After all, not many in the world would be able to commune with the spirit of their mother from beyond the veil.
"I…" Anya swallowed, and started again. "Do you want to meet her?"
A moment later, Lily was in her arms, and she felt somewhat odd as she held her baby on the balcony, presenting her to what was essentially the wind.
"She has Damian's eyes, see?" she whispered, as Lily's eyes remained wide open and curious. With the light of the nursery behind her, they reflected a beautiful gold, and Anya couldn't help but think of how captivating they already were.
A breeze ruffled her short pink tufts. "Yes, and my hair," Anya chuckled.
There was a subtle vibration on the wind, and it took Anya a moment to realise that was the sound of her mother laughing with her.
The new knowledge gave her strength. Yes, maybe her mother could still meet Lily, even if it was in a different way to what she imagined.
"And if you look closely," Anya added, allowing Lily to grasp her finger so tightly, babbling gently. "She has his nose, and my smile…"
Anya talked to the wind, until the bulbous moon rose into the sky, and the wind settled and calmed around her, when she knew beyond a doubt that her mother had been with her the whole time, and that she would return when she was able.
She had just laid Lily into her cot, careful not to wake her, when a royal guard knocked on the open door, announcing the arrival of a new visitor.
"Sir Loid Forger, your Highness," they said simply, before stepping aside and allowing her father into the room.
Loid had barely stepped into the room before Anya tackled him in a forceful hug.
"Easy!" he laughed, taking a step back to adjust his balance. "You nearly knocked me over!"
"Sorry, Papa!" she grinned, and promptly grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him into the room, and when he laid his eyes on the sleeping baby, Loid's eyes widened.
"Oh," he said quietly, somehow feeling that speaking any louder would ruin the moment. "She's just as adorable as you were."
"I was just showing her to Mama," said Anya, a sad smile on her face. "I so wanted her to be here, but I know that this is how it's meant to be."
Loid turned to her, his face softening. "I wondered that, too. Perhaps she was meant to oversee your childhood, while I could be there for you in your later years. And even if she is not here with us in her mortal body, her spirit will always watch over you."
"Yeah," said Anya, and she looked away quickly, rubbing her wedding rings with the edge of her thumb. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about that. When witches… when we die, what happens to our spirits? Do we all return to the wind, like Mama?"
Loid thought carefully for a moment.
"Do you remember when you sealed your magic? That feeling pulling you towards the rest of nature, to disappear into it?"
Anya nodded. "Mama told me to be careful, in case I was pulled away completely."
"It's like that," said Loid. "We are blessed with magic, but the more that we use it, the more we feel the line between ourselves and everything else blur, until one day, our mortal body fades, and we become one with it all."
Anya kept her gaze on her hands, running her thumb over her wedding rings, watching the light reflect off the beautiful gold band, and sparkle within the emerald and diamonds that Damian had gifted her only a few years before.
Her mother's departure was to be expected, really. Yor had spent so long falling in and out of the wind, casting magic and blessings and spells and curses, that it made sense for her to become one with it eventually, even though it meant leaving everything else behind. But, one of the advantages to having magic, was knowing when your time had come, and so Anya was able to give her mother a final hug goodbye. She knew that Yor had held off losing her mortal body for as long as she could, but sometimes it was not a witch's choice.
Of course Anya couldn't help but wonder if that would happen to her, if there would be a time in her own child's life that she would have to go… and then what about Damian? Would he have to follow her, bound as the same soul? Would they be apart? He did not have magic, so would he end up with the same fate as other people who were not witches?
It was something that had been plaguing her for a while, but Anya knew that there was really only one person who could reassure her worries, and answer her questions. The only person in her life who held any answers at all, and yet Anya was reluctant to ask, because knowing always had its own consequences.
"I know you didn't ask me here to talk about Yor," said Loid gently, his eyes carefully trained on Anya. "You asked me here on a night of the full moon, when my magic source is at its most potent. I take it there was a reason for that?"
At times, Anya could only be grateful that her father was so direct, and observant.
Anya drew a deep breath, an attempt to fortify herself before asking her father the question that had been rattling in her mind, unable to dissipate on its own.
"Can you show me her future?"
He blinked, taken aback.
"Her future?"
Anya nodded, steeling herself to continue.
"I know that you showed Mama my future when she was pregnant with me. When she needed to run away."
"I did," said Loid slowly, and he seemed to be considering his words very carefully. "But only so that we could find each other again. We knew that there was a possibility that we could reunite, so we took that risk to see the path that would bring us together again."
It was a story that Yor had told Anya a few times; that long before her birth, magic was forbidden, and when Yor was discovered, she was forced to flee. Loid had foreseen that if he stayed behind, and if he withdrew from society, Anya would eventually come back to him as a nobleman's daughter, having already had her curse broken by true love's kiss.
But, as far as Anya knew, it was one of very few times that Loid had used his magic in that way.
"Is it difficult to see the future?" she wondered, having never thought about it before.
"Not particularly," said Loid. "But that doesn't mean that it is easy, either. There could be things that you don't want to see, and can never erase from your mind. Seeing into the future means accepting the possibility that there could be a future we don't want. People with and without magic all through history have gone mad from the knowledge of the future, and once you see it, it can never be changed."
"Never?"
Loid shook his head.
"Show me," said Anya. "Please."
"Anya-"
"You said that you looked into the future for me and Mama only based on the possibility that we might find each other again. It's the same for me. If there is a possibility that Lily could be happy, that I could keep being there for her, I need to know, I need to know that she will be loved and that both of her parents will always be there for her -"
Anya stopped suddenly, tears springing into her eyes, and Loid mirrored her shocked look.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't know why I said - I didn't mean it like -"
Loid's arms were around her immediately, and Anya responded instantly, leaning into his embrace with all her strength.
"No, I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "It was selfish of me to keep this from you, when I myself did the very same thing. And it was selfish of me to expect your sacrifice, when you have already sacrificed so much. You are and you have always been loved, Anya, and I'm sorry for all those years when you struggled to feel it."
Her hands tightened on his coat, and she pressed her face into his chest, her tears being absorbed by the fabric.
"Did you know?" she choked, unable to stop the flow of tears from betraying her distress. "Did you know what would happen to me?"
"Yes, I knew," he sighed. "And I knew that I could not change it, but that didn't mean that I should have accepted it so quickly, when it would be you that would fight and survive. Just because I knew that we would find each other in the end, does not mean that I should have taken your battles so lightly."
He stroked her hair so softly, like he might have done if she were a child.
But Anya never got to have that with him, and though she did try to put it out of her mind most of the time, the thought of becoming a parent had brought up that anxiety in her with unexpected force.
Anya wasn't one to hold a grudge, or let her anger and hurt consume her, but she did take the time to notice it, to see the pain in her heart and understand where it came from. It did not take long for her to understand the true fear that lay within her, and decide to enlist her father for help.
Without saying anything else, Loid seemed to understand his daughter's pain, and while he was too late to help her with her own childhood, he knew that there was still something he could do for his granddaughter.
"I gift you with my sight," he whispered, placing a gentle kiss over each closed eye.
And when Anya opened them, she saw everything.
Seasons change, as do the royal colours. Dutiful black transforms to tranquil blue. The throne room looks like an ocean shimmering under a blazing sun.
The image is blurred like a painting, but a girl with pink hair and golden eyes, possibly no older than six or seven, rushes up to the crowned figure on the throne.
"Will I be King like you one day, Uncle?"
King Demetrius' eyes soften on his niece, and he lets go of a woman's hand - she is sitting next to him on the Queen's throne, but her eyes are blue and kind, and she doesn't mind that her husband is being disturbed by his child niece.
"No," says Demetrius firmly, and Lily pouts before he chuckles and adds: "But one day you will be Queen."
She actually looks disappointed at this revelation.
"But I want the big crown! It's so pretty!"
At this, the Queen bursts into laughter. The corners of her eyes crinkle with the beginnings of fine lines, but her eyes crackle with joyful energy. "There's more to being Queen than what type of jewellery you wear on your head!"
Two figures rush behind Lily, and though the image is blurred and impressionistic, Anya knows who they are from the warmth glowing in her heart.
"Lily! Auntie Becky and Uncle Bill are here, and they've brought Benny! Don't you want to come and say hello?"
The girl's eyes light up, and Anya almost wonders if they are glowing, before the image shifts and changes again, and suddenly she is in a forest, shifting amber and gold in the wind.
A young girl stands in a lake, and Anya recognises it immediately.
"Look what I can do, Mama!"
Lily's smile is bright, and her arms are stretched into the sky while droplets of water cascade in an arc around her, small prisms each reflecting their own rainbow. They circle her like leaves in the wind, or ribbons floating in the air.
The water collects and pools in Anya's vision, and suddenly their gleam transforms into a steel sword, now in the grip of a teenage Lily.
"Take that!"
She raises the sword high, but it is blocked by an opponent even taller, stronger, and more powerful than herself.
"Nice try," Damian smirks, barely able to hide the grin on his face. "But I think we can do better than that! Go again!"
His push makes her stumble, but the resolve in her expression only solidifies, and soon she is running towards him again…
…but again, the image shifts, and now she is taller, her childlike features smoothed and outgrown, and she is running with a wide smile on her face.
"Benny! I can't believe you're here!"
She launches herself at a boy with sandy-blond hair, his eyes a rich caramel, and he only catches her because he has been running to her, too. His hands stay at her waist while she throws her arms around his neck.
"As if I would miss my best friend's coronation…"
And then Lily is poring over a table covered in fabrics, her brows deep in concentration.
"You don't have to choose a new colour for the royal house just yet," comes her father's patient voice. " You still have time."
She shakes her head in frustration. "It's so difficult to choose! I love all of these colours… Everything looks so beautiful to me."
"And that's one reason why we all love you so much," Anya nearly startles to hear her own voice, now deeper and more mature with years gone by. "You have so much joy and hope to give."
"Hope…" Lily's voice is thoughtful, and she reaches for a swatch of vibrant emerald green.
And then the image shifts again, and again, and again, a slideshow of joy and beauty and smiles that warms Anya's heart all over again, each time she sees the future playing out in front of her, until she sees the outer balcony of the palace, and a grown woman emerges from the doors.
There is no doubt that she has lived many long years. Her royal attire is a deep viridian accented with gold, and a delicate golden crown sits atop her styled hair, now shimmering more silver than pink. Behind her, the shadows of several children are running in circles, playing with each other, while some other, taller shadows, stand together, their voices carrying through the air.
Lily leans against the balcony railing, staring into the night sky, but before she does anything else, another figure joins and settles beside her.
"Everything alright, my love?"
He puts his arm around her, and she leans into his shoulder, letting his presence comfort her.
"I wish they were here," she says quietly. "I miss them both so much."
He kisses her forehead. "They would be so proud of you."
Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, and she wipes at them quickly. "Can I have a moment alone, please? I'll not be long, I promise."
"Of course, my love. Anything you need."
"Thank you, Benedict. I love you."
He retreats into the light, and Anya feels such a strong and powerful urge to go closer to her daughter. Somehow, she brings the image forward, until she could almost be standing right in front of her grown daughter.
Anya is barely able to believe it. Her daughter, her love, is so mature and growing right before her eyes. She is filled with so much love, she doesn't know what else to do but try to reach for her.
Without quite meaning to, her hands cup her daughter's cheek, and she brushes a thumb beneath her eyes, wiping away a tear.
Lily leans into her touch, and Anya's heart stops.
Her daughter opens her eyes, looking up into the sky, and into Anya's eyes.
"Thank you for everything, Mama. I love you so much."
"Anya? Anya, are you there? Can you hear me? Please come back, please…"
"Give her space! It's a very delicate spell…"
Anya blinked, and hot tears dislodged from her waterline, tracking saltwater down her cheeks.
Damian kneeled before her, his hands on her shoulders, his expression more worried than she had ever seen it.
She lifted a hand to her face, absently feeling the stickiness on her fingers, but at her movement, Damian's grip on her shoulder tightened, and he pulled her into his embrace.
"I thought you weren't coming back," he said, his voice strangled and quiet. Anya could hear how much of an effort it was for him to hold his tears back, but he was barely managing, and soon his shoulders shook from the emotions that swept through him.
Anya could only sense a few of them: grief, worry, and then relief… And yet the worry did not go away, because the confusion was still there, wondering what she had seen, wondering what had happened to her.
"I'm here," Anya said softly in his ear, and raised her hands to his shoulder blades, keeping her palms flat against them.
She closed her eyes and focused inwards, feeling the soft beating of their hearts merging together. One breath, and then two, and slowly, Anya sensed their frantic pace slowing down as one. Pulling on the energy from her heart, Anya tried to settle her warmth around them both, transferring a sense of peace and contented serenity.
"I'm here, it's alright," Anya continued, trying to soothe as much as she could, until Damian finally pulled back from her, his eyes red and puffy, but his breathing finally even, and the lines of his frown smoothed away.
"I was so worried," he said hoarsely. "Your eyes were blank, and it's been hours…"
Anya didn't know what to say to that, but she was crestfallen. Just the thought of hurting Damian and making him worry, even by accident, made her heart ache.
Loid cleared his throat delicately, drawing Anya's attention over to him.
"Since you're back now, I'll take my leave," he said politely, and if Anya wasn't imagining it, somewhat awkwardly. "But if you feel anything strange, please call for me. There usually aren't any after effects, but just in case…"
"Thank you, Papa," said Anya, rising to her feet. "I'll be alright now."
And she reached for Damian's hand, intertwining her fingers with his.
Loid's eyes crinkled into a smile. "I know you will," he said, finally, before closing the heavy door behind him, and leaving Anya and Damian alone, with only Lily in her cot on the other side of the room.
The full moon hung over on the other side of the sky, and so Damian busied himself by extinguishing all the candled lamps while she checked Lily, and settled into their bed.
In the darkness they found each other again, and Anya settled herself in Damian's embrace, listening to the steady and beautiful rhythm of his heartbeat. After seeing a lifetime of visions, the sound centred her, along with the warmth of his skin, though she still could not sleep so easily, thinking only of the visions that she had seen with her father's help.
Damian tightened his arm around her, pulling him closer to her, but Anya welcomed it, feeling in her heart just how relieved he was, and how much he needed her there with him.
"What did you see?" he wondered aloud, and Anya realised that her father must have explained everything to Damian. What the spell was, and why he had cast it…
But when she cast her mind to the visions that had sped through her mind, Anya felt nothing but joy, and she smiled gently, warmly, letting her husband know that all was well.
"I saw…"
And though she remembered in detail some of the pictures, some of the scenarios and some of the scenes, she did not know how else to describe it but to say that she had seen love.
Love in its purest forms. A lifetime of love. Pure, and shining, and eternal.
Her mother's blessing came to mind then:
A blessing, and a promise. That you both will have a happy life together.
Anya knew in her heart that the words would live on in her, as they would in their child, as they would for generations to come.
And when it would be time for her to leave her mortal body behind, their spirits would continue to watch over them, bonded as one soul, dancing together in the wind, over the lake, into the night sky and beyond.
Inseparable. Beautiful. A love that transcends death and the bounds of magic, destined to bring joy to even the blackest of hearts, in this world and the next.
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For real, every time I came back to write this chapter, I cried. It didn't matter where I was, or what I was doing before this, I always cried, because this story is so close to my heart and I've given so much of my love to it, I almost didn't want to say goodbye. I would have been more than satisfied to end this series on the previous chapter, but as always, I needed to give you more.
But, I finished it. I did it for all of you because I love you and you deserve it. Thank you so much for your amazing support, your heartfelt words, and your beautiful joy every time I gave more of this story and this AU.
This chapter is the conclusion of 'The Prince and the Froger' series, which began on 23rd February 2023 if you can believe it! It's been over a year but I have never forgotten this story, and always wanted to give everything I had into each chapter. Even though it started as a silly project, in time I gave my heart, body, and soul to building this world and delivering you this story, which at its' core is solely a love story. It is about love in all its' forms, in all ways magical and mortal.
It has been such an incredible journey, and I feel so blessed that you experienced this with me. I hope this story lives on in your heart, as it does in mine.