Chapter 157 A Promise of Tomorrow
Damien
Tomorrow sits between us now, close enough to touch without either of us reaching for it. Dinner is quiet, with nothing left to solve. We set the table, placing warm bread and a shared dish between us. Finally, no messengers are hovering at the edges of the room, and no lists are waiting to be checked one last time. The work has already been done. All we have to do is get to tomorrow. Bella eats slowly, one knee drawn up onto the seat the way she does when she’s comfortable enough to forget appearances. Her hair is loose tonight, settling around her shoulders softly. She looks every bit the queen she will be by tomorrow. My dragon watches her with contentment and awe. I pour her more wine before she has to ask.
“Everything’s ready,” I say eventually, because the words want to be said aloud even if she already knows.
She looks up, brows lifting slightly. “Everything? Are you sure?”
“Everything that can be,” I answer. “Nothing that shouldn’t be.”
She smiles at that and takes a sip. I lean back in my chair, one arm draped over the back, and let myself walk her through it the way I’ve been holding it in my head for weeks.
“We’ll go up in the morning,” I tell her. “Separately, because that's the tradition. Not because it's what I want.” My mouth curves faintly. “Everyone was very firm about that part.”
“Of course they were,” she says. “Can’t have us ruining the mystery.”
“You’ll arrive in the afternoon,” I continue. “The ceremony will be at our special place.”
She nods, listening.
“After,” I say, “we’ll move down to the mountain overlook where there will be music and fresh air. A chance for everyone to breathe again before the noise begins. Then the hearth hall for the feast, where there will be food and dancing, until people celebrate until they forget what time it is.”
She tilts her head, considering it, then smiles.
“That sounds like us,” she says.
“It is,” I reply. “That was the point.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The night settles around us as we eat.
“Are you nervous?” I ask her, quieter than before.
She doesn’t answer immediately. She finishes her bite, sets her fork down carefully, and meets my gaze.
“Of course not,” she says, and the way she says it makes me believe her. Then her mouth quirks. “Okay, maybe a little, but not in the way people expect. I'm nervous to have so many eyes on me. What if I fall?”
I smile. “Then I catch you.”
She smiles and laughs. “What about you?”
I think of another wedding. Another time. A different version of myself standing in a place that never felt like it wanted me there. I think of the way everything had gone wrong because it had been wrong from the start.
“I’m not afraid,” I tell her honestly. “I’m… ready.”
The dragon stirs, pleased. Bella reaches across the table and hooks her finger around mine, grounding the moment in something physical.
“What happens after?” she asks. “After the wedding, the feast, after everyone goes home?”
I don’t have to think about that one.
“We live,” I say. “We wake up. We do the work that still needs doing. We argue about small things. We build something that lasts longer than a day, and we love each other until we're old and grey.”
"What about babies?" She asks, not looking up from her food.
I almost choke on my bite, and then I grin at her.
"I want ten."
This time it's her who chokes, and I reach over quickly to pat her back as she composes herself.
"Ten?"
I give a casual shrug. "I'll take more if you're willing, but ten seems like a good number."
She glares at me for a second, then snorts, shaking her head as she lifts her wine again.
“You are absolutely unhinged,” she says.
“I am confident,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
She studies me over the rim of her cup, eyes warm, amused, something softer threaded through it. “Let’s start with one,” she says. “And see how the world survives that.”
“That’s reasonable,” I agree solemnly. “A trial run.”
She laughs again, the sound easy and real, and something in my chest loosens further. This is what I wanted. Not the crown or the ceremony or the weight of tomorrow, but this. A future that sounds like conversation instead of command. We linger over the end of the meal, neither of us in any hurry to stand. Eventually, the fire burns lower, and the room grows quieter, the castle settling into itself as night deepens. When we rise, it’s unspoken that we’ll walk together. The corridors are dimmer now, lanterns turned low, footsteps rare. I offer her my arm, and she takes it without ceremony, fingers slipping into the bend of my elbow where they’ve always belonged there. We move slowly, letting the distance stretch, allowing the quiet do its work. Outside her door, she stops. This is where we’re meant to part. A stupid tradition again. One last line drawn before everything changes. She turns to face me, close enough that I can see the faint crease at the corner of her mouth where she’s been smiling all evening.
“Well,” she says lightly. “This is it.”
“For tonight,” I agree.
I lift a hand and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. I lean in and kiss her—a promise of what's to come. When I pull back, her forehead rests briefly against my chest, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt.
“Sleep,” I murmur into her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She tilts her head back to look at me, eyes bright and sure. “At the end of the altar.”
“At the end of the altar,” I echo.
She squeezes my hand once before letting go, and when she steps back into her room, she does it without looking over her shoulder. I wait until the door closes, until the latch settles into place.
Then I turn away, the dragon calm and confident beneath my ribs, and walk back down the corridor alone. Tomorrow, she will walk down the aisle to me, and we will seal our lives together in front of the world.