Cashmere & Cameron — The Royal Wedding

Bellacorde – Domaine Beauvigne

The Day Prior

Morning came in thin and pale, the kind of light that felt like it was trying not to wake me. I lay there for a long time, staring at the carved ceiling, waiting for the panic to find me. It didn’t. Just a quiet, steady thrum under my ribs — not fear, not exactly. More like standing at the edge of something enormous and knowing I was the one who had to step forward first.

This was my last morning in this room — and by room, I mean the suite I’ve lived in for four years. The airy colors, the balcony, the view that made even the worst days feel survivable. After today, Luc and I would move into the new marital apartments prepared for us, a wing neither of us has ever lived in. It was the right thing, the traditional thing, the symbolic thing. But knowing that didn’t make leaving this space any easier. A small, stubborn ache sat under my ribs. I loved this room. It had held me through everything.

It didn’t help that Luc hadn’t spent the night. Or any of the nights in the previous week and counting. The closer we got to the wedding, the more he had to obey the rulebook. And the royal Bellacordian rulebook evidently believed absence made the heart grow fonder. Everything would have been easier if I could just fall asleep and wake up in his arms.

I’d turned twenty‑two last week. I didn’t feel older. I felt… stretched, like my skin was trying to hold too many versions of me at once. The party had been beautiful, fun, glittering — but another birthday without my brother. Without my whole family. Mom and Brad came, which helped, but the empty spaces still echoed. The others couldn’t make the trip; with the wedding so close, Luc and I weren’t allowed to travel abroad, and asking everyone to come twice would’ve been too much. Even knowing all that, the absence still landed in the same place. Not everyone could come to the wedding. For some, the trip was simply too long, others had conflicts and then there was also a limit on who could be approved. Romantic, huh?

The palace was too still. Too polished. Too aware. Even the air felt rehearsed.

I slipped out of bed and padded across the marble floor, the cold biting at my feet. Somewhere below, staff were already moving — soft footsteps, clipped French murmurs, the rustle of uniforms. Today was the day my family arrived. My real family. The ones who didn’t care about titles or protocol or how my name sounded in a foreign tongue.

I pressed my palm to the window. The vineyards were still wrapped in morning mist, rows of green fading into the horizon. I wondered what Dad would think of them. If he’d see the land before he saw the palace. If he’d breathe easier out there.

A knock at the door — soft, deferential.

“Madame la Marquise…?” A pause, then in careful English: “They’ve landed, Madame. Votre famille est arrivée.”

My breath stuttered. “Thank you.”

The door closed. The silence returned, heavier now.

I dressed slowly, hands trembling only once — when I fastened the bracelet Luc had given me last night. A thin gold chain, delicate enough to feel like a promise. I traced it with my thumb until my pulse steadied.

By the time I reached the reception salon, Luc was already there, speaking quietly with his father. Charles stood like a portrait come to life — immaculate suit, silver hair, posture carved from centuries of expectation. Genevieve hovered beside him, warm eyes, perfect poise, the kind of woman who could make anyone feel seen and judged in the same breath.

Luc’s gaze found mine instantly. His smile softened the room.

“They’re almost here,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against mine as he kissed me. “Breathe.”

I tried.

The doors opened.

And the world tilted.

Family Arrives

Brad walked in first — confident, polished, perfectly at ease in a room like this. Mom beside him, radiant as always. They hugged me tightly but refrained from doing the same with Luc, mindful of protocol. Their three teens followed, all Brindleton Bay‑trained poise and quiet confidence. Nathaniel gave a small, practiced nod to Charles — the kind of nod Brad had probably drilled into him on the plane. Ever since Graham passed, Nate had been trying to grow into the Cunningham heir. He was even dabbling in medicine now. We all coped in our own ways; this was his. I wasn’t sure I could picture him as a doctor yet, but he was still only a teen, and I’d never spent enough time around him to say for sure. If Mom and Brad thought it could work for him, I trusted their judgment.

Eden, on the other hand, would never go near anything medical. Last time we went out to eat, she wanted to prove how “adult” she was at thirteen and ordered a steak rare, like her dad. She ended up puking into a potted plant the second she cut into it and blood came out.

Then—

The sound hit me before the sight.

A low, familiar drawl. A laugh I’d know anywhere. Boots on marble.

Dad stepped into the room like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to breathe in it. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw tight, his suit too new, too formal, too not‑him. He looked naked without his cowboy hat. Amy held his arm lightly, her smile warm but cautious, her San Myshuno polish softening at the edges. Beau followed, trying to look unimpressed and failing spectacularly. Cody trailed behind, eyes wide, taking in every chandelier, every gilded frame, every impossible detail. Both of them hat‑less, dressed up, looking strangely grown.

My breath caught somewhere high in my throat.

“Dad,” I whispered, though he was still across the room. “You really came.”

I stared at him like I still couldn’t believe he was real — not a figment of my imagination. I hadn’t been sure he would come. Not because he didn’t love me. I knew he did. But because he was… well… him.

He saw me. And everything in his face cracked open — pride, fear, awe, love — all tangled together.

I hugged all of them. I wasn’t supposed to hug at all, but dammit, this was my family and the day before my wedding. I was hugging. Sue me.

Charles stepped forward, gracious and formal. “Monsieur Kershaw. Madame Kershaw. Bienvenue. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Dad cleared his throat. “Uh. Thank ya, sir. I mean — yer Majesty. Or Highness. Hell, I don’t know, and I am sorry about that.” The drawl was thick. Honey‑slow. Nervous.

Amy dipped her head. “It’s an honor.”

Beau gave a lopsided grin. “Fancy place y’all got here. I didn’t think it was really gon’ be a palace, but damn. Now I feel bad for when Briony stayed over at my place — I was thinkin’ I had somethin’ great there.”

Cody elbowed him. “Beau.”

Brad’s kids introduced themselves with perfect ease. Beau tried to match their confidence, leaning into his charm. Cody shook hands like he was meeting celebrities. Amy complimented Genevieve’s dress. Dad stood a little too close to the wall, like he was afraid he’d break something by existing.

I felt the room tightening around him — not unkindly, just… curiously. The way royalty always watched outsiders. The way outsiders always felt the watching.

I crossed the room before I could think.

“Dad,” I said softly.

He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time — not as a little girl, not as the daughter, but as someone standing in a life he didn’t know how to touch.

“Baby girl,” he murmured. His voice cracked on the second word. “Damn, yer really livin’ in a palace. And look at ya, all grown up into a young woman. Gettin’ married tomorrow. Damn, where’d the time go?”

I swallowed hard. “I know, Daddy. Walk with me? Outside.”

He hesitated — of course he did — then glanced at Amy. She gave him that look, the one that said go, she needs you. He sighed, nodded, and followed me out of the room.

I linked my arm through his. It felt good. My dad was really here. He would really give me away. To Luc, the love of my life. My prince, even beyond the title.

Vineyards and Dad

The palace corridors felt too bright, too echoing. Dad’s boots sounded wrong on the marble — too loud, too real. I led him through a side door, down a stone path, into the gardens where the air finally felt like something we both recognized.

He exhaled the moment the sky opened above us.

“Lord,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ain’t never seen nothin’ like that room.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“This is crazy too. Bigger than my property, and all just some garden?”

“Yeah. I know the groomed, manicured nature isn’t your thing. I wanna show you something else.”

We walked in silence for a while, gravel crunching under our feet. Eventually we reached a gate. A guard bowed and opened it for us, and we stepped out into the vineyards. Two guards immediately followed; I waved them off. Dad noticed, but said nothing — probably because he was speechless.

The vineyards stretched out ahead, green and endless. Dad’s shoulders loosened with every step. His drawl settled into its natural rhythm.

“You doin’ alright?” he asked, not looking at me.

“I think so. I’m very happy, if that’s what you’re asking. Just… everything is confusing and new, and I’m so nervous. How about you?”

“I’ll let ya know when I can think clearly.” He paused, eyes on the horizon. “You look… grown.” He said it like it hurt.

I swallowed the ache rising in my chest. “I better, seeing how I’m getting married tomorrow. But I’m still me, Daddy.”

He nodded, but his gaze stayed fixed on the rows of vines. “Feels like you’re… far. I don’t mean livin’ far — that’s been our normal. I mean… you feel far away as my daughter.”

“I’m right here.”

He stopped walking. I stopped too.

He took a breath — deep, steadying, like he was bracing for impact.

“Baby girl, there’s somethin’ I gotta tell ya. Probably ain’t the right time, but I got a feelin’ I won’t get much time alone with ya between now and tomorrow. And after that you’re gone on your honeymoon — damn, that still don’t sound right. I still think of ya as that spicy lil girl. How in the world can ya be gettin’ married?”

“I know, Daddy. Feels surreal to me too. But I’m so glad you came. I was afraid you wouldn’t. And I know you aren’t comfortable here, but I’m grateful you’re doing this for me.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close. He held me tight. Somehow, I felt like that little girl again — the one he used to comfort after bad dreams. Every other weekend in San Sequoia, ever since Beau and I were five. I honestly don’t remember much before that. I grew up on his ranch. We all lived there at some point. Beau and I were even born out on the prairie, not in a hospital. My allergies nearly taking me out twice was just the tip of the iceberg in Mom and Dad’s collapse — the final drop in the bucket. After that, it was San Sequoia for me and Chestnut Ridge for Beau and Dad.

Once, when Beau and I were about eight, he and Dad moved to San Sequoia, onto a huge property, trying to run a therapy horse business. It failed. Neither of them could live in San Sequoia any more than Mom and I could live in Chestnut Ridge. So they came to my grandparents’ estate every other weekend, for a decade, like clockwork. Birthdays, holidays, anything worth celebrating happened there, together. Until I went off to college. We didn’t have much time like that anymore. It would be easy to blame them, but the truth is, until just a few years ago, I’d made little to no effort to go see them. I just didn’t really like Chestnut Ridge.

He cleared his throat. “I got… news.”

“Okay. Hit me with it.”

“Yeah, well… how am I gon’ say it…”

“Dad. Straight up. No frill.”

He huffed a breath. “Okay. So, Amy and… well… we’re havin’ twins.”

The world went very still.

Huh?!

The word hit me like a stone dropped into still water — heavy, rippling, impossible to ignore. Joy bloomed and bruised in the same heartbeat. My chest tightened, too full, too small.

“Twins,” I echoed. “You mean… babies? You and Amy?”

He nodded, eyes shining in a way he’d never admit. “Yeah.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So I did neither. I just stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into the familiar scent of leather and cedar and home.

He held me like he wasn’t sure he’d get to again.

When we finally pulled apart, the palace loomed behind us — bright, enormous, waiting.

“Tomorrow,” I whispered, “I walk down an aisle. With my future husband. Once we say our I dos, the countdown starts for us to have babies. Three to five years after the wedding is the goal — too soon seems improper, too late looks like one of us isn’t functioning right. That means my new siblings will be toddlers when they become aunts or uncles? Dad… oh my God.”

Dad nodded. “Reckon you’d tally that up like that. Beau said somethin’ similar.”

“Is he… his girlfriend…? Are they ever gonna level up?”

“Nah, they broke up. But he’s about that age when boys in the Ridge start thinkin’ about such things. Twenty‑two is a lot more common practice than forty‑eight for family plannin’.”

“Damn, Dad, you’re old.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it. And I’m feelin’ every year after that long flight. Why’d ya have to move so far away? Couldn’t ya find a nice guy like Luc but in San Sequoia?”

“I tried, dad, remember Becks? He just had different priorities. Meaning, everything was more important than me. You have already found out that is not the case with Luc. I am his priority. Umm … Dad? The twins… they weren’t planned, right?”

“Oh gawd no! Amy and I were done. She always wanted kids, but Savannah is kinda hers anyway, even if she didn’t give birth to her, so we have kids in our books. For a while after Laney we talked about another, but life got in the way, money got tight and then we chose two was enough. But we been dumb, ya know. Harder to get certain… well, medications and such out where we live, and we thought we were too old for a few times here and there without anything to land us where we are now. Well, we were wrong.”

“Ha — and you’re not even Camerons. If that happened to me, there’s a whole standing joke about a Cameron Curse. Unscheduled pregnancies at the worst possible time. So, what’s your excuse?”

“I’m a dumbass.” he smirked and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Right. I’m too polite to comment on that.” I squeezed his hand. “But thank you. For coming. For being here. For giving me away. It means more to me than you’ll ever know. Luc is everything. Don’t let the glitz and glamour fool you. He’s solid underneath. If you haven’t figured that out yet.”

He squeezed back. “Nah, I figured that already. He’ll do right by ya. But I am always there with ya, ain’t never gonna stop walkin’ with you, baby girl. Just not always in person.”

Dinner

Dinner that night was purposely toned down for the rural guests’ sake — something I’d pushed Charles and Genevieve to consider. And to their credit, they had. No twelve‑course tasting menu, no intimidating silverware constellation, no dishes that looked like abstract art. Just good food, warm lighting, and a pace slow enough that Dad didn’t feel like he was being chased by etiquette.

He relaxed more with every course, shoulders loosening, voice settling into its natural drawl. Beau and Cody devoured everything like they were afraid someone might take the plates away. Amy kept dabbing at her eyes, hormones and travel catching up with her. Mom and Brad looked proud — proud of me, proud of the strange, blended family we’d somehow become.

Luc sat beside me, hand brushing mine under the table whenever the moment allowed. Every time our fingers touched, something in me steadied. Something in me remembered why I was here. Why tomorrow mattered.

When dinner ended, Luc walked me to my door, his hand warm at the small of my back, his smile soft in the candlelight. Saying goodbye felt wrong. Like trying to peel off a part of myself.

“One more night,” he murmured, brushing his lips against my forehead. “Just one. And then you’ll be stuck with me every night. You might even beg for separate rooms after a few weeks of it.”

I laughed — too loud, too breathless — because the alternative was pulling him inside and ruining centuries of royal tradition.

Still giggling, I slipped into my room.

Reflections

Then I stopped.

The mirror caught me — or I caught myself — and for a moment I didn’t recognize the girl staring back. Somehow she was still the teen who rebelled against her messy family situation, who got her heart broken by her first love, who had two dads she loved in different ways, who always ran to her mom first. Same face. Same eyes. Same insecurities and dreams.

But everything felt… shifted.

Like I was standing on the edge of a life I’d only ever imagined from far away.

This time tomorrow, I would be a married woman. A Sovereign Princess. Royalty.

After tomorrow, there would be no way back. My life would be forever changed.

Was I ready for it?

With a cowboy dad and a musician mother. With two new siblings incoming who would eventually be only a few years older than my own future children. Children that wouldn’t be a choice, but a given. Was I ready for that?

I hadn’t really let myself think about it — not deeply — but now, with the wedding hours away, it felt suddenly real. Two children minimum. Three ideal. That was a lot of pregnancy time. A lot of risk. A lot of things that could go wrong. Add in the fertility issues that ran in my family, and I knew I was in for a ride.

Life was funny like that. Messy. Circular. Chaotic in the most Cameron‑Kershaw way.

I thought of Cody — my uncle — only five years older than Beau and me. Beau’s best friend. Mine too, in a sideways, chaotic way. Or Blaine, my great-uncle, who was the same age as half his great-nieces and nephews, just four years older than Beau and me, and who was most likely going to marry my stepsister, Lauren Cunningham. Generations and family trees folding over each other like badly shuffled cards.

I wondered how Mom felt about Dad having kids again while she was raising Brad’s grandchildren with him. Goodness, my family for you.

And Beau… single again. If I could hook him up with one of the younger aristocrats… Having my twin brother nearby would be incredible. But he was like Dad — happiest with dirt under his nails and sky above his head. He needed horses and wide-open spaces. A palace would suffocate him.

Love and family didn’t always mean close in proximity. Just close in heartblood.

I touched the bracelet Luc had given me — the thin gold chain, delicate as a promise — and my pulse steadied.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

But tonight, I was still me.

Cathedral

The cathedral was a living thing — humming with silk, jewels, whispers, and the weight of a thousand eyes. Luc stood at the altar, posture perfect, expression composed, but Philippe could see the tension in his jaw. He’d known Luc since they were boys; he could read him like scripture.

The music shifted.

The guests rose.

The doors did not open.

A ripple of confusion moved through the pews.

Luc’s fingers twitched once at his side.

Philippe leaned in, voice low. “It’s nothing. A veil, a broken clasp, a last‑minute adjustment… enfin.” He gave a tiny, elegant shrug. “Brides are never on time.”

Luc didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the doors like he could will them open.

Then a footman slipped into the side aisle, pale and breathless. He whispered to an usher. The usher stiffened. The whisper traveled — a chain of tightening expressions, widening eyes, subtle glances toward the altar.

Luc saw every one of them.

Philippe stepped forward, intercepting the footman before he could approach the altar. They spoke in hushed tones. Philippe’s face changed — not dramatically, but enough.

He turned to Luc. “Her mother and stepfather have been asked to step out for a moment,” he murmured. “Just a small interruption.”

Luc’s breath hitched. “Why.”

Philippe hesitated. “They didn’t say.”

Luc’s eyes sharpened. “Philippe.”

But Philippe didn’t know more — not yet.

Briar Rose and Brad rose from their pew, confusion etched across their faces. Beau and Cody followed. Jackson stood slowly, stiff as a fence post, eyes narrowed like he sensed something was wrong before anyone said a word. He grabbed Amy’s hand and pulled her along. Eloise, Philippe’s wife and Briony’s matron of honor, slipped out behind them.

The doors closed.

The cathedral waited.

The music looped softly. Guests shifted. Whispers grew. A courtier approached the Archbishop. The Archbishop nodded once, then stepped forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, voice echoing through the vaulted space, “we apologize for a brief delay.”

A murmur rolled through the cathedral.

Luc’s heart hammered.

Philippe placed a steadying hand on his arm. “It’s nothing. Truly. Brides panic. Brides cry. Brides need their mothers. This is normal.”

Luc didn’t blink. “Normal? For her entire family — including your wife — to leave?”

Philippe swallowed. “Luc—”

“Something is wrong.”

Five more minutes. Seven. Ten.

Luc’s breath grew shallow.

Philippe tried again. “Luc, listen to me. It’s nothing. Maybe her dress tore, maybe she spilled something, maybe she panicked. She loves you. She adores you. She—”

Luc’s voice was low, dangerous. “Stop.”

Philippe stopped. He knew that tone — the one Luc used when he was one heartbeat away from breaking protocol in half.

Luc turned sharply, striding down the aisle. Gasps followed him. The Archbishop called his name. His father rose stiffly, speechless — nothing like this had ever happened in the history of the Beaumont family. Charles looked scandalized and mortified.

Luc grabbed the nearest footman by the arm.

“Give it to me straight,” he said, voice shaking. “Now. No titles. No protocol. No lies.”

The footman paled. “Your High—”

Luc’s grip tightened. “I said no titles.”

The footman swallowed. “Her Excellency… apologies — Mademoiselle Cameron — has locked herself in her suite.”

Luc’s blood ran cold.

“She refuses to come out,” the footman whispered. “And won’t allow anyone in. Not her mother. Not her father. Not anyone.”

Luc closed his eyes. “Merde.”

Then he ran.

He burst out of the cathedral, ceremonial cape flying behind him. Guards scrambled. Cameras flashed. Dignitaries gasped.

Luc didn’t care.

He dove into the royal car. “Palace. Fast.”

The driver obeyed instantly.

Luc sat forward the entire ride — thankfully brief — hands shaking, breath ragged, ceremonial collar digging into his throat like a vice.

He whispered her name once. “Briony…”

He launched from the car before it fully stopped, burst inside, and took the stairs two at a time.

Turned the corner.

Stopped.

Her entire family was there.

Briar Rose, pale and wringing her hands. Brad, steady but tense. Jackson, jaw clenched, eyes stormy. Amy, tearful. Beau and Cody, stiff with worry. Eloise, red‑eyed. Guards. Attendants. A maid with trembling hands.

All standing outside Briony’s locked door.

All staring at Luc with wide, frightened eyes.

Jackson stepped forward first. “She ain’t openin’ the door, son,” he said quietly. “We tried talkin’ to her. She won’t answer. I’m just about ready to break down y’all’s fancy door here.”

Luc’s heart cracked.

He walked past them, slow and deliberate, until he stood before the door.

He knocked once. Firm. “Briony.”

Sobbing from inside.

“Go away! I can’t… I just… can’t…”

“Briony, let me inside. We need to speak. Open the door.”

“I can’t! You have to go marry someone else! I can’t do it! I am a hack! An imposter!” Her voice broke — and it broke him, knowing she was inches away, separated only by a door.

He rested his forehead against the wood. “Briony.”

Silence.

He closed his eyes. “Briony, mon cœur… please talk to me.”

A soft sound — a breath, a stifled sob — from the other side.

Luc exhaled shakily. “I’m right here,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving.”

Her voice came through the door — tiny, broken. “I can’t do it, Luc.”

Luc’s hand trembled on the doorknob. “Then let me in.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

A pause.

Then: “I’m scared, Luc.”

He pressed his palm flat to the door. “I know,” he whispered. “I know, my love. I’m scared too.”

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“I’m not supposed to abandon the altar either,” he murmured. “And yet here I am. I cannot wait to hear all about that from my father and Genevieve. It will be rough. I might be deaf afterwards.”

A tiny, choked laugh from inside.

He leaned closer. “Briony… listen to me. I don’t need a perfect princess. I don’t need a perfect ceremony. And I most certainly don’t want another bride. I need you. I need you beside me. As my wife. So we can finally be together — day and night — no more rules keeping us apart. If you’re scared, then we face it scared. Together.”

Silence.

Then the soft click of the lock.

The door opened a crack.

“Just you. Only Luc.”

Luc looked back at the family — all frozen, breath held.

“Give us a moment,” he said gently.

They nodded, stepping back.

Luc slipped inside.

Briony closed the door behind him.

Locked it.

And finally — finally — fell into his arms.

Return to the Cathedral

Luc held me for a long time — long enough for my breathing to steady, long enough for the shaking in my hands to ease, long enough for the world outside that door to shrink into something small and distant. His forehead rested against mine, his hands warm on my back, his voice a low murmur against my hair.

When I finally pulled back, his eyes searched mine. “We go together,” he said softly. “No one rushes you. No one touches you. We go when you’re ready.”

I nodded. Not because I felt brave — but because he made the fear feel survivable.

He opened the door. My family straightened instantly, a wall of worry and love. Dad stepped forward first, eyes red, jaw tight. Mom’s hand flew to her mouth. Beau and Cody looked like they’d aged ten years in fifteen minutes.

“I’m okay,” I whispered. It wasn’t entirely true, but it was true enough.

Dad exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a year. Beau and Cody sagged against the wall in unison. Brad rubbed a hand over his face.

But Mom stepped forward first.

“Sweetheart,” Briar Rose murmured, voice trembling, “come here.”

I didn’t walk — I folded. Straight into her arms. She held me and swayed with me the way she did when I was little, when nightmares felt real and the world felt too big. Amy joined a heartbeat later, warm and soft and steady, her hands smoothing my hair. Eloise slipped in behind them, wrapping her arms around all three of us like she could physically hold me together.

I cried. Not the elegant, royal‑approved kind. The real kind — messy, shaking, breathless.

Mom kissed my temple. “We’ve got you, baby.”

Amy whispered, “Let us fix you up, okay? Just us girls.”

I was ushered back inside, and the door closed on the men.

Inside the room, Mom, Amy, and Eloise guided me toward the mirror, wiping my tears, fixing my hair, my makeup, smoothing my dress, whispering the kind of things only women who love you can say in moments like this.

In the hallway, the men exchanged a collective sigh — the kind that said thank God.

Brad clapped Luc on the shoulder. “She’s alright. Everything will be okay. Just a case of wedding jitters.”

Dad added, voice low and rough, “Jus’ like her mother, I tell ya what.”

Beau muttered, “Damn near gave me a heart attack. Always that side of the family with the damn drama.”

Cody nodded. “Yup.”

Luc didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t take his eyes off the door.

Brad squeezed his shoulder again. “All will be okay, son.”

Luc nodded once — tight, controlled — but his eyes softened. “I know.”

When I reemerged, I looked pristine again.

Luc kept my hand in his as we walked down the corridor. Staff parted silently. Guards fell into step behind us. The palace felt different now — less like a gilded maze and more like a tunnel leading me back toward the life I’d almost run from.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. The royal car waited at the base of the steps, engine humming softly. Luc helped me in, sliding in beside me, never letting go of my hand. My family climbed into the second car behind us, forming a protective convoy.

The palace gates opened.

The short drive to the cathedral felt impossibly long and impossibly fast at the same time. Luc’s thumb brushed slow circles over my knuckles, grounding me with every pass. I watched the vineyards blur past, the rooftops of Bellacorde rising in the distance, the cathedral spire cutting into the sky like a promise.

When the car slowed, my breath caught.

The cathedral loomed ahead — massive, ancient, carved with centuries of vows and coronations. The music inside had stopped. The whispers had not.

Luc squeezed my hand once. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he murmured. “Just be mine.”

My throat tightened. “I’m trying.”

“You’re doing more than that,” he said softly. “You came back.”

He stepped out first, then turned and offered his hand. I took it.

My family formed around me as we walked — a strange, beautiful procession of Camerons and Kershaws and Cunninghams and Villeneuves and a Beaumont, all united by one terrified girl in a wedding gown.

When we reached the great doors, Luc finally stopped.

He turned to me, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “This is where I let go,” he whispered. “Just for a moment.”

I nodded, breath trembling.

He kissed my forehead — quick, reverent — then looked past me.

“Jackson.”

Dad stepped forward immediately.

Luc placed my hand into his — gently, deliberately — the same way Dad would soon place it into Luc’s.

“She’s ready,” Luc said quietly. “She just needed a moment.”

Dad swallowed hard. “Don’t we all.”

Luc gave me one last look — warm, steady, full of everything he couldn’t say in front of a cathedral full of royalty — then turned and slipped through the doors.

He walked down the aisle alone, cape trailing behind him, posture straight, expression composed. When he reached the raised altar, he turned to face the congregation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Luc said, voice carrying through the vaulted space, “thank you for your patience. There was a brief… hiccup.” A ripple of polite laughter. “All is well. And good things,” he added, eyes flicking toward the open doors where I stood with Dad just before they were shut again to follow the traditions, “are always worth waiting for.”

The cathedral softened — a collective exhale.

The orchestra shifted.

The music began again.

Dad squeezed my hand.

“You ready, baby girl?”

“No,” I whispered. “But… yes.”

The announcer lifted his staff.

The doors swung open.

Light poured in.

Heat. Sound. Expectation.

And I stepped forward.

Walk Down The Aisle

The cathedral was immense.

The kind of immense that made you feel like you were trespassing in history. Everything echoed — footsteps, whispers, my own heartbeat. The music chimed up, announcing it was time, and my knees nearly buckled.

I felt faint. Seriously faint. Like I might pass out and face‑plant into the marble.

Maybe because fifteen minutes ago I’d been locked in my room, sobbing into my hands, convinced I couldn’t do this. Convinced I wasn’t enough. Convinced I’d ruin everything.

And Luc… Luc had run from the altar for me.

The Sovereign Prince of Bellacorde — the man raised on protocol and composure — had sprinted out of a cathedral full of royalty because I whispered “I can’t.”

My chest tightened. Not with fear this time, but something warm and aching and overwhelming.

Staff buzzed around me — footmen, guards, attendants — but they blurred into background noise. My focus tunneled to the massive doors ahead.

“Ready?” Dad asked, smiling.

“No,” I whispered. “But… yes.”

So we walked.

Past long rows of pews filled with aristocrats of every creed, country, and status. Jewels glittered. Silk rustled. Cameras clicked softly. But all I saw were the faces that mattered.

Eloise — sobbing so hard her shoulders shook. Ana — sobbing harder, Thiago looking confused. Mom — smiling at me through tears until she collapsed into Brad’s shoulder, vibrating with emotion. Eden and Charlotte — staring, then dissolving into matching sobs. Nathaniel — rolling his eyes, nudging his sisters off him like they were embarrassing him. Beau and Cody — stiff as cutouts, trying not to cry and failing miserably. Amy — sniffles and soft sobs echoing, hormones giving her the perfect excuse.

They all knew. They all knew what had just happened. And none of them looked disappointed. Just relieved. Just proud. Just… loving.

Charles and Genevieve — proud, composed, but undeniably moved. Leontine and Henry — glowing with warmth.

And then I finally dared to look ahead.

Philippe stood tall, stunningly handsome in his formal attire, the perfect best man.

But next to him—

Luc.

My groom. My prince. My future.

In his ceremonial uniform, gold catching the light, eyes locked on mine like nothing else existed.

And I couldn’t see anything else anymore.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to a single point — Luc, standing at the altar, the cathedral’s light catching on the gold of his uniform. Everything else blurred. The pews. The flowers. The nobles. Even the music.

Just him.

Dad’s arm tightened beneath my hand, steadying me, grounding me in a way only he ever could.

“You got this, baby girl,” he murmured, voice thick.

I wasn’t sure I did. But I kept walking.

Each step felt like a lifetime. Each breath like a prayer. Each heartbeat whispering: He came for you. He chose you. He ran for you.

Philippe came into focus first — Philippe de Villeneuve, Duc de Villeneuve, Luc’s lifelong best friend. He offered me a warm, proud smile. Not family by blood, but the kind of friend who was family.

But Luc—

Luc looked like he’d been struck.

His eyes widened, then softened, then filled with something so raw and reverent it made my knees wobble. His jaw trembled once. His breath hitched. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was fighting the urge to run to me again.

Dad noticed.

“Damn,” he whispered under his breath. “Boy looks like he’s ’bout to fall over.”

I almost laughed. Almost cried. Mostly just tried to keep breathing.

When we reached the altar, Dad stopped. Turned to me. And for a moment, it was just us — father and daughter, the world falling away.

He reached up with both hands — big, calloused, trembling just a little — and took hold of the edge of my veil.

“Hold still, baby girl,” he whispered, voice thick.

The lace lifted slowly, brushing over my cheeks, catching the light as it rose. And then it fell back behind me, soft as a sigh.

Luc inhaled sharply — a quiet, stunned sound — like seeing my face unobscured knocked the air out of him.

Dad swallowed hard. “Briony Rose… you look… beautiful.”

My throat tightened. “Daddy…”

He kissed my cheek. Warm and fatherly. I never felt this close to my father. He pulled back, took my face in his hands, and looked at me as if for the last time.

With a sigh, he took my hand — the same hand he’d held when I learned to walk, when I scraped my knees, when I fled to his ranch and cried over a boy who wasn’t worth the tears — and placed it firmly, deliberately, into Luc’s waiting palm.

Luc bowed his head, not in royal formality, but in gratitude. In promise. In awe.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For trusting me with her.”

Dad’s voice was rough. “You take care of her. You hear?”

“With everything I am,” Luc answered.

Dad nodded once — sharp, emotional — then stepped back before he could break in front of the entire cathedral.

And then it was just Luc and me.

His thumb brushed the back of my hand, slow and reverent.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered. “My beautiful bride.”

I felt my cheeks heat. “You’re not supposed to say that yet.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmured. “The truth will out. And I’ve waited too long to hold my tongue.”

Philippe cleared his throat softly, smiling like he knew exactly what Luc was feeling.

The Archbishop stepped forward.

And the ceremony began.

The Ceremony

The Archbishop’s voice rose through the vaulted space, solemn and resonant, but all I could hear was the sound of Luc’s breathing — steady, controlled, a little too deep. His thumb brushed the back of my hand again, grounding me, anchoring me, reminding me that I wasn’t standing here alone.

We moved through the opening rites, the ancient words echoing off stone and stained glass. I barely registered them. My focus was on Luc — the way he looked at me like I was something holy, something fragile, something he’d run through fire to reach.

When it came time for the vows, Luc inhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. His voice, when he spoke, was low and sure.

“I, Luc Sébastien Beaumont, take you, Briony Rose Cameron, to be my wife. My partner. My equal. My heart. I vow to stand beside you in all things — in joy and in sorrow, in triumph and in trial. I vow to protect you, to honor you, to cherish you, and to choose you — every day, for the rest of my life.”

His voice cracked on the last line. Just barely. But I heard it. Everyone heard it.

My breath trembled as I began mine.

“I, Briony Rose Cameron, take you, Luc Sébastien Beaumont, to be my husband. My partner. My home. I vow to walk with you — in light and in shadow, in certainty and in fear. I vow to support you, to respect you, to love you, and to choose you — every day, for the rest of my life.”

Luc’s eyes shone. Not with tears — he was too controlled for that — but with something deeper. Something that made my knees wobble all over again.

The rings were brought forward on a velvet cushion. Luc took mine first, his fingers brushing mine as he slid the band onto my hand — a perfect fit, warm from his touch.

“With this ring,” he murmured, “I bind my life to yours.”

I took his ring, hands trembling but steady enough. The gold caught the light as I slid it onto his finger.

“With this ring,” I whispered, “I bind my life to yours.”

The Archbishop lifted his hands, voice rising.

“In the presence of God, your families, and the people of Bellacorde, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

A hush fell over the cathedral — a breath held by hundreds.

Luc’s hand tightened around mine.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Luc didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupped my face in both hands, and kissed me — not with the restraint expected of a prince, but with the reverence of a man who had nearly lost me an hour ago. The cathedral erupted in applause, cheers echoing off stone and stained glass.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“Mine,” he whispered, breathless. “At last.”

I laughed — shaky, overwhelmed, glowing.

We turned together as the orchestra swelled. Luc offered his arm; I took it. The doors opened to sunlight and bells and a sea of faces. My family stood at the front, crying openly. Beau whooped. Cody wiped his eyes. Dad looked like he’d been hit by a truck full of emotions.

Luc leaned in, voice low.

“Ready to walk out as my wife?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

We stepped forward together, into the light, into the roar of celebration, into the life waiting for us.

I Proudly Present …

The bells were still ringing when we stepped out of the cathedral. The sunlight hit us like a blessing — warm, golden, almost unreal. The plaza erupted in cheers as petals rained down — lavender for House Beaumont, blush roses for my middle name, Briony Rose which was also my mom’s middle name — swirling together in a soft storm of color.

Luc’s hand tightened around mine, steady and warm.

A herald stepped forward, staff raised, voice booming across the square:

“Presenting Their Serene Highnesses — Luc Sébastien Beaumont, Sovereign Prince of Bellacorde… and Briony Rose Beaumont, Sovereign Princess of Bellacorde, first of her name!”

The crowd roared.

Luc turned to me, eyes shining, and lifted our intertwined hands high. Lavender and blush petals clung to my veil, my hair, his uniform — a perfect blend of who we were and who we were becoming.

He leaned in, voice low enough only I could hear. “Smile, mon cœur. They already adore you.”

I did. I couldn’t help it.

Then he kissed me — not long, not indecent, but enough to send the crowd into another wave of cheers. Enough to make my knees wobble. Enough to make the moment feel real.

We descended the cathedral steps together, hand in hand, petals drifting around us like blessings.

And there it was.

The royal wedding carriage.

A breathtaking, lacquered ivory Landau trimmed in gold leaf, its canopy folded back so the people could see us. The panels were painted with delicate scenes of Bellacorde’s vineyards and coastline. The seats were upholstered in deep burgundy velvet, gleaming in the afternoon light.

But the horses—

Four white Lipizzaners, perfectly matched, perfectly groomed, manes braided with gold ribbon. They stamped and snorted, tossing their heads, sunlight catching on their coats like they were carved from pearl.

Beau and Cody froze mid‑step.

“Holy—” Beau breathed.

“Those are Lipizzaners,” Cody whispered, reverent. “Real ones. Look at the bone structure—”

Amy smacked Cody’s arm. “Eyes forward, cowboy. Look at your niece, not the damn horses! You too, Beau! That’s your twin sister!”

Briar Rose grabbed Beau’s chin and turned it toward me. “Listen to Amy! Your sister is getting into a royal carriage after she just married a prince, not cowboying on a rodeo chute.”

Beau blinked, dazed. “Right. Yeah. Sorry, Ma. And Amy. Damn, though.”

Luc helped me into the carriage, gathering my dress so it didn’t snag, his touch gentle and practiced. When he climbed in beside me, the crowd roared again — louder this time, seeing us seated together in the open carriage.

Luc lifted our joined hands and waved to the people. I followed his lead, smiling, petals still caught in my veil.

The driver gave a soft command.

The Lipizzaners surged forward.

The carriage rolled into motion, hooves clopping, wheels humming over cobblestone. The procession route was lined with people — waving Bellacordian and Beaumont flags, tossing petals, cheering as we passed. Children on shoulders. Elderly couples holding hands. Tourists crying. Locals shouting blessings.

Luc kept one arm around me, his thumb brushing my shoulder in slow, soothing circles.

He leaned in, voice low. “You scared me,” he whispered. “But you know me, Briony… I’ll always come for you.”

My breath caught. “And I’ll always come back to you.”

We waved to the crowds as the carriage carried us through the heart of the city — not far, but far enough to give the people their moment. The palace rose ahead, its gates open, the courtyard glowing with lanterns and gold.

The cheers swelled as we entered.

The Reception

The palace ballroom looked like something out of a dream — or a painting — or maybe a memory I hadn’t lived yet. Light spilled from chandeliers the size of small planets, scattering across marble floors polished so bright I could see the hem of my gown reflected in them. The aristocracy moved through the room like a tide of silk and jewels, every gesture elegant, every smile practiced.

And then there were my people.

Dad in a suit that fit better than he expected but still couldn’t hide the rancher in him. Amy, glowing and emotional, one hand drifting to her stomach whenever she forgot to hide it. Beau and Cody, trying to behave but exchanging looks that told me they were one whispered joke away from losing it. Brad and Mom, gliding through the room like they’d been born to it, but always circling back to me, grounding me with a touch, a glance, a quiet word.

It shouldn’t have worked — the collision of worlds — but somehow it did. It worked beautifully.

The receiving line felt endless. Dukes, ambassadors, ministers, distant cousins with titles older than the country I grew up in. Luc stood beside me, steady and warm, brushing my hand whenever protocol allowed. Every time the room felt too heavy, too gilded, too much, I found Dad’s eyes across the crowd, or Mom’s soft smile, or Brad’s reassuring nod.

When the orchestra shifted, the room stilled. The first dance.

Luc offered his hand like I was the only person in the world. The crowd blurred as we stepped into the center of the ballroom, the string quartet blooming around us. He held me with a reverence that made my breath catch — not possessive, not performative, just… mine. The future king and the girl from San Sequoia, turning slowly under a thousand candles.

When the dance ended, Dad stepped forward for the father‑daughter dance. He looked terrified and proud and heartbreakingly out of place — until I put my hand in his. Then he wasn’t out of place at all. He was just my dad. The man who’d walked me through every version of myself.

Amy cried openly. Beau pretended not to. Cody didn’t bother pretending.

The cake cutting came next — a towering confection of sugar flowers and gold leaf so ornate I almost laughed. Luc leaned in and whispered something wicked about the absurdity of it, and I nearly snorted in front of half the aristocracy. We fed each other small, polite bites, but when he brushed a crumb from my lip with his thumb, the room collectively melted.

Toasts followed — elegant, political, heartfelt. Luc’s father spoke with gravitas. Mom spoke with grace. Brad spoke with warmth. Dad spoke with a trembling voice that made even the aristocrats soften.

And through it all, I felt the strangest, most comforting thing: I wasn’t losing one world to gain another. Both worlds were here, in this room, learning how to breathe together. What I gained was something I had longed for my entire life: a true home. That one singular place where you truly belong. Home.

By the time the orchestra shifted into the final set and guests drifted toward the terrace for champagne and night air, Luc found my hand again. His thumb traced my knuckles, slow and sure.

“Ready?” he murmured.

And for the first time all day, I truly was.

The Wedding Night

The door clicked shut behind us with a soft, final sound — like the world outside had been gently cut away. Luc didn’t move at first. He just stood there, back against the door, chest rising and falling like he was trying to catch up to the fact that we were finally alone. Finally married. Finally allowed to touch each other without a chaperone or a clock or a rulebook breathing down our necks.

His eyes swept over me — slow, reverent, hungry in a way he never let himself show in public. The kind of look that made my knees feel unreliable.

He exhaled once, a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“My wife,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “mon éternel.”

My forever.

Heat curled through me. “My husband.” It sounded funny in my ears. Like play-pretend. But I was really married now. Wow.

He pushed off the door and came to me in three slow steps, hands sliding to my waist with the ease of someone who’d held me a hundred times. He kissed me — familiar, deep, claiming — and when we finally broke apart, he brushed his thumb over my lower lip.

“Champagne?” he asked, voice roughened with affection.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Please.”

Not like we didn’t both already have a good buzz from all the Beaumont champagne we’d been drinking during the reception — part nerves, part guests giving speeches and toasting to us every five minutes.

He crossed to the table, grabbed the bottle, and popped the cork with a practiced flick of his wrist. The sound echoed softly through the room. He poured two glasses, handed me one, and clinked his against mine.

“To us,” he said.

“To finally not having to sneak around,” I added.

He laughed — that low, wicked sound I loved — and took a long sip. I did too, the bubbles hitting fast, warm, loosening the last knots of tension in my chest. I emptied my glass and held it out to him again. He followed suit, then refilled both glasses. An unspoken dare sparked between us. I chugged mine; he watched, then did the same, refilling again. Until the bottle was empty. As we slowly spipped our last glass, Luc watched me over the rim of his glass, eyes darkening as I licked a drop from my lip.

“You’re going to kill me,” he murmured.

“Good,” I said, taking another sip. “I want you ruined.”

He set his glass down slowly, deliberately. “Come here.”

I place my almost empty glass down and went towards him — tipsy, warm, happy — and he caught my waist, pulling me flush against him. The champagne made everything softer, brighter, easier. His hands slid down my back with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“Turn around,” he murmured.

I did, and his fingers found the buttons of my gown with practiced ease — not reverent, but intimate. He’d undone far more complicated things on me in far less time. Tonight he went slow only because he could. Because we had time. Because no one would knock. No one would interrupt. No one would drag him away.

When the last button slipped free, he pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder — a familiar gesture that still made my breath hitch — as my gown slid down my body like a tender caress and pooled at my feet.

“Luc…” I whispered.

“Mm?” His lips brushed my skin again.

“Don’t go slow.” Probably not the thing to say on your wedding night, but I had missed him — this, us. For over a week we hadn’t had this kind of privacy, and I was hungry. I’d imagine he was too.

He laughed softly against my neck. “As you wish.”

He turned me gently, guiding me back to face him, and kissed me with a slow, aching hunger that made my knees go weak. Then, without breaking the kiss, he swept me off my feet with that effortless strength of his and carried me toward our bed with a certainty that made my pulse trip.

The rest unfolded warm and familiar and perfect — not new, not tentative, but ours. Our right and privilege now. The champagne had made us loose and laughing, kissing, teasing each other, touching without restraint. It felt like coming home.

Later, tangled in sheets and breathless, he pulled me against his chest, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other tangled in my hair.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured.

“I’m happy,” I whispered. “Really happy.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Me too. Sleep, mon cœur.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice. I was exhausted from all the excitement, the nerves finally unwinding, and from everything we’d just done. And beneath all of it was the quiet, steady ease of knowing I would never wake up alone again.

Morning After

I woke to sunlight warming my face and Luc’s arm draped over my waist. For a moment I didn’t move — just breathed, letting the quiet settle around me.

A smile spread across my face before I even opened my eyes.

I felt… light. Peaceful. Whole.

Luc stirred behind me, pressing a sleepy kiss to my shoulder. “Bonjour, Madame Beaumont,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. Then, in English, warm and gentle, “How did you sleep, my love?”

A smile spread across my face before I even opened my eyes. “Bonjour, mon mari,” I whispered — good morning, my husband — then added softly in English, “I woke up feeling like the world finally makes sense.”

He laughed softly, pulling me closer. “Best words I’ve ever heard.”

I turned in his arms, kissed him, and let the morning wrap around us like a promise.

I was married. I was safe. I was happy.

I was home.

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t scare me.

It felt like sunrise.