Chapter Twelve
The reception hall glittered with candlelight and the hum of conversation. Finn sat at the head table beside Darragh, their chairs positioned close enough that their shoulders brushed.
This is real. This is actually happening.
The thought kept circling through Finn’s mind like a bird that couldn’t find a place to land.
Just mere months ago, he was fixing roofs and checking fence lines.
Now he was sitting at the head table of his own wedding reception, wearing a crown that still felt like a lump on his head, while people he’d never met were bowing in his direction - not only Darragh’s but his.
The weight of the crown was nothing compared to the weight of what it represented. Every time someone bowed to him - actually bowed, like he was someone important - Finn felt a strange disconnect, as if he were watching someone else’s life unfold.
“Your Majesty, this salmon is remarkable.” Lady Catherine had somehow secured an invitation. Finn recognized her from his disastrous first round of candidate interviews. “And Lord - I mean, Your Grace, you must be so pleased.”
Your Grace. The title landed wrong in Finn’s ears, like someone had called him by the wrong name. He shot Darragh a quick look, hoping his husband could translate whatever he was supposed to be pleased about. The salmon or the wedding?
“He is,” Darragh answered smoothly. “Although he prefers to be called Finn in informal settings.”
“Oh, of course. How wonderfully progressive.”
She drifted away, and Finn leaned closer to Darragh, keeping his voice low. “Your Grace?”
“One of the many formal titles for king consort. You’ve also got ‘Your Royal Highness’ and ‘Your Majesty’ in very formal settings - in that we would be addressed as ‘Your Majesties,’ but most people will stick with Your Grace.”
Three new names that weren’t Finn or Lord Finn. Three titles that were probably assigned to people who knew what they were doing and accepted the honorific because they’d been trained for their role since birth. Not someone who gets paid in baked goods for village repairs.
“I’m not comfortable with any of those.” The admission came out before Finn could stop it, but honesty had gotten him this far. No point stopping now.
“I know.” Darragh grinned, and that familiar warmth in his eyes eased some of the tightness in Finn’s chest. “But it’s part of the job. You’re stuck with them.”
Stuck with them. Stuck with all of this.
The thought should have terrified him more than it did.
Instead, Finn found himself studying the room - the elaborate decorations, the perfectly dressed guests, the servants moving around in their unobtrusive fashion, making sure everyone was fed, and their glasses were filled.
He realized he was looking for problems to solve.
That tapestry’s starting to come loose at the corner.
The candle sconces on the east wall need polishing.
Someone should check the foundation on that archway; the stonework looks uneven.
Old habits. Even surrounded by wealth and formality he’d never experienced before, Finn’s mind automatically cataloged what needed fixing.
I can’t change who I am, and maybe I don’t want to.
Jericho stood at the far end of the room, raising his glass, and Finn’s stomach dropped. His brother had that look - the one that meant he was about to say something embarrassing.
“A toast to my brother, who claimed he’d be a terrible consort and somehow convinced the king that was exactly what he needed.”
Laughter rippled through the hall. Finn groaned and seriously considered diving under the table. It didn’t matter that the first part was true, but it wasn’t as though Finn did anything to convince Darragh to marry him - he was just himself and ended up king consort anyway.
“To Their Majesties, Finn and Darragh,” Jericho continued, his grin widening. “May they continue to confuse everyone with their absolutely bizarre courtship and even stranger marriage, while continuing to do great things for Safe Harbor.”
“Here, here!” someone called out.
Glasses clinked all around them. Darragh touched his wine to Finn’s and drank, and Finn could feel heat creeping up his neck. His face had to be bright red by now.
“I’m going to kill him,” Finn muttered, watching his brother bow with exaggerated formality. “You do realize that, don’t you? As an older brother, he can be a bit much at times.”
“Get in line.” Darragh chuckled. “While you’ve been at Winrone, he’s been in court being totally insufferable. You might have to send him off on some remote ambassador mission just to get some peace and quiet.”
The words registered slowly. Send him off on some remote ambassador mission. Because Finn could do that now. He was the king consort. He had actual authority to make decisions that affected people’s lives.
I could actually make a difference here. Not just fixing one roof or one door, but changing things for entire villages. For the whole kingdom.
The thought was simultaneously thrilling and absolutely terrifying.
Finn burst out laughing, the sound surprising him. “Oh, my goodness, that’s right. I can do that now.”
Darragh’s expression shifted to something pleased and proud, and Finn felt his heart do that stupid fluttering thing it had been doing since before the proposal.
The meal continued with course after course - fish, roasted meats, fresh bread, seasonal vegetables prepared six different ways, and fancy desserts that were ornate but truly delicious.
Finn tried to taste it all, tried to appreciate the work that had gone into creating the feast, but his mind kept wandering. Every few minutes, someone would approach the table with congratulations or well-wishes, and he’d have to smile and nod and pretend he knew what he was doing.
I’m a fraud. They’re all going to figure it out eventually.
But then Darragh’s fingers would brush against his under the table, warm and solid, or his husband would lean close enough that Finn could smell the wine on his breath and murmur something about Lord Whoever’s ridiculous hat, and Finn’s chest would loosen.
His breathing would even out. The crown on his head would feel a little less heavy.
This. This is why I said yes.
The crown kept slipping. Just slightly, enough that Finn had to adjust it every few minutes. Each time he did, he caught someone watching - a council member, a noble, one of Darragh’s advisers - judging whether he measured up. Whether he deserved to wear that crown at all.
Probably not. But I’m wearing it anyway.
“You’re doing great,” Darragh murmured, so quietly only Finn could hear.
“I can’t stop adjusting my crown. It keeps slipping like it’s trying to escape.”
“It’s a crown, not a trained falcon. If it falls off, it rolls on the floor, but it won’t go far.” Darragh squeezed his hand. “You’re handling everything perfectly.”
I’m faking it. I’m terrified. I have no idea what I’m doing.
But Finn just smiled and nodded to another well-wisher who approached with congratulations.
Then the musicians struck up the first waltz, and Aldric announced, “Their Majesties will take the floor.”
Every muscle in Finn’s body went rigid. “Oh, no.”
This was it. This was the moment he’d been dreading since the wedding planning started.
The formal first dance, where everyone would watch him make a complete fool of himself in front of the entire court.
Where his complete lack of training would be on full display for nobles and diplomats and everyone who’d ever questioned whether the king had made the right choice.
I’m going to humiliate him. I’m going to step on his feet and stumble and prove I don’t belong here.
“Yes.” Darragh stood and offered his hand, looking completely unbothered by the impending disaster. “You said you could dance, just not formally, but this is a tradition, and no one will mind if you miss a few steps.”
A few steps. Finn would be lucky if he managed three steps without tripping over his own feet.
“Darragh.” Finn grabbed hold of his hand and leaned closer, keeping his voice low and urgent. “I meant it when I said I didn’t know the formal steps. The only dancing I’ve ever done is in a tavern, where the only requirement is that you didn’t slop any beer on the floor.”
“This will be easier then,” Darragh chuckled, and Finn wanted to strangle him for being so calm about this. “You can leave your wine glass on the table.”
“This is going to be a disaster.” But Finn let Darragh pull him to his feet anyway, because what choice did he have? Running from the hall screaming would probably be worse than stepping on the king’s feet. Though not by much.
The guests formed a circle around them, smiling expectantly. Hundreds of eyes watching. Judging. Waiting to see if the king’s unusual choice of consort could even manage a simple dance.
I can’t do this. I’m going to fail right here, right now, in front of everyone.
The music swelled, beautiful and complicated, and Finn’s heart hammered against his ribs. Darragh positioned Finn’s hand on his shoulder and took his other hand in his, and the warmth of that touch was the only thing keeping Finn from bolting.
“Just follow my lead,” Darragh said quietly.
“I mean it. I feel sorry for your boots.”
And for you, for choosing someone who can’t even dance properly. For thinking I could do this.
Finn stepped on Darragh’s foot within the first three beats, exactly as predicted.
Then he overcorrected and nearly tripped over his own feet.
His timing was completely wrong - he kept anticipating the beats instead of feeling them.
His gaze stayed locked on their feet, watching for the next inevitable disaster.
Everyone’s watching me fail. Everyone can see I don’t belong here.
“Stop thinking so hard,” Darragh said quietly.
“That’s impossible.” Because Finn’s brain wouldn’t shut up. It kept cataloging every mistake, every misstep, every proof that he wasn’t qualified for this role.
“Then look at me, not our feet.”
Finn forced himself to look up, meeting Darragh’s eyes. His husband was smiling - not the polite court smile he used for diplomats, but the real one. The one that made Finn’s chest feel tight and warm at the same time.
He’s not embarrassed. He’s not disappointed. He’s just...here with me.
Darragh pulled him closer - much closer than protocol probably allowed for a public dance.
Their chests pressed together, and Finn’s hand tightened reflexively on Darragh’s shoulder.
The formal distance collapsed into something intimate, something real, and Finn felt his stiff posture start to relax despite the audience surrounding them.
“Feel better?” Darragh murmured.
“Yes, but your advisers are going to have a fit.” Finn could practically feel Helena’s disapproval from across the room.
“It’s our wedding day. We can do what we like.”
Our wedding day. The words settled over Finn like a blanket. This morning, he’d been Lord Finn, fifth son of an earl, someone of no real consequence. Now he was King Consort Finn, married to a man who looked at him like he hung the stars, dancing in front of the entire court.
How did I get here?
They swayed together, barely moving their feet now.
It wasn’t proper dancing - nothing like the formal waltzes Finn had watched from the edges of society gatherings.
Just two men holding each other while music played around them.
Finn’s breathing gradually slowed, his body relaxing fully against Darragh’s, and for just a moment, he forgot about the crown and the titles and the hundreds of people watching.
For just a moment, it was only them.
Maybe I can do this. Maybe not perfectly, but...maybe that’s okay.
“The crown’s still on,” Finn whispered, surprised.
“I told you that it would stay.”
“You were right about a lot of things,” Finn said softly.
“I usually am.” The smug satisfaction in Darragh’s voice made Finn laugh.
The sound surprised him - open and unforced, even here in front of everyone. Around them, other couples had joined the dance floor, giving them blessed cover. The spotlight had shifted away, and Finn could breathe easier.
We made it through. I didn’t completely humiliate us.
The music eventually faded. Applause filled the hall, and Finn stepped back, knowing his face had to be flushed.
The crown had shifted again - he could feel it sitting slightly askew.
Darragh reached up and adjusted it, his fingers lingering against Finn’s temple with a gentleness that made Finn’s heart skip.
In that small gesture, Finn saw his future. Of Darragh helping him adjust his crown, literally and metaphorically, helping him stumble his way through formal events and protocol he didn’t understand, always with Darragh steady beside him.
I’m married. I’m the king consort. This is my life now.
The thought should have terrified him. Instead, when he looked at Darragh’s face, Finn felt something quietly push his worry aside.
It wasn’t confidence exactly - he was still absolutely certain he’d make a thousand mistakes.
But maybe...acceptance. Darragh accepted him the way he was and somehow, he’d figure everything else out.
“Can we escape yet?” Finn asked under his breath, suddenly desperate to be alone with his husband.
“Not yet, unfortunately. Give it another hour and we can go.”
An hour felt like forever, but Finn nodded. He could manage one more hour. He’d managed the ceremony, the receiving line, the dinner, the dance. What was one more hour of smiling and nodding and pretending he knew what he was doing?
It was closer to two hours before they could reasonably make their excuses. Finn smiled until his face hurt, shook hands with people whose names he’d never remember, and fielded questions about his plans as king consort that he had no idea how to answer.
I’ll figure it out tomorrow. Tonight, I just need to be with Darragh.
Finally - blessedly - Darragh stood and pulled Finn up with him, addressing the room with the easy authority Finn envied.
“Thank you all for celebrating with us. My consort and I are retiring for the night. Enjoy your evening.”
Cheers and catcalls followed them out, and Finn’s face burned scarlet. He just inferred to our guests that we were going to our private quarters to do intimate things together.
But he matched Darragh step for step as they hurried from the hall, the crown bouncing slightly on his head with each stride. Behind them, the celebration continued - music and laughter and the clink of glasses.
Ahead of them, their future waited. I have no idea what I’m doing, Finn thought as they reached the corridor, finally alone. But I’ll figure it out. With him, I can figure anything out.
The crown slipped again, and this time Finn laughed as he took it off.