Epilogue
One Year Later
Allegra stood perfectly still at the top of the grand staircase.
Below, the ballroom hummed with a hundred conversations that would fall silent the second she took her first step.
She gripped the banister, knuckles whitening.
The chandeliers above scattered rainbows across the marble, centuries-old spectators to royal indiscretions that were, frankly, quaint by comparison.
After all, this wasn’t just any party.
It was her engagement party.
To a man whose name still autofilled with NSFW warnings in every browser she owned.
She smoothed a hand down the length of her gown. Ivory silk, structured through the bodice, delicate enough for tradition, daring enough in its open back to remind the world—and herself—that she was not a commemorative figurine to be trotted out.
She scanned the crowd. Cabinet ministers whispered behind their hands, murmuring in low, serious tones near the string quartet. Society matrons glittered in diamonds, lips pursed with the faint promise of judgment.
Her family stood closer to the center, perfectly staged like a portrait.
Her parents were deep in polite conversation with the Austrian ambassador, her mother serene as a lake at dawn, her father sporting that diplomatic smile reserved for situations he couldn’t quite believe were actually happening.
Clara hovered nearby, visibly thrilled at the spectacle.
Across the room, Nate’s family had already located the champagne tower. His mother and brothers leaned against the table, glasses in hand, laughter spilling across the room as though they’d planned to enjoy themselves, no matter what protocol asked of them.
At the far end, the press waited behind velvet ropes, lenses gleaming and hungry. Allegra could see the headlines taking shape in their heads:
Palace of Pleasure: Allegra von Wildern Gets Her Happy Ending.
Royal Engagement: Crown Meets Crown Jewels.
From Adult Empire to Actual Empire: How a Porn Star Won a Princess.
Aunt Margaret the Fourth would have fainted. The Archbishop of Valenstadt, loitering near the exit, looked like he was praying for divine intervention.
“Uh-oh.” Nate’s voice slid into her thoughts. “You’ve got that I’m-about-to-start-a-war look.”
She didn’t turn, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Maybe I am.”
“Then I’m riding in behind you,” Nate said, voice threaded with amusement, as if the entire edifice of monarchy were a game board he found infinitely entertaining. “Just promise you won’t spook the horse.”
She glanced back at him. A year ago, he’d been trouble wrapped in a borrowed suit, broad shoulders threatening to burst the seams, jaw carved like stubborn granite.
Tonight, he looked… different.
Not domesticated. The universe would collapse before Nate allowed that.
But refined. The tux fit like it had been painted on, sharp black lines, bow tie finally straight because he’d let someone else tie it.
His hair shorter, tattoos still edging out from beneath his cuffs, proof that polishing something didn’t erase it.
For two weeks after the story broke, he’d been the most searched man on the internet. Now he was standing in a seventeenth-century palace, about to walk into a room that had, between them, drafted three polite petitions urging her to reconsider.
He caught her staring and lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“You look very… respectable.”
Nate winced. “Christ. Don’t say that.”
A laugh bubbled up from her chest, ricocheting off the vaulted ceiling. It steadied her. Because here was the truth no one downstairs fully understood: he had never asked her to choose him over the crown. He’d only asked her to choose herself.
Still, the year had been anything but gentle.
There were interviews negotiated like miniature peace treaties.
A palace statement acknowledging his past without condemning it.
And a charity initiative he’d launched himself, supporting performer advocacy and digital privacy reform, that had even managed to make her most rigid advisors nod, slightly impressed despite themselves.
He hadn’t hidden. Hadn’t sought to hide from his past. He’d simply said: This is who I was. This is who I am. If that disqualifies me, say so to my face.
She loved him savagely for it.
The quartet shifted into a triumphant, Wagnerian flourish. Allegra rolled her shoulders back. Nothing said intimate engagement celebration like music suggesting an impending Viking invasion.
“They’re going to stare,” she murmured, nodding toward the ballroom.
“Let them.”
“They’re going to whisper.”
“They always do.”
She turned fully to him, stepping closer until her gown brushed the sharp line of his jacket. Up close, she saw the tiny crease between his brows, the one that appeared only when he was trying very hard not to look protective.
“You don’t have to be iron for me,” he said quietly, his hand sliding to the small of her back.
“I’m not iron.”
He gave her a look. Half amused, half exasperated.
She sighed. “Okay, maybe a little tempered.”
“Well, you don’t have to be.” His thumb traced a soothing circle against her back. “I’ve got this. We’ve got this. Might even be… fun.” He leaned closer and smirked. “Speaking of fun—my family? They’ve found the champagne.”
Allegra laughed. “Honestly, it’s the least we can do after the chaos we dragged them through.”
“Chaos? Please. My mom? She’s a force. Remember that paparazzo last month?”
She grinned, picturing it vividly. “Oh! The one she accidentally turned the sprinklers on?”
“That’s the one. He sent her a bill for his busted camera. She mailed it back with a box of those little silica gel packets and a note: ‘Clearly, you need these.’”
Allegra shook her head, smiling. “I’m glad they could be here.
Really. It wouldn’t feel right without them.
And—” she hesitated, biting her lip, “my dad is… actually warming to you. Slowly. Like tectonic plates shifting. But still. He asked about your charity the other day. Voluntarily. I almost checked him for a fever.”
Nate’s chest puffed just a little, smirk turning into a full grin. “Who could resist this charm?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. There are a few pearl-clutchers downstairs convinced you smell like sulfur.”
“Sulfur?” Nate bobbed a shoulder. “I prefer smoldering enigma. Much more mysterious.”
He grinned at her, and for one reckless second, she considered abandoning the staircase altogether and dragging him into the nearest antechamber. Instead, she did something far more scandalous. She reached for his hand.
Not the light fingertip-to-fingertip clasp the press secretary had recommended. She laced their fingers together.
A ripple moved through the ballroom. Cameras flashed. Someone gasped. Nate’s thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. Pulse to pulse.
Let them adjust.
Let them learn.
A princess was allowed to fall in love. Even with a man who had once made his living under studio lights. Especially with him.
Allegra lifted her chin as the music swelled around them—not in defiance, not in apology, but in joy so fierce it felt unruly.
“Ready?” she asked.
His grip tightened. “Always.”
And together, they started down the stairs, hand in hand, hearts in sync, ready to claim the world—chaos, chandeliers, paparazzi, and all.