The Prince's Arranged Marriage
Chapter 61: The First Night

Chapter 61: The First Night

The night air in Valtoria Palace was cool and hushed, a welcome contrast to the day’s exuberant celebrations. Torches flickered along the corridors, their golden light dancing on the polished stone walls as Lucien and Alexander retired to their bridal suite—an elegant chamber high in the palace’s central tower, overlooking the gardens now still beneath moonlight. Inside, candlelight cast a warm glow over silken sheets, velvet drapes, and fragrant blooms of white lilies and blue roses gathered in crystal vases. This room, reserved for the palace’s most private moments, was where the princes would spend their first night as husbands.

Lucien paused at the threshold, his heart hammering. The soft rustle of Alexander’s ceremonial coat brushing against the carpet was the only sound. Alexander stood near the large window, watching the moonrise over the distant mountains—his silhouette a comforting presence against the night sky.

"Alexander," Lucien whispered, crossing the room. His voice trembled with anticipation and a tender vulnerability he’d never allowed himself to show before. Tonight wasn’t about politics or ceremony. Tonight was their own, a moment of personal communion.

Alexander turned, his dark eyes luminous in the candlelight. He set aside the last vestiges of his formal attire—silver cuffs, the griffin-embossed sash—and approached Lucien with an easy grace. Reaching out, he brushed a finger against Lucien’s cheek. Lucien closed his eyes at the gentle touch, his nerves easing with the warmth of Alexander’s skin against his fingertips.

"Are you ready?" Alexander asked softly.

Lucien opened his eyes, meeting Alexander’s gaze. "I am," he said, his voice steady despite the fluttering in his chest. "With you."

---

They drew close, as if the world had narrowed to the two of them. Alexander’s hands were careful and reverent as he traced the lines of Lucien’s ceremonial coat, unfastening the buttons one by one. Lucien felt embers of warmth in his veins, a slow burn of anticipation. When Alexander peeled away the coat, revealing the tailored waistcoat and crisp shirt, Lucien’s pulse quickened. He returned the gesture, gently unfastening Alexander’s sash and sliding the midnight-blue coat from his shoulders.

Their drawers lay in a small chest beneath a sideboard; each had placed a change of garments there earlier in the day. Alexander retrieved a soft linen shirt in pale silver and handed it to Lucien. They dressed each other with quiet laughter and shared smiles—each button and fold an unspoken promise that they would take care of one another.

When at last they stood in the intimate glow of the chamber, clad only in simplicity and vulnerability, Lucien felt a rush of emotion. His eyes traveled over Alexander’s strong shoulders, the oval of his throat, the steady breath that rose and fell. He reached out, his fingertips brushing Alexander’s hip, drawing him close.

Soft music—a requiem of the chapel’s organ—drifted through an open window. The night was theirs, unhurried and intimate.

Alexander pressed a kiss to Lucien’s forehead, then to his temple, lingering at the curve of his neck. Lucien inclined his head, offering his own lips in return. Their embrace deepened like the tide pulling in at the shore: patient, inevitable, and profound.

In those first unspoken moments of closeness, they discovered each other’s rhythms: Lucien’s breath catching at each gentle touch, Alexander’s soft moan of reassurance, the feel of skin against skin. They moved together with tender exploration—hands tracing familiar contours as if memorizing a map by touch. Lucien felt safe and cherished, his insecurities soothed by Alexander’s careful tenderness. Alexander, too, found in Lucien a wellspring of warmth and trust that allowed him to set aside all courtly restraint.

As the night deepened, their closeness wove a tapestry of quiet sighs and whispered reassurances. Lucien discovered the elegant strength in Alexander’s arms, and Alexander felt the steady pulse of Lucien’s need, a desire borne not of ceremony but of genuine affection. They shared soft laughter when a stray strand of hair tickled Lucien’s cheek, and silent reverence when Alexander’s finger brushed a scar along Lucien’s shoulder—an old reminder of past trials.

Their union that first night was a gentle convergence of two hearts long tested by duty but ready to embrace a new path together. In the hush of the bridal chamber, they explored each other’s vulnerabilities and formed vows beyond those spoken in the chapel—vows of trust, of protection, of unguarded love.

---

When at last they paused, cradled in each other’s arms, the candles had burned low and the moon had risen high. Lucien rested his head against Alexander’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath the linen shirt. Alexander’s arm curled around Lucien’s shoulders, drawing him closer still.

"Good night, my heart," Alexander murmured, his voice a soft promise in the darkness.

"Good night," Lucien replied, his eyelids heavy with contentment. "I love you."

"I love you," Alexander whispered, and their lips met once more, softer than before. Then, with the world outside hushed and theirs alone, they drifted into sleep—two bodies entwined, two hearts at ease.

---

First light crept into the chamber through the gauzy curtains, casting a pale glow over the couple. Lucien awoke to the gentle warmth of Alexander’s arms around him and the faint scent of lilies. He shifted slightly and found Alexander already stirring, the silver hair at his temples illuminated by dawn’s glow.

"Mmm," Alexander murmured, pulling Lucien closer. "Good morning."

Lucien smiled, his cheek resting against Alexander’s chest. "Good morning," he echoed. For a moment, neither spoke—simply savoring the sensation of waking together.

Eventually, Alexander sat up and brushed his hand through his hair. "We should get ready for the day," he said softly, though his tone carried a playful lilt.

Lucien stretched, the linen shirt wrinkled from sleep. "And where will our first day as husbands take us?" he asked, his voice warm with affection.

Alexander slipped out of the bed, offering his hand. "To Valtoria," he replied, "to explore the city we both love—now as one family."

Lucien took Alexander’s hand, rising willingly. They dressed quickly in lighter attire: a tailored tunic for Lucien in pale blue and silver, and a matched set of soft white linen for Alexander. Each helped the other with buttons and ties, their morning ritual a quiet echo of the night before.

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They descended to the palace gardens, where a table was laid beneath a blossoming arbor of white lilacs. Morning dew glittered on the grass, and the air was alive with birdsong. Elara joined them, a mischievous grin on her face as she took her seat.

"Happy first morning, newlyweds," she teased, pouring steaming cups of tea from a silver pot.

Lucien laughed, seating himself beside Alexander. "Thank you for the serenade," he replied, lifting his cup. "It’s perfect."

They sipped tea—Chrysanthemum and mint blend—while servers offered delicate pastries: honey-glazed puff pastries, lemon curd tarts, and fresh berries. The garden’s tranquility was a balm: the swirl of festivities, the weight of royal duties, faded to a gentle background hum.

As they ate, Alexander reached across the table, taking Lucien’s hand. "Last night was... everything I hoped and more," he said quietly.

Lucien’s heart warmed. "It was more than I could have ever imagined. Thank you—for your kindness, your patience, your love."

Alexander’s eyes shone. "We have a lifetime to discover each other, Lucien. Today is just the beginning."

They smiled, sipping tea in companionable silence. Morning light filtered through the lilacs, and Lucien felt a serene certainty settle around him. Their first night as husbands had been a melding of trust and affection. Now, always by Alexander’s side, he was ready to face whatever the day—and their future—would bring.