The Wedding of the Century

Chapter 1 - The Wedding Night

Flynn Rider, no, Eugene Fitzherbert—though he still wasn't used to hearing anyone call him that—stood in the grand royal suite and realized that tonight was the first time in his life he didn't have a plan. Not that this was a bad thing. He'd always been good at thinking on his feet. Life on the run kind of required that particular skill. It's just, well, tonight wasn't about sneaking past guards or outwitting some overzealous constable. This was different. Way different.

He glanced around the room, trying to focus on something that wasn't the huge bed dominating the far corner. It was absurdly luxurious, made of dark oak with thick posts that reached up like ancient trees. Its sheets were the softest silk he'd ever seen, woven so finely they practically shimmered in the candlelight. The whole thing looked like it had been plucked from some fairy tale, which, he supposed, was pretty appropriate given how things had turned out. It was the kind of bed Flynn Rider had never even dreamed of touching, let alone sleeping in.

Except, tonight, it wasn't just about sleeping.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of jasmine and a hint of something floral—Rapunzel's hair, he guessed. He'd grown used to that scent over the past few months, but it had never felt so potent, so immediate, until now. It was all-consuming, a reminder of how very real and present this moment was.

The royal suite was massive, filled with tapestries that depicted legendary scenes from Corona's past. Heroes and villains. Castles and battles. And in every one of them, the figures looked... regal, confident, sure of their place in history. But as Eugene stood there, rubbing the back of his neck, he felt anything but. He may have fooled an entire kingdom into thinking he belonged here, but standing here now, in this moment, with everything he'd ever wanted a few feet away... he wasn't so sure.

His fingers grazed the embroidered lapels of his wedding jacket—formal, stiff, totally not his style—and he couldn't help but wonder how he'd ended up here. A thief. A wanted man. And now, married to the lost princess of Corona. Married. Him. Flynn Rider. Married. If he had told his younger self this would happen, he would have laughed. But here he was. And there she was.

Rapunzel.

She was in the adjoining room, the soft padding of her bare feet on the polished marble floor barely audible. Eugene knew she was probably pacing. He'd heard her give herself a pep talk once before, back when they had first met in that tower. She'd probably be doing it again right about now. Maybe telling herself it was all going to be fine, that everything she'd heard in the tavern from those burly men was accurate.

A small, amused smirk crossed his face. He remembered that tavern, full of grizzled roughnecks with more bravado than actual experience. They'd tried to impress her, obviously, and Flynn—ever the charmer—had to bite his tongue. Because the truth was, despite everything Rapunzel had heard, she knew about as much about what was about to happen as he did about fine royal etiquette. And Flynn, or rather Eugene, was the experienced one here. But even with that experience, he was nervous. Maybe more than she was.

He turned, looking back toward the mirror hanging on the wall. For a split second, he didn't recognize himself. The man staring back wasn't the Flynn Rider from his past. He wasn't the dashing rogue with a smirk on his lips and a scheme up his sleeve. No, this was Eugene Fitzherbert—husband to Rapunzel, son-in-law to the king and queen, and a man about to embark on one of the most nerve-wracking, life-altering moments of his life.

His hand reached up, tugging at the stiff collar of his shirt. Was it too late to make a run for it? No. Definitely too late. Besides, he didn't want to run. Not from this. Not from her.

Still, that bed loomed in the corner of his vision like a challenge he wasn't sure he was ready to accept.

A soft knock echoed through the room, barely audible over the pounding in his ears. Flynn—no, Eugene—turned to see Rapunzel standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim candlelight. She wore a simple, delicate gown of lavender silk that clung to her in a way that made him forget to breathe for half a second. Her hair, shorter now but still golden and unruly, cascaded over her shoulders like a river of light, catching the glow of the candles and making her look almost ethereal.