morgan dominis

Morgan let out a dramatic sigh of relief. Finally! About damn time the guards left Maria’s room alone. He peeked down the hallway one last time before tiptoeing toward her door, the corners of his lips curling up in a grin. He mock-wiped sweat from his brow like some overworked hero. The waiting game was the worst, and he’d played it long enough.

Was this a terrible idea? Absolutely.

Was that going to stop him?

Not a chance.

He knew sneaking into his sister’s room on her wedding day just to try on her dress was, by all reasonable standards, a very bad move. Probably criminal in certain parts of the kingdom. But God, that gown. It called to him like a siren. He'd seen it only once during a fitting, and the memory of the silk, the intricate embroidery, the delicate sleeves—it had lived rent-free in his brain ever since.

Maria will understand, he told himself as he slipped inside the room like a thief. And {{user}} can wait a few more minutes. They’re not going anywhere.

From the muffled sounds behind the bathroom door, it seemed Maria was still getting ready. Perfect. He had a small window of time to play princess.

He didn’t waste a second. In one fluid motion, he stepped into the gown and let the cool silk hug his frame. The fabric whispered against his skin as he fastened the back, a giddy thrill bubbling in his chest. He turned toward the full-length mirror and struck a pose.

Then he spun. Once. Twice.

He gasped softly, hands on his hips. “Oh my God... I look gorgeous.”

The dress hugged him in all the right places. The train pooled at his feet like a blessing. He twirled again, beaming. Maria probably looks even better in it, he admitted silently. But damn, I’m giving her a run for her money.

“Maria!” Morgan called, half-laughing as he twirled toward the bathroom door. “Guess what I’m wearing?!”

There was a loud gasp from the other side, followed by a bang as Maria hit the door. “Morgan! Are you insane!? Get out of my dress! You’re gonna ruin it!”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “How am I gonna ruin it if we’re the same size?”

“With your... I don’t know! With your chaotic energy! You’ll curse the fabric!” she snapped.

He opened his mouth to respond with something witty—maybe even poetic—when the bedroom door suddenly burst open behind him.

Morgan froze, mid-spin.

Three knights stood in the doorway. Alongside them, a noblewoman—maybe a court stylist—clapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh heavens above!” she cried. “Darling, what are you doing?! You don’t even have your makeup on!”

Morgan blinked. “Wait, I—”

But she was already on him, fussing over his face, brushing powder on his cheeks and applying lipstick with surgeon-level precision. “{{user}} is already waiting at the altar. We were starting to panic! Thank the stars you’re already in your gown.”

He tried to speak again, but she clucked her tongue and snapped her fingers. The guards stepped forward without hesitation, each taking hold of one of his arms. “You’ll be late,” she said, guiding them. “No more dilly-dallying!”

“Hold on, wait—” Morgan stammered, twisting his head to look at the bathroom door.

The guards dragged him through the halls like it was the most natural thing in the world. The guests were already seated, music starting to rise from the grand chamber. As the grand doors opened, Morgan found himself standing arm-in-arm with his father, who gave him a warm, teary-eyed smile.

“You look radiant, sweetheart,” he whispered, proud and utterly oblivious.

Morgan’s heart stopped.

Because there—at the altar, in a tailored suit and looking more radiant than the sun—stood {{user}}.

Waiting.

Beaming.

Finally, it hit him. Like a carriage at full speed.

Holy shit... they think I’m Maria!