The Prince's Arranged Marriage-Chapter 104: The Room With No Windows

The colder room did its job.

It didn’t break him Lucien refused that but it wore at the edges of his patience like sand scraping stone. The thin cot stole warmth. The damp air made his joints ache. The silence was louder here, because no one bothered to perform kindness.

Even the guard outside sounded different. Less shifting. Less nervous. More... trained.

Lucien sat on the cot with his back straight, hands resting loosely on his thighs. He didn’t curl up. He didn’t hunch. He didn’t let the room make him look small.

He counted time by sounds.

Footsteps in the corridor.one set, heavy boots, passing every so often. A second set lighter stopping occasionally, like someone checking the door without entering. Water dripping somewhere, steady as a clock. The distant scrape of metal, faint and irregular.

Someone is working, Lucien thought.

The door finally opened after what felt like hours.

Two of the heavy-booted guards stepped in, flanking the polite man.

Lucien didn’t stand this time. He simply lifted his gaze, calm and sharp.

"You’re still here," Lucien said softly.

The polite man’s expression didn’t change. "You’re still refusing."

Lucien smiled faintly. "Yes."

The man nodded once, as if checking something off an invisible list. "You will eat."

A tray was set down plain bread, thin stew, water. No fruit. No comforts.

Lucien didn’t reach for it immediately. "I’m not signing," he said, gentle as a knife. "No matter how many rooms you move me through."

The polite man watched him. "Rooms can become worse."

Lucien’s brows lifted slightly. "Then make them worse."

The man’s eyes cooled. "You’re trying to force our hand."

Lucien tilted his head. "No. I’m forcing you to admit what you are."

A silence stretched.

One guard shifted impatiently, as if he wanted permission to do something louder.

The polite man held up a hand, and the guard stilled.

Control. Always control.

The man’s voice stayed calm. "Eat."

Lucien took the bread and tore a piece slowly, chewing with deliberate calm. He ate because hunger made you stupid, and Lucien needed his mind sharp.

While he ate, he watched.

The polite man’s gaze flicked to the door twice. Subtle. Like he was waiting for someone else.

Lucien swallowed his bite. "Seraphine won’t be coming back, will she."

The polite man didn’t answer right away. Then: "Not if you continue refusing."

Lucien smiled lightly. "So you sent her to soften me."

"She was sent to offer you options," the man corrected.

Lucien’s eyes sharpened. "Options are choices. This is coercion."

The man’s expression remained mild. "Your choices affect your comfort."

Lucien took a sip of water. "And my choices affect your plan."

That landed, because the polite man’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Lucien’s smile turned faintly satisfied. "There it is."

The polite man leaned forward slightly. "Your Highness, you are exhausting yourself for nothing."

Lucien set the cup down. "Not for nothing."

The man’s gaze stayed steady. "For what, then."

Lucien’s voice softened. "For my name."

A beat of silence.

Lucien continued, calm as ever. "You want to take my name and use it like ink. You want to stamp it onto lies and call it stability. If I sign, I’m not just stepping back. I’m telling the world I deserve to be pushed."

The polite man stared at him.

Lucien’s eyes didn’t waver. "And I don’t."

The man’s voice lowered. "You’re Veridian."

Lucien’s stomach tightened, just slightly. "Yes."

The polite man’s eyes cooled. "This is Avaloria."

Lucien smiled faintly. "And yet I’m still here."

The polite man didn’t react to the quiet challenge. He rose and nodded to the guards.

"Move him."

Lucien’s muscles tightened. He stood smoothly, refusing to look surprised.

"Another room," Lucien said lightly. "Am I being promoted or punished?"

One guard grabbed his arm.

Lucien didn’t fight him not yet. Not when he didn’t know what lay beyond the door.

They hooded him again and guided him out.

Lucien counted steps.

Turn. Turn. Down stairs. The air grew colder, then warmer. The smell changed less damp stone, more old wood, oil, and something faintly metallic.

He listened hard.

Voices. More of them now. A place with more traffic.

They stopped.

A lock turned. A door opened.

The hood came off.

Lucien blinked.

This wasn’t a cellar room.

It was an office.

A plain one, but still an office desk, chair, shelves with ledgers. A lamp burning steady. A window... but it was high and barred, letting in only a pale line of daylight.

Not a prison.

Not freedom.

A place designed for meetings.

A place designed to make him sign things.

Lucien’s gaze slid to the desk.

There were papers already laid out, neatly arranged, like someone had prepared for a long negotiation.

And at the far end of the room, leaning casually against the wall, stood a man Lucien recognized instantly.

Not because he knew him personally

Because he knew his face from court.

Councilman Varric.

The silver-haired smile. The calm eyes. The posture of a man who believed he belonged in power the way stone belonged in a foundation.

Lucien went very still.

Varric’s smile widened slightly, almost friendly. "Your Highness."

Lucien’s throat tightened.

So it wasn’t whispers anymore.

It wasn’t hints.

It was him.

Varric pushed off the wall and approached slowly, like he was visiting Lucien in a hospital bed rather than an abduction site.

"How are you feeling?" Varric asked.

Lucien’s smile turned cold. "You should know. You’re the one who took me."

Varric chuckled softly. "Such dramatic language."

Lucien’s eyes sharpened. "You called it stewardship at the council table. You called it stability in your speeches. What do you call it here, in a locked room?"

Varric’s smile stayed in place. "A necessary pause."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "So you are behind this."

Varric took the chair opposite the desk as if it belonged to him. "I am behind Avaloria’s survival."

Lucien laughed once, humorless. "Survival from what? A prince-consort who points out missing money?"

Varric’s eyes cooled slightly. "From foreign influence."

Lucien felt a cold flare in his chest.

There it was.

Not subtle anymore.

Varric leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice warm. "Do you know how many times Avaloria has been threatened by outsiders? How many times we’ve had to defend our traditions?"

Lucien’s voice stayed steady. "Traditions like corruption."

Varric’s smile thinned. "Traditions like stability. Like continuity. Like a throne that isn’t pulled by... affection."

Lucien’s stomach twisted.

"Affection," Lucien repeated softly. "You mean love."

Varric’s eyes gleamed. "Love is a beautiful thing, Your Highness. But it makes men reckless."

Lucien stared at him. "So your solution is to remove me."

Varric spread his hands slightly. "Not remove. Rest. Quiet. Recovery. A dignified step back until the kingdom is calm again."

Lucien’s smile was sharp. "Until you can steer it."

Varric’s expression didn’t change. "Until Alexander remembers he is Avalorian first."

Lucien’s heart slammed once, hard.

Alexander’s name spoken in this room sounded like a threat and a prayer at the same time.

Lucien leaned forward slightly, voice low. "If you think Alexander will accept this"

Varric interrupted gently. "He will, if you ask him to."

Lucien went still.

Varric smiled, like he’d just found the exact pressure point. "That’s why you’re valuable, Lucien."

Lucien’s hands curled into fists under the table. "So you want my signature."

Varric nodded, calm. "Yes."

Lucien’s voice dropped. "And if I refuse."

Varric’s smile remained. "Then the story becomes harsher."

Lucien stared at him. "You’ll claim I’m unstable."

Varric tilted his head. "Unwell. Confused. Exhausted by the pressures of court life. It happens. We will speak with compassion. We will say you need privacy."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "And you’ll use my absence to push your stewardship."

Varric’s eyes softened, almost kindly. "We’ll keep Avaloria safe."

Lucien felt anger rise hot, violent then forced it down.

Because rage would make him sloppy.

He needed to survive this with his mind intact.

Lucien looked at the papers on the desk.

A decree draft.

A statement.

Blank lines for signatures.

Varric’s signature line already printed, like it assumed completion.

Lucien’s smile turned slow and dangerous.

"You planned this before I walked out that gate," Lucien said softly.

Varric’s eyes didn’t deny it. "We plan for stability."

Lucien leaned back, calm returning like armor. "Then you’re afraid."

Varric’s brow lifted slightly. "Of what."

Lucien’s eyes gleamed. "Of me becoming more than decorative."

Varric’s smile thinned. "You are Veridian."

Lucien’s voice stayed soft. "And Alexander loves me."

For a second, something flickered in Varric’s eyes annoyance, perhaps, that Lucien dared say it plainly.

Lucien pressed. "You can print pamphlets and whisper rumors all you like. But love isn’t a sickness you can diagnose."

Varric’s smile returned, colder now. "No. It’s a weakness you can exploit."

Lucien’s throat tightened.

Varric tapped the paper lightly. "Sign, and you go back to comfort. You go back to sunlight. You go back to the palace in a way the public can accept."

Lucien’s gaze slid up to his face. "And if I don’t sign?"

Varric’s voice stayed calm. "Then you stay hidden. And while you’re hidden, the people will learn to live without you."

Lucien felt the threat sink into his bones.

Not physical pain.

Erasure.

Varric leaned forward, smile polite. "So choose, Your Highness."

Lucien stared at the papers.

Then he looked up and smiled warm, gentle, perfectly princely.

"No," he said.

Varric blinked once.

Lucien’s smile didn’t waver. "You’ve mistaken me for someone who can be frightened into betraying his husband."

Varric’s eyes cooled. "Lucien"

Lucien lifted a hand slightly, interrupting the councilman with the same quiet authority Alexander used at court.

"I will not sign," Lucien said calmly. "And if you think this ends with you smiling at a council table while Alexander mourns quietly... you don’t understand him."

Varric’s smile hardened. "I understand him very well."

Lucien’s voice dropped, sharp and certain. "Then you understand what he’ll do when he finds me."

Silence.

Varric held his gaze for a long moment, then leaned back.

His smile returned, smaller, colder.

"We’ll move you again," Varric said.

Lucien’s stomach tightened.

Varric continued calmly, "And you’ll realize something, sooner or later."

Lucien lifted a brow. "What."

Varric’s eyes gleamed. "That this kingdom has many rooms with no windows."

Lucien felt cold slide down his spine.

Then Varric stood, smoothing his robes like this was a normal meeting.

"As promised," Varric said softly, "we are not hurting you."

Lucien watched him. "Yet."

Varric paused at the door and looked back with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

"We don’t need to," he said.

And then he left.

The door shut.

The polite man remained behind for a moment, watching Lucien.

"You should have signed," he said quietly.

Lucien met his gaze, steady. "Tell your councilman this: if he wants to erase me, he’ll have to do it in ink or blood."

The man’s expression didn’t change. "He’ll choose ink."

Lucien smiled faintly. "Then I’ll ruin the paper."

-----------------------Alexander ---------

By late evening, the palace had become a net.

Not perfect nothing was but tighter than it had been that morning.

City gates were watched. River exits inspected. Courier routes traced. Presses visited.

And still, Lucien had not been found.

Alexander stood in his study with a map spread across the desk and three men around him trusted, fast, ruthless when needed.

One of them pointed to a mark near the eastern storage district. "We followed the courier. He met a man in a brown cloak. Handed over a sealed note. Then the man disappeared into this lane."

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. "Any identification?"

"None," the man admitted. "But we tailed him to a private door. No sign outside. Heavy lock. Guard presence nearby, disguised as workers."

Alexander’s jaw tightened. "Safe house."

"Yes," the man said. "We believe it’s connected to the council network."

Another guard stepped forward. "Also one of the printing presses we inspected. The owner claims he was paid through an intermediary tied to... Councilman Varric’s staff."

Alexander went very still.

Varric again.

The smile at the council table. The calm voice. The "stability" sermon.

Alexander’s hand curled into a fist.

Not rage control.

He exhaled slowly. "Where is Varric now."

The captain answered. "In his residence wing. Under watch. He hasn’t left, but he’s received two private visitors since dusk."

"Names," Alexander said.

The captain hesitated. "One was Lady Seraphine. The other unknown. Hooded."

Alexander’s eyes sharpened.

Seraphine wasn’t independent. She was an instrument.

He should have known.

Alexander leaned over the map, mind moving faster than speech.

If Varric was involved, then this wasn’t only about money or pamphlets.

This was about the throne.

They were trying to reshape Avaloria without drawing a sword.

And Lucien, Veridian, beloved, visible was the easiest lever.

Alexander’s voice went quiet, deadly calm. "We strike the safe house tonight."

The men around him stiffened. "Your Highness without confirmation the prince is there"

"We don’t wait," Alexander said. "Waiting is how they keep moving him."

He turned to his captain. "Quiet entry. No banners. No palace uniforms. I want the street empty before we move."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Alexander’s gaze hardened. "If Lucien is not there, we still take the documents. We still take the messengers. We still take the chain."

The captain nodded.

Alexander picked up the clasp from his desk and held it for one silent breath.

Then he tucked it into his coat and reached for his sword.

He didn’t make dramatic speeches.

He didn’t shout.

He simply moved, and the palace bent around him like it understood one truth:

The foreign prince-consort was missing.

And Avaloria’s prince was done pretending this could be settled with polite smiles.

As he headed toward the corridor, one of his men asked quietly, "Your Highness... if the council pushes stewardship in the morning"

Alexander’s eyes flicked back, cold.

"Then they’ll push it without Varric’s hands," Alexander said softly.

And then he kept walking.

Because somewhere, Lucien was in a room with no windows, refusing to sign his own erasure.

And Alexander was coming for him.