The Prince's Arranged Marriage-Chapter 74: Visit to Veridia Pt. 1

It had been two weeks since the final sentences were handed down to Hadrian, Torric, Elowen, and the Aradeth envoy. The palace quieted, the corridors no longer crackling with whispered animosity. Yet when I walked through the courtyards in the early morning light, my reflection in still fountains seemed edged with unease. The threat Hadrian had issued—"This is only the beginning..."—echoed in my mind. Had the conspiracy truly ended, or were its roots still buried deeper, ready to sprout again?

Alexander seemed to sense my tension before I voiced it. One evening, we dined in the Rose Gallery, candles flickering on a table set beneath the blooming arbor of crimson and gold. The scent of jasmines drifted through the air. He studied me across the table, eyes warm but concerned. "You’re still thinking of Hadrian’s words," he said gently as the final course was cleared. "I can see it."

I set down my fork, meeting his gaze. "I appreciate your faith in the trial’s outcome, but his threat claws at me. He said our triumph was meaningless—that bigger things were coming. I don’t know what he meant."He leaned forward, taking my hand. "Do you want to find out?" His voice was steady. "Let’s go to Veridia. We’ll review the policies we put in place—joint trade, infrastructure work, economic reforms. Seeing the positive changes there might reassure you. Or, if there is trouble, we’ll find it."

I considered his offer. "I’d rather not give in to fear. But... you’re right. Monitoring Veridia’s progress is important. My people deserve to see success, not just trial victories. And if any seeds of sabotage remain, I want to know."

He smiled, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Then let us prepare. At dawn tomorrow, we depart for the Veridia."I nodded. There was comfort in purpose. I would see for myself that Veridia’s markets thrived, that roads no longer clogged with stalled grain wagons, that citizens truly believed in our alliance.

The first pale light of dawn filtered through the gauzy curtains of our suite in Valtoria Palace. The city lay quiet, its spires and rooftops bathed in the soft glow of morning. Though the palace itself stirred with the careful bustle of early preparations—valets laying out travel garments, grooms checking the horses, and Marisella coordinating carriage details—the world outside still slumbered. I rose from the bed, my thoughts both gentle and anxious, and stepped into the richly woven robe laid across a gilded chair. This was my first visit to Veridia since I was wed to Alexander; I felt equal measures of anticipation and trepidation.

Alexander slept quietly, the first light softening the sharp angles of his face. I crossed the short distance to our bed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stirred, eyes opening drowsily to find me standing above him.

"Good morning," I whispered.

He stretched and smiled. "Morning. Are you ready?"

I nodded, leaning over to brush a gentle kiss on his cheek. "More than ever. It’s been months since the wedding... but months in a dream. Veridia has been on my mind every day."

He rose, slipping on a Veridian‐cut coat of dark scarlet trimmed with Avalorian gold—his own tribute to my homeland. "Then let us go home."

Downstairs, the grand entrance hall was laid out for travel. Four sleek black carriages waited outside the massive, carved wooden doors. Each bore the combined crest of Veridia and Avaloria—two intertwined lions and griffins under a single crown. Warm lantern light glinted off polished wheels, and the horses snorted, their breath a mist in the cool morning air.

Marisella appeared beside me, her usual composure steady but her eyes bright with excitement. "Your Highnesses," she said, "the carriages are prepared for the journey. Captain Archibald will see to our security, and the route to the airport is fully secured. The border guards have orders to facilitate a swift crossing."

I offered a small nod. "Thank you, Marisella. We leave immediately."

On cue, Alexander and I descended the sweeping staircase. His father’s deep voice echoed through the hall just as we reached the bottom as he spoke to me. "Son, you travel at last to your people."

I turned to face him: King Theron of Avaloria, bearing regal features that bore both pride and paternal concern. He clasped my shoulder with gentle strength. "Remember what this journey represents: unity. Take heart in seeing Veridia’s promises fulfilled."

Queen Lyra approached behind him, her golden gown swirling like molten light. She placed her hand on my other shoulder. "May the warmth of home chase away any remnants of doubt. We believe in you."

I bowed my head, fighting back emotion. "Thank you, Your Majesties." I glanced at Alexander—our silent exchange, a reassurance that we would face this together.

In the courtyard, the four cars stood lined up. The first, for us, was lavishly outfitted with beautiful leather seats. Alexander and I shared the back seat—our posture formal, reflections of the roles we must play, yet our hands found each other in shared warmth. Marisella and Sybil occupied the second car; Gabriel and Captain Archibald the third and fourth. Guards flanked the procession on horseback, spears glinting in the morning sun.

The car wheels began to turn, rolling over polished cobbles and out through the palace gates. The cheers of courtyard attendants faded, replaced by the rhythmic clip‐clop of hooves and a gentle breeze rustling fields of green beyond the city. As we left Valtoria’s grand silhouette behind, the gentle hum of anticipation filled the carriage.

Our route to Valtoria International Airport led through the Scholar’s Quarter, where students and scholars paused their early morning studies to bow respectfully as we passed. We traveled along wide boulevards lined with libraries, academies, and public gardens, the white stone façades gleaming under the rising sun. Beyond the Scholar’s Quarter, the road curved into the Cobelwood Forest—an expanse of towering pines and hawthorn trees stretching as far as the eye could see.

Sunlight filtered through the foliage, dappling the ground in fluid patterns of gold and green. Woodcutters paused their work to salute; forest creatures scurried into the underbrush. Our carriage rolled along a road that wound upward, where the air turned crisper and the scent of pine intensified.

In a quiet moment, Alexander reached for my hand. "How do you feel?" he asked, voice low amid the gentle clatter of our carriage.

I reflected on the months since our marriage: the treacherous conspiracies unraveled, the warming of a thousand hearts in both kingdoms, the dusty records and ledgers we had pored over. Now, I would see Veridia’s progress—bridges rebuilt, fields flourishing, children learning in new schools. "Grateful," I admitted. "Yet... fearful. Hadrian’s words still haunt me: ’This is just the beginning.’ But I also feel hope. If Veridia has rebuilt, if our people rejoice, his threats may hold no weight."

Alexander nodded. "Then let us fill your heart with that hope. Help you carry away the fears." He squeezed my hand, and I leaned against him, savoring the warmth of his support.

Our route emerged from Cobelwood Forest, transitioning to rolling hills dotted with grazing sheep and grazing horses. Then, expanses of farmland spread beneath us: neatly plowed fields, orchard groves fringed by wildflowers, and small cottages with smoke curling from chimneys. Villagers waved as the carriages passed, some calling greetings in melodic Veridian accents. By mid‐morning, we caught sight of Valtoria International—a sleek terminal of white marble and glass, its modern silhouette framed by distant peaks dusted with snow.

**Arrival at Valtoria International**

The carrm slowed on the tarmac, and we disembarked. Cinnamon‐scented mountain air mingled with the roar of turbofan engines on the runway. A throng had gathered: border officials in crisp blue and silver uniforms, local dignitaries, and common citizens who had come to witness our flight’s departure—soldiers at attention, civvies lining the fences. Veridian flags fluttered among Avalorian banners.

Ambassador Rowena from Veridia stepped forward as we walked across the tarmac. She placed a garland of fresh wildflowers around my neck—roses, violets, and lily‐of‐the‐valley. "Prince Lucien, Prince Alexander! Veridia awaits you."

I touched the garland gently, the petals fragrant and cool against my neck. "Thank you," I said, voice thick. "It has been too long."

Alexander bowed respectfully. "We honor your welcome."

The jet stood ready—a streamlined fuselage painted in our joint heraldry with the words Unity’s Flight emblazoned on its side. The cabin door opened with a hiss, revealing plush seats of deep blue velvet and polished wood accents. Crew members—some Veridian, some Avalorian—lined the aisle, offering nods of respect.

Inside, the cabin was calm. We settled into our seats by the window, Alexander at the aisle side, me beside the window. The engine’s roar built as the plane taxied down the runway, and soon we soared over mountain ridges and river valleys. We passed over the Crownspire Mountains, their snowcaps gleaming, then the forests of Cobelwood, and finally the shimmering sprawl of Veridia’s plains.

As we banked toward the city, my heart raced. Fields stretched below—rectangular patches of emerald and amber that hinted at the prosperity we had nurtured. I caught Alexander’s gaze. "It looks... fertile."

He smiled. "Your people’s labor and our cooperation combined."

The plane descended toward Veridia International Airport—an elegant terminal of pale stone with arched colonnades and decorative mosaics depicting the Lion and Griffin entwined. As wheels touched the tarmac, the engines sighed to a halt. We gathered our small satchels of personal items and stepped onto the gangway. The open air was richer, warmer, and softer than Avaloria’s spring. Across the runway lay manicured gardens where citizens had gathered by the hundreds, cheering wildly from the security fences. Banners flew: "Lucien and Alexander—Our Princes, Our Hope" and "Veridia and Avaloria—Forever Strong."

The joy in the crowd was nearly overwhelming. Men, women, and children clutched ribbons in our symbols’ colors—forest green and midnight blue—surging forward with outstretched hands. Catherine Rowena, the Veridian ambassador at the airport, greeted us first, offering handshakes and warm smiles. "Your Highnesses—welcome home."

I clasped her hand firmly. "Thank you, Ambassador. It has been too long." My voice quavered as children climbed the fences, hoping for a glimpse, and soldiers lined the perimeter with respectful bows. The throng’s cheers rattled the air: "Prince Lucien! Prince Alexander! Veridia Rejoices!"

Alexander lifted a hand in greeting. "We are honored."

My eyes scanned the crowd—farmers in homespun tunics, laborers in simple frocks, city merchants in fine silks—all faces lit by genuine delight. One elderly man pressed a basket of fresh‐baked bread into my hands, tears lining his weathered cheeks. "Your marriage saved our harvests," he said, voice trembling. "Your grace fed our families."

My chest tightened. "Thank you," I whispered, pressing the bread to my heart. "It has been our honor."