The Prince's Arranged Marriage-Chapter 97: The Palace Holds Its Breath

Lucien woke to darkness and movement.

Not the gentle sway of a palace carriage this was rougher, faster, like whoever drove didn’t care if the wheels complained. The air smelled of old cloth and oiled wood. Every bump jolted through his bones and reminded him his wrists were still bound.

He tested the ropes again, carefully.

Tight. Clean knots. Not the kind tied in panic.

Professionals.

His throat burned, and his head felt heavy, like his thoughts were wrapped in wool. Whatever they’d pressed to his face earlier still clung to him, slipping back into his blood in slow waves.

Lucien forced himself to breathe through it.

Slow in. Slow out.

He couldn’t afford to be sick. He couldn’t afford to be loud in the wrong way. He couldn’t afford to give them anything they could use.

A lantern swung somewhere above, throwing thin light through gaps in the covered wagon. Lucien shifted slightly and caught a glimpse of the man across from him the polite one. Calm posture, hands folded, gaze steady like this was a meeting, not a kidnapping.

When Lucien’s eyes focused, the man’s mouth curved faintly.

"You’re awake."

Lucien licked his dry lips. "You sound pleased."

"We prefer you conscious," the man replied mildly. "It makes things simpler."

Lucien stared at him. "I don’t think you understand what ’simple’ means."

The man didn’t react. No flare of anger. No tightening of jaw.

That was the second warning.

Men who didn’t take offense were either disciplined... or very sure they had control.

Lucien lifted his bound hands slightly. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe."

Lucien gave a hoarse laugh. "Safe for who?"

The man’s gaze stayed calm. "For you."

Lucien’s smile turned thin. "Then untie me."

"Not yet."

Lucien’s fingers flexed against the rope. "Are you going to keep pretending this is polite?"

The man’s eyes held his. "We’re not here to harm you."

Lucien leaned forward slightly, pushing through the fog. "Then why drug me?"

"Because you fight," the man said, as if it was a neutral fact.

Lucien’s stomach twisted. He fought down the rising nausea and focused on what mattered: details.

Road sounds. Wheel rhythm. The way the wagon turned. The slope of movement. He listened hard, counting silently.

One long turn. Two short. A bump like uneven stone. Then a smoother stretch.

If he could figure out where they were taking him, he could leave it behind somehow.

He glanced down at his coat. The inner pocket felt lighter.

The small clasp he’d dropped earlier was gone from him, at least.

But he still had his ring. Still had his mind. Still had his mouth.

Lucien looked back up at the man. "Who sent you?"

The man’s expression didn’t shift. "Does it change your choices?"

"Yes," Lucien said simply. "If it’s the council, I’ll know exactly how many of them I plan to bury."

A flicker barely there crossed the man’s eyes.

Good.

Lucien pressed gently, keeping his tone light. "You’re local, but you speak like someone trained in court."

The man’s smile returned, polite as ever. "You’re observant."

"I have to be," Lucien replied. "Men keep trying to make me small."

The man didn’t deny it.

The wagon rocked. The lantern swayed. The drugged heaviness in Lucien’s head surged again, trying to push him under.

Lucien clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay present.

Then the wagon slowed.

Lucien’s muscles tightened. He listened.

Boots outside. Voices. The scrape of a door. A creak like a wooden gate being opened.

The man across from him stood smoothly. "We’re here."

Lucien’s pulse kicked harder. "Where is ’here’?"

The man leaned down and, with deliberate care, pulled a hood over Lucien’s head.

The fabric smelled clean. That, somehow, made it worse.

Lucien jerked back. "Don’t"

"Quiet," the man said, still calm. "This part is for your protection."

Lucien almost laughed. He didn’t, because the drug made his lungs sting.

Hands gripped his arms and lifted him down from the wagon. He stumbled once, catching himself before he fell. They didn’t want him bruised. They steadied him.

They need me intact.

Lucien counted steps as they walked.

Stone underfoot. Cool air. Then warmth indoors.

A corridor. Two turns. A stairway down, not up. The air grew damp, like old stone and water.

Lucien held his breath through it, trying to memorize the sound of the space. Every footfall echoed differently. He could tell when ceilings were higher, when hallways narrowed.

He heard a door open.

He was guided forward.

Then the hood came off.

Lucien blinked hard against sudden lamplight.

He was in a small room clean, sparse, and carefully ordinary. A table. Two chairs. A narrow bed. A wash basin. No windows.

Not a dungeon.

Not a guest room.

Something in between, designed to say this is reasonable.

Lucien’s stomach turned.

The man who’d been across from him stepped inside and shut the door. Another man remained outside, boots planted where Lucien could hear him.

The polite one gestured to the chair. "Sit."

Lucien stayed standing. "Untie me."

The man’s eyes stayed calm. "Sit first."

Lucien took a slow breath and sat. Not because he wanted to obey, but because he wanted to control his body. Standing made him look reactive.

The man approached and, with controlled precision, loosened the rope around Lucien’s wrists.

Lucien flexed his hands immediately, the skin tender where the cord had bitten.

"Thank you," Lucien said sweetly.

The man didn’t react to the sarcasm. He took the other chair and folded his hands again.

"We will keep this civil," he said.

Lucien’s smile was polite. "So will I."

A beat of silence settled between them.

Lucien studied him. The man looked like someone who could have been a court official if he’d worn finer clothes. Educated, controlled, not young but not old. His eyes were the most telling part calm, but alert.

Lucien tilted his head. "What do you want from me?"

The man’s gaze sharpened slightly. "Cooperation."

Lucien laughed softly. "That’s a pretty word."

"It’s an accurate one," the man replied. "Your situation can remain comfortable if you choose it."

Lucien leaned back in the chair. "If I choose what? To stop asking questions? To let them install a regency while I’m... conveniently absent?"

The man didn’t flinch at the word.

So Lucien had hit something.

Lucien kept his voice calm. "Tell me what you’re offering. Because right now, all I see is cowardice dressed as tradition."

The man’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. "You speak boldly."

"I’m a prince," Lucien said. "It’s my job."

The man considered him for a moment, then said, "You will write a statement."

Lucien went still.

His heart didn’t race. His stomach didn’t drop.

Instead, cold clarity settled in.

"A statement," Lucien repeated softly.

"Yes," the man said. "A simple one."

Lucien’s fingers curled around the armrest. "About what?"

"That you are unwell," the man replied, as if discussing weather. "That you require rest. That you are stepping back temporarily from public duties."

Lucien stared at him.

There it was.

Not bruises. Not chains. Not torture.

A story.

Lucien let out a slow breath and forced his expression back into gentle calm. "And if I refuse?"

The man’s voice remained mild. "Then things become less comfortable."

Lucien smiled. "That sounds like a threat."

"It’s a consequence," the man corrected.

Lucien leaned forward slightly, letting his eyes sharpen. "Do you know what happens when you make me disappear?"

The man’s gaze didn’t move. "The kingdom breathes easier."

Lucien’s smile turned razor-thin. "And Prince Alexander?"

A flicker. Just once.

Lucien saw it and pounced softly. "You’re afraid of him."

The man’s expression smoothed again. "We are prepared."

Lucien laughed again, quiet and humorless. "Everyone thinks they are."

The man leaned back slightly. "You can save yourself a great deal of pain, Your Highness."

Lucien’s hands tightened. "My pain isn’t the problem."

The man raised a brow. "No?" 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Lucien held his gaze. "The problem is that you think I’ll sign my own erasure."

Silence.

Then the man stood.

He walked to the door and knocked twice. The guard outside opened it a fraction.

The man spoke low enough that Lucien shouldn’t have heard... but Lucien’s ears were sharp.

"Tell Councilman Varric the prince is awake."

Lucien’s breath caught.

Varric.

A name from court. A real name, not a shadow.

The door shut again.

Lucien forced himself not to react. He let his face remain calm even as something hot twisted in his chest.

So betrayal wasn’t only in pamphlets and rumors.

It had a name.

It had a seat at the table.

The polite man turned back and regarded Lucien as if nothing had happened.

"You’ll rest," he said. "We’ll speak again."

Lucien’s voice came out soft. "You think I’m going to be quiet."

The man’s smile was faint. "You will be controlled."

Lucien held his gaze, then whispered, "You don’t understand something."

The man waited.

Lucien’s fingers tightened, then relaxed. He spoke like he was still in the council chamber, warm and dangerous at once.

"You can take me out of the palace," Lucien murmured, "but you can’t take me out of Alexander’s reach."

The man’s eyes cooled. "We’ll see."

He left.

The door shut.

Lucien sat alone in a room with no windows, listening to the guard’s breathing outside, letting the fear rise and then flatten into something steadier.

Anger.

Resolve.

And, underneath it all, a sharp ache that surprised him

The memory of Alexander’s mouth on his in their bed that morning. The warmth. The safety. The way Alexander had looked at him like Lucien was something worth burning a world for.

Lucien closed his eyes and breathed through the ache.

Find me.

And then he opened them and stared at the blank wall until it felt like he could see through stone.