The Prince's Arranged Marriage
Chapter 65: Echoes in the Court

Chapter 65: Echoes in the Court

Certainly! Here’s the next Chapter of your NovelFire, written in Lucien’s POV,

The golden banners of Avaloria fluttered in the breeze outside the royal court, gilded threads catching sunlight like fire. Inside, however, the air was heavy—stifling. And I, Prince Lucien of Veridian and now consort to Avaloria’s heir, stood in the middle of it, feeling like a stranger in a room that was supposed to be mine too.

The court chamber was vast, columns rising like marble sentinels, and the throne dais stood bathed in light. Alexander sat upon it with his usual effortless command—one hand resting on the armrest, his crown angled just enough to look accidental. I stood to his right, as I had for weeks now, my place symbolic. Decorative.

And I was beginning to hate it.

I had spent the past three weeks trying to balance my Veridian council duties with my new role in Avaloria. I attended court meetings, economic briefings, trade negotiations, and public audiences. I listened. I offered suggestions. I tried—truly tried—to serve the kingdom that had become my second home. But time and again, I was met with thinly veiled smiles and thicker silences. And today, it was worse.

"Regarding the proposed levies on northern imports," I said, rising to speak after the Minister of Commerce had laid out the updated figures, "there’s evidence from Veridian’s eastern border towns that similar tariffs discouraged merchants and led to—"

"We are not Veridian, Your Highness," interrupted Minister Hadrian, a portly man with a stiff collar and a tone more condescending than courtly. "Our markets are structured differently."

My lips thinned. "Yes, but the trade routes overlap. If we penalize shipping, we risk isolating ourselves from eastern—"

"I’m sure Avaloria’s council is more than capable of managing its own borders without needing Veridian case studies," Minister Elowen said lightly, eyes never quite meeting mine. The court chuckled—just a few, but enough to sting.

I sat back slowly, my jaw tight.

Alexander glanced at me, his brows twitching in the faintest frown. But he said nothing.

That was the part that stung most.

The discussion moved on, and I heard none of it. My heart thudded in my ears while my gaze stayed fixed on the dark grain of the council table. These ministers—these so-called advisors—barely hid their disdain. Every time I spoke, it was a risk, a challenge to the invisible boundary they’d drawn around themselves. I wasn’t truly *one of them.* Not Avalorian. Not worthy.

And Alexander? He *let* it happen.

By the end of the meeting, I was seething. The moment we were dismissed, I left the chamber with brisk, controlled steps, not waiting for Alexander or anyone else. I needed air. Space. Anything but the suffocating scent of polished stone and veiled scorn.

---

I didn’t go back to our chambers that afternoon. I told myself I had work—correspondence from Veridian, a report to review, an audience to schedule—but in truth, I couldn’t face him. Not yet.

Not when his silence still echoed louder than any insult thrown my way.

---

It was evening when I finally returned. The room was dim, a fire crackling low in the hearth. Alexander was there, seated by the window, a book open but unread in his hands. He looked up the moment I entered.

"You left quickly."

"I had things to do."

"You didn’t come to dinner."

"I wasn’t hungry."

A beat passed. The book closed.

"Lucien," he said, carefully, "you can’t keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Shutting me out."

I turned away, undoing the clasp of my cloak. "I’m not shutting you out."

"You haven’t spoken to me properly in days."

"Perhaps I’m tired of speaking and not being heard."

The words hung in the air, sharper than I intended. Alexander stood, his expression darkening.

"You’re angry with me."

"I wonder why."

"I can’t control everything the ministers say," he said, his voice a shade tighter. "I can’t force them to accept you overnight."

"I’m not asking for miracles, Alexander. I’m asking for *respect.* And when I’m insulted, when I’m mocked in open court, the least you could do is defend me."

"I’ve *defended* you more times than you know," he snapped, stepping forward. "Behind closed doors, I’ve corrected them, warned them. But if I chastise them publicly, I undermine my own court."

"And what about me?" I asked, turning to face him. "What about the image of your husband being silenced and dismissed like a child? What does that say about our union? About me?"

He didn’t answer. Not right away. His eyes searched mine, frustration giving way to something else—something tired.

"I didn’t think it was this bad," he admitted finally.

"Then you haven’t been paying attention."

Silence again. Only the fire spoke.

"I’ll talk to them," he said after a long pause. "Tomorrow."

I nodded once, tight and mechanical. "Thank you."

But even as I said it, I felt a wall rising between us. Thin, nearly invisible, but real. And growing.

---

The next few days passed in a blur of diplomacy and distance.

I attended court, but I said less. Offered fewer thoughts. When ministers spoke over me, I let them. When Alexander looked my way, I met his gaze with polite indifference. In public, we stood side by side. In private, we barely touched.

It was easier this way, I told myself. Less painful than hoping for a change that never came.

Still, the whispers grew louder.

I heard them in passing—in hallways, in courtyards, beyond closed doors.

*"The Veridian prince is too sensitive."*

*"He’s only here because of the alliance."*

*"He’s not a true Avalorian."*

And once, from a servant who didn’t know I was there:

*"He’s beautiful, yes, but he’s no queen."*

I laughed bitterly to myself. Queen. They wouldn’t even give me *that.* Just *consort,* said like a consolation prize. A reminder of where I stood.

---

It was after a week of this that Alexander found me in the palace library, late at night.

I sat at a corner table, a scroll unfurled before me—something on joint education initiatives between our kingdoms. But I wasn’t reading. My thoughts were elsewhere, drifting like mist.

He sat across from me without asking.

"I spoke with Hadrian," he said quietly. "And Elowen. I made it clear that any disrespect toward you will not be tolerated."

I nodded, still not looking at him. "That must have gone over well."

"Not everyone is happy about it," he admitted. "But I don’t care. They’ll learn."

"Or they won’t."

He frowned. "Lucien—"

"I don’t want apologies or forced courtesy. I want to be seen. Recognised. Not as your accessory, not as Veridia’s price for peace—but as *me.*"

"You think I don’t see you?"

"I don’t know," I said honestly. "Sometimes, it feels like you forget I’m fighting to be here. That every step I take in this palace feels like walking on knives."

Alexander stood, then moved around the table, kneeling before me.

"You’re right," he said. "I’ve been too focused on politics, on appearances. I thought if I just gave it time, things would settle. But I should have stood with you more. *Louder.*"

I looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. By the hurt in his eyes.

"I’m not perfect," he said. "But I’m yours. And I want to fix this."

I searched his face. For doubt. For pride. But there was none.

"Then help me," I said softly. "Not just in words. In action. Let them see us as equals."

"We are equals."

"Then make them believe it."

He rose and leaned down, pressing a kiss to my brow.

"I will."

---

The next morning, court was... different.

When I spoke, Alexander didn’t just look at me. He echoed my points. He added to them. He made it *known* that my words had weight. And when Minister Elowen tried to interrupt me again, Alexander shut her down so swiftly and smoothly that even I blinked.

It was only the beginning. A small shift.

But in a place like this, small shifts could move kingdoms.

---

That night, he came to my study with two glasses of wine and no agenda. We sat on the floor, not as princes or rulers, but just as Lucien and Alexander. And for the first time in what felt like weeks, we laughed.

"I miss this," I said, watching the firelight dance in his eyes.

"So do I."

"It’s hard, isn’t it?" I murmured. "Loving each other in front of a world that wants to pull us apart."

His fingers brushed mine. "Then let’s stop letting them."

And in that quiet promise, I felt something in me begin to mend.