The Prince's Arranged Marriage
Chapter 69: Watching

Chapter 69: Watching

The letter burned a hole in my desk.

I had tucked it beneath false correspondence—a decoy letter addressed to a foreign diplomat—but I could still feel its presence, like a whisper in my ear. Each morning, I passed over it in silence, never daring to bring it up with Alexander.

He would be furious if he knew I was keeping this from him.

And yet, some instinct, sharper than reason, told me to wait.

Not because I doubted him. I didn’t. Not anymore. We’d weathered too many storms, crossed too many boundaries to question the bond between us. But Alexander... he was fire and steel when wronged. The moment he saw the names—Hadrian, Elowen, Torric—he’d confront them directly. And I wasn’t ready to make this public yet. Not when the ink was unsigned, the accusations still shadows.

I needed proof. Real, undeniable proof.

And I needed to find out who sent the letter.

So I began my own investigation.

Quietly.

---

The days passed in routine, the court unaware that beneath my polished smiles and rehearsed diplomacy, I was digging into the very foundation of its power.

I started with Torric.

The Lord of the Royal Archive was a habitual creature. He visited the same wing of the palace every day, pouring over dusty ledgers and ancient manuscripts as if trying to uncover divine prophecy in footnotes. On the third morning, I visited the Archive under the pretense of researching Veridian-Avalorian trade agreements from fifty years ago.

"Your Highness," Torric greeted me with an overly courteous bow, fingers stained with ink. "An interest in economic history, I see?"

"More of a compulsion than an interest," I said, offering a gracious smile. "Since our kingdoms are now bound together, I feel it prudent to understand our past."

He laughed softly, the sound dry and rehearsed. "A wise approach."

But he didn’t linger. Within minutes, he excused himself and vanished into the restricted section. When I asked an attendant what he had gone to retrieve, the man—a boy, really, barely twenty—hesitated.

"He... didn’t say, Your Highness. But he does that often. Seals the door behind him too."

I kept my tone light. "And no one else is permitted in there?"

"No, sire. Only authorized scholars."

Later that night, I returned.

Cloaked, unguarded, and brimming with nerves.

The restricted section had its own entrance through a side passage. Marisella, bless her loyalty, had given me the key under strict protest. I entered with a lantern covered in red velvet to dull the light. The room smelled of dust, parchment, and secrets.

It was there I found the first clue.

A scroll tucked between agricultural reports—how quaint—that bore Hadrian’s seal. It referenced correspondence with "Eastern allies" and included a note: *"Ensure Elowen receives the revised trade figures before Council. She knows how to wield them."*

Nothing explicit. No word like "treason" or "plot." But this was a thread, and I intended to pull it.

The next day, I sent Marisella to "inquire" after Torric’s movements. I had her report back under the guise of reviewing charity records, so no one would suspect anything. According to her, Torric had met twice in the past week with a foreign emissary from Aradeth, a kingdom whose interests had repeatedly clashed with Avaloria’s.

That was enough to alarm me.

Still, I said nothing to Alexander.

Every day, I smiled at my husband during court sessions. I laughed at his jests, leaned into his touch when we dined, and nodded encouragingly during our meetings with city governors.

And every night, I locked myself away in the study, reading stolen copies of council memos and tracing names I barely knew.

---

Then I noticed them.

At first, it was subtle.

A footstep where there should have been silence. A flash of movement reflected in the polished glass of a corridor vase. Once, I turned sharply and caught sight of a cloaked figure vanishing around a bend near the west gardens.

That same evening, when I returned to my chambers, one of my drawers was slightly open.

Only by an inch.

Just enough to be noticed.

My ring box had been shifted.

I didn’t mention it to Alexander. I couldn’t—not yet. Not when I wasn’t sure how far the roots of this conspiracy reached. If they had spies inside the royal wing... I needed more time. I needed to think.

But that night, when we lay in bed, his arms wrapped around my waist, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder, I wanted to tell him everything.

I almost did.

"Lucien?" he murmured sleepily. "You’re tense. Something on your mind?"

The question hit too close.

I shook my head gently. "Just tired. The court has been exhausting."

He pressed a kiss to my neck. "You don’t have to do everything alone."

If only he knew.

---

The following morning, I changed tactics.

Rather than stalking shadows, I invited the enemy in.

I scheduled a private tea with Countess Elowen.

She was surprised, of course, but intrigued. Her silver-blonde hair was artfully curled, her dress flawless, and her smile as sharp as a blade sheathed in honey.

"Your Highness," she said as she sat, "how lovely to receive your invitation."

"I felt we haven’t had a chance to speak properly," I said, pouring her tea myself. "You’ve been such a vocal contributor in court."

"Flattery?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"Observation," I corrected, and sipped.

We spoke of minor matters at first: her children’s education, the state of Avaloria’s vineyards, the fashion coming out of Eastern provinces. But gradually, I steered the conversation toward trade, then politics.

"You’ve been aligned with Hadrian on many issues," I remarked, careful to sound casual.

She didn’t flinch. "We’ve worked together for years. His understanding of Avaloria’s infrastructure is unmatched."

I smiled. "And Lord Torric?"

"An acquired taste," she said dryly. "But effective."

There it was. A network of loyalty. Not proof, but something close.

When she left, she placed her hand over mine and said, "You’re very charming, Prince Lucien. Just be careful who you trust in this palace."

I didn’t sleep that night.

---

The next morning, I awoke to find a note slid beneath my door.

No name. No seal.

Just a sentence, scrawled in the same sharp ink as the first letter:

> "You’re being watched."

I crushed it in my fist.

I couldn’t do this alone anymore.

---

But that evening, before I could go to Alexander, another disturbance found me.

Marisella was missing.

She had been sent to retrieve more records from the royal library—but she never returned.

Her absence was noted only by a nervous pageboy, who stammered through his explanation and admitted that her last known location had been the gardens near the east wing.

The same area where I had seen that cloaked figure.

My blood ran cold.

The pieces were moving faster now. I had poked the beast, and it was stirring.

No more secrets.

Tonight, I would tell Alexander everything.

I would show him the letter, the stolen memos, the scrolls, the network of meetings between the accused ministers.

He had to know.

And together, we would act.

But first, I had to find Marisella.

---

I slipped into the corridor, cloak drawn tight, and headed for the east wing alone. Torches burned low in their sconces, casting flickering shadows on the stone. My steps were silent. Every footfall echoed like a warning.

I passed the servant’s corridor.

Then the library.

Then the door that led to the garden path.

It was slightly ajar.

A breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of crushed mint and roses.

I stepped outside.

The gardens were hushed, cloaked in a velvet hush of midnight.

And there, half-hidden in the shadows, I saw something that made my heart lurch.

A silk slipper.

Marisella’s.

It lay at the edge of the hedge maze.

My breath caught.

I moved forward, slowly, every nerve in my body drawn taut.

And that was when I heard it.

A soft rustle—behind me.

I spun, drawing the dagger I had concealed beneath my coat.

But the path was empty.

Only wind. Only dark.

And somewhere, just out of sight, the watchers lingered.

The moonlight danced across Marisella’s abandoned slipper, turning it silver against the tangled mosaic of ivy and stone. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a reminder that the fragile web I’d begun to weave could unravel in an instant. I pressed my palm against the cold marble wall, struggling to steady my breath. Somewhere beyond the hedges, footsteps receded—men or women who served those three conspirators, now aware that I was closing in. Fear and fury warred within me, but neither would drive me back. Not tonight. My mind flashed to Alexander’s trusting smile, to his promise that we would face this together. I owed him the truth, and I owed Marisella a rescue. Clutching my dagger, I took a hesitant step forward, then another, each footfall determined, resolute. The hidden paths of the royal gardens, once a place of twilight strolls and whispered confidences, had become the stage for a darker drama. Yet as I moved deeper into the maze, the slippers’ single presence glowed like a beacon: a sign that I was close to discovering both Marisella’s fate and the conspirators’ deepest secret. Tomorrow, I would bring those traitors into the light. Tonight, I would fight in the shadows.

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