The Prince's Arranged Marriage
Chapter 70: Dead Ends

Chapter 70: Dead Ends

The moon hovered high above Valtoria Palace, its pale light rendering the rose bushes of the east garden into silver specters. I crouched behind the low stone wall that separated the hedges from the marble walkway, blade in hand and senses straining for any hint of movement. My breath puffed in steamy wisps, and every rustle of leaves made my heart stutter. Marisella’s slipper—still lying as I’d left it—glowed softly in the moonlight, a single testament to her peril. I pressed a hand to the wall, steadying myself. I would find her.

A distant fountain whispered behind me, its trickle the only sound that felt natural in this hushed world. The flicker of lantern light spilled from a distant corridor, but here, in the heart of the garden maze, shadows claimed everything. I rose from my crouch, dagger hidden beneath my coat, and advanced down a narrow path bordered by sculpted boxwood. My footsteps fell lightly on the grass’s edge, careful not to disturb the dew.

Ahead, I saw the silhouette of two figures—Gabriel, the pageboy who scurried messages through the household, and Sybil, one of the junior scribes I had recruited. They spoke in urgent whispers, backs to me.

"Did you see Lord Torric with the emissary?" Gabriel asked, voice trembling.

Sybil nodded, hand covering her mouth. "Twice this week, in the old pavilion. They talk softly in Aradeth’s tongue."

A spark of hope ignited in my chest. I stepped forward—two careful strides—and cleared my throat.

They spun around, Gabriel’s lantern dropping with a clatter that echoed in the night. Sybil stifled a gasp.

"Your Highness!" she exclaimed, bowing with startling agility for someone so young.

I held up a hand. "Quiet." I let my gaze sweep over them. "You’ve been helpful."

Gabriel’s eyes glittered with fear. "We—I only did as you asked, sire."

"And I am grateful." I knelt again to retrieve Gabriel’s lantern, replacing its candle with a match from my pocket so it wouldn’t burn too bright. "Tell me everything."

He swallowed and nodded. Sybil retreated into the shadows behind us, whispering details of Torric’s midnight meetings in the abandoned pavilion and Hadrian’s secret letters arranged through Elowen’s maid. I pressed him for dates, times, names. Each piece of information was another thread.

When their story was fully told, I tucked the lantern under my arm. "Stay here. Out of sight. If you see anyone coming, slip back into the palace. Do not approach."

They nodded, terror in their eyes. I rose and crept toward the pavilion, sword at my side and mind racing. The old pavilion had been a gift from a long-vanished king—an open rotunda overlooking the inner moat. Tonight, it lay silent. Ivy curled up its columns, the roof’s carved beams creaked in the breeze. Lantern light burned on a distant wall but offered no comfort here.

I paused at the entrance, listening. Then stepped inside.

Two shadows huddled on the cold stone floor. Lord Torric’s tall frame was unmistakable, his back stiff as he spoke to another: Aradeth’s envoy, robed and hooded. They gestured toward maps spread on the dais, their whispers low.

I backed away as quietly as I could—until a loose stone betrayed me with a soft *click.*

Torric looked up. The envoy stiffened. They saw me.

"We meet in shadows, Your Highness," Torric said smoothly, voice level. "But you need not intrude."

I drew my sword, lantern held high. "What treason lurks behind your hidden meetings?"

The envoy rose, drawing an emissary’s blade. I could see the silver runes etched along its edge—evidence of foreign craftsmanship.

Before I could respond, Torric shot forward. "Put the sword away, Lucien," he said with arrogant calm. "You have no proof. I advise you to—

A shout rose from the garden’s mouth—a flash of steel, a barked order. Gabriel and Sybil had galloped around the rotunda, brandishing torches. The envoy cursed and fled into the night, Torric close behind.

I hesitated, torn between pursuit and duty. I had unmasked the traitor—and his accomplice. Yet I also feared what my next act would unleash. If I chased them, I risked entering Avalon’s most dangerous enclaves alone. If I let them go... I risked betrayal in full.

I ran after the envoy anyway.

Through ivy-slicked paths and half-dark corridors, I chased his retreating cloak until it vanished into the palace shadows. Torric, meanwhile, circled back, intercepting the envoy. Their fight was swift—Torric’s dagger flashed, the envoy’s blade moved with practiced aim. I rushed forward, sword raised.

But just as I leapt to intervene, the envoy broke free and fled into the Inner Moat. Torric hesitated, caught between duty to capture and fear of drowning. Gabriel and Sybil pressed close, shouting warnings that they’d lost sight of the foreigner.

I pivoted to Torric, chest heaving. The candlelight in his eyes was ashen with fury.

"You will answer for this," I said, voice low and dangerous. "Come with me."

He gave a bitter snarl and bowed stiffly. "Your Highness."

I turned and marched back to the pavilion. Gabriel and Sybil followed, across moon-black lawns, past silent fountains. Torric trailed behind, arm bound and head lowered.

Marisella and Archibald intercepted us near the palace door. She took Torric’s arm, whispering orders for his immediate detention. Archibald directed the pageboy to secure the pavilion and gather more guards. The palace itself began to stir as lanterns were lit, sentries roused.

I found Sybil’s eyes and nodded. She ducked away to complete her part: telling the palace guard to seal the garden gates.

Once Torric was guided away, I turned to Gabriel.

"Thank you," I said. "You’ve done well."

He stared at me, startled. "Your Highness—"

"You saved me," I interrupted gently. "And my kingdom. For now, you must rest. You’ve earned it."

He nodded and fled into the night, torch held high, as Marisella led Torric toward the dungeons.

I stood alone with Alexander—who had appeared at the pavilion’s foot as the first guards arrived.

He stepped forward, concern in his eyes. "Lucien—what happened? I heard shouting."

I sheathed my sword and folded my arms, unwilling to share everything yet. "Torric and a foreign envoy. I found them meeting in secret."

Alexander’s brows rose. "Treason."

I nodded. "But the envoy escaped."

"I’ll have them hunted down," Alexander said, striding to my side. "And Torric will answer."

I glanced at him, the conflict alight in my mind. "There’s more."

He placed a hand on my arm. "Tell me what you know."

And on the steps of the moonlit pavilion, surrounded by guards and the scent of crushed roses, I let my secrets slip. I told him of Hadrian’s letters, of Elowen’s promises, of the silent edits by Torric. I showed him the scraps of parchment, the notes stolen from the archive.

He listened, face grave, concern pooling in his dark eyes.

"We have enough proof now," he said softly. "We can bring them to trial."

I caught my breath, shook my head. "Not yet."

He blinked. "Not yet?"

"I need to trace their network," I said. "This goes deeper than three men. If I push too hard, they’ll cover their tracks, destroy everything we’ve found. I need to follow every thread—from the envoy’s contacts back to the ministers, then to the very heart of the court."

He exhaled, tension in his shoulders. "All right. We proceed carefully."

---

The next week was a parade of dead ends.

I spent days in the archive, reading ledger after ledger. When I asked questions, the librarians shook their heads or offered stale excuses about "misfiled records." I traced the envoy’s blade—told of rare metals from the Aradeth mountains—only to find the royal armory held no record of such purchases. Sybil snooped in council transcripts, only to discover pages shredded or burned. Gabriel shadowed palace servants, but doors closed before he could overhear meetings. Every time I followed a clue, it dissolved.

Alexander watched my frustration deepen. Each morning, he would find me with dark circles beneath my eyes, hands stained with ink, parchment fragments scattered like breadcrumbs across my desk.

"Another dead end?" he asked one evening, sitting beside me in the study.

"Two dozen," I admitted. "And one shred of genuine proof."

He closed the book he’d been reading. "You shouldn’t carry this alone, Lucien."

"I know," I said, eyes tired. "But I can’t ask you to rearrange the palace again. The last confrontation nearly split the court in two."

He reached for my hand. "I’ll stand by you. No matter what. We’ll keep the others from knowing—at least until we have absolute certainty."

I squeezed his hand, grateful. "Thank you. I just... I hate feeling so powerless."

He drew me to his side, chin resting atop my head. "You are not powerless."

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to his chest. His warmth steadied me as no words could.

---

Night after night, I prowled the palace like a restless sentinel. I examined every gift sent to our wing, sniffing for tampering. I questioned cooks, gardeners, even the palace musicians. Names piled up—license fees to the Aradeth envoy paid in secret, a string of late-night carriage movements near the archives, a single tutor recalled from Veridia who refused to discuss his reasons.

But every revelation proved to be a loop, weaving back to the same three men. The envoy was gone, but the ministers remained: untouchable behind their offices, shielded by loyalty from those above them.

I began to wonder if I had misjudged Alexander’s caution—that perhaps he, too, feared just how far the rot had spread.

One afternoon, I confronted Hadrian directly in the council’s antechamber. He stood by the window, staring out at the central courtyard.

"Minister," I said, stepping close. He turned, surprise flickering across his face.

"Prince Lucien," he said with excessive courtesy. "You called for me?"

"I have a question," I said, keeping my voice low. "Are you in league with the Aradeth envoy?"

He laughed—an ugly, mirthless sound. "Preposterous."

"Yet your letters instruct the envoy to ignore Avaloria’s sanctions on brown ore. Those letters were signed with your seal."

He balled his hands into fists. "You have no proof!"

"And yet," I said quietly, "I have your name on the ledger." I tapped my dagger’s hilt. "It was hidden in the archives. It’s a start."

His veneer cracked then. For an instant, I saw fear flare in his eyes. Then he recovered with a practiced bow. "Your Highness. You must assemble a formal inquiry."

"I will," I said. "But it will make waves." I turned to go, but paused. "I suggest you leave Veridian ore alone."

He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

---

That night, I returned to Alexander with the ledger entry. The study was warm with firelight; he was waiting, parchment and quill at hand.

"I cornered Hadrian," I said, placing the page between us. "He denied everything."

Alexander took the paper. "This is enough."

I shook my head. "No. Not yet."

"Lucien—"

"I want to catch him in the act," I said, voice firm. "I want the envoy and the ministers together, the moment they make offers. Then we have them."

He exhaled, then nodded. "Very well. We’ll lure them."

I looked up, hope quickening. "You think it will work?"

He brushed a thumb across my knuckles. "I know it will."

He rose, drawing me into his arms. "Rest now. Tomorrow we plan the trap."

I closed my eyes against the stress and the swirling intrigue. For the first time in days, I felt something like peace—because Alexander believed in me. In us.

Wherever the conspirators hid their secrets, we would find them. And when we did, they would see that the bond between our hearts was stronger than any shadow cast across the palace.

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