Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince-Chapter 94 — Journey to Eldoria

A month had passed since Lucian agreed to attend King Alistair’s wedding.

Despite living under the same roof, he and Cynthia rarely crossed paths. Absorbed in their own duties, they neither sought nor expected opportunities to meet alone. Yet, they attended a few banquets together, facing nobles who demanded explanations about the demon’s attack at the market—a brutal incident that left several people dead and others grievously injured, some losing limbs and forced to live handicapped.

Restoring order in Erion had been no small struggle, but at last, the scars on the city were slowly beginning to heal along with the reparation of the market.

"Your Highness, are you ready?" Philip knocked at Lucian’s door.

The door opened and Lucian stood before the elderly man. He was dressed in a thick dark blue long coat, his hair combed at the top of his head with a few lock hung over his forehead.

"Yes."

"You look good, Your Highness," Philip complimented, smiling brightly.

Lucian narrowed his eyes, not expecting a compliment. After all, today was the day he would depart for Eldoria once again with Cynthia and he was preparing for the sarcastic remarks the nobles would make to downgrade him, just like he had experienced all his life. He was, after all, the illegitimate son of the king, even if he was a prince, he held no power or right over the throne.

"I apologize," the middle-aged man lowered his head, seeing the displeased complexion of his master.

"It’s alright. Is she ready as well?"

"The grand duchess has been waiting in the carriage for the past half hour," Philip replied.

Lucian snorted. "Waiting? For half an hour? Surprising," he muttered, stepping out of the doorway. "Bring my bag."

"Only one, Your Highness?"

"It’s a wedding. We won’t be gone longer than four days."

Philip nodded, motioning to a nearby servant to fetch the luggage.

Lucian moved briskly down the stairs, his gaze scanning the hallway for Arisia. She had insisted on staying at the mansion in his absence, reluctant to return to the palace just yet. Though he’d initially objected, her persistent pleas had softened him. Only recently, he’d received a letter from Valen warning him to ensure her well-being—or else Valen himself would arrive to "settle the matter." Lucian had laughed at the irony; his younger brother, once filled with disdain, was now protective of Arisia.

"Had I truly been their brother..."

The thought lingered, familiar yet distant, only to be dismissed as quickly as it arose. Reality was undeniable: no matter what bonds they tried to build, he was not one of them– his blood was too filthy, as he was told, compared to their pure one. And that was a truth he had long since learned to accept.

"Your Highness," Glain, who stood beside the carriage bowed, greeting the grand duke respectfully.

"Where is Princess Arisia?" Lucian demanded, glancing at his surroundings, seeing no sign of her being around.

"She was returned to her quarters," Suyou, who Lucian hadn’t noticed until now, spoke.

"Is she feeling unwell?" Lucian asked, his voice tone dropping, a frown of worry forming on his face.

"She was simply restless all night because she feared not being able to wake up in time to bid you and the Grand Duchess farwell."

Lucian sighed. It couldn’t be helped. He needed to depart now if he wanted to reach Eldoria in time before the wedding. Eldorians would point their fingers at him even more if he came late in such an important event.

"Take care of the matters while I’m gone. And report to me as soon as anything goes wrong," Lucian ordered Glain, looking at him one last time. He then swung the door open, entering the carriage.

Glain nodded, bowing on last time before signaling the horseman to start the carriage.

As the carriage began rolling on the paved road, Lucian glanced at Cynthia, who sat in front of him, looking out the window with an unusual stillness. Her silence was unexpected, as he thought she’d immediately start complaining about his lateness. After all, she’d made it clear she hated when others were unpunctual.

"Why are you staring at me, Your Highness? I doubt it’s because you think I look pretty today," Cynthia snorted, turning her gaze toward him with a flicker of amusement.

Caught by her words, Lucian took in her unusual attire. She wore a dress that was more revealing than her usual wardrobe—a thin layer of fabric just barely covered her shoulders, while a wide neckline exposed the delicate curve of her collarbone and a glimpse of her chest. The bodice hugged her slim waist and curves, and her lips were painted a bold red, a departure from her usual soft pink. Her eyes seemed darker, as if shadowed by something he couldn’t quite place.

She looked striking, even beautiful, but not like the woman he knew. This was Princess Cynthia from the rumors, not the reserved grand duchess he’d slowly begun to acknowledge.

Is that why she’s holding back from complaining? Because she knows she’s equally at fault for dressing like this?

He wondered, but instead cleared his throat with a cough, deciding against stirring an argument. The journey to Eldoria was long, and he didn’t want to endure it in tense silence.

"You look... fine. But no, that’s not why I was staring," he replied, keeping his tone level.

"Is that so?" Cynthia’s voice carried a note of mockery, her eyes glittering with something he couldn’t read. Why this new attitude now?

They’d started to—

Wrong. We never sorted out anything. We merely struck a deal, and now I’m holding up my end.

"Did Princess Arisia manage to bid you farewell?" Lucian sighed, shifting his gaze outside.

"Yes. She asked me to tell you that she’ll miss you," Cynthia responded lightly, her attention drifting back to the window.

Outside, the landscape mirrored the season’s transition. Dry, brittle leaves lay scattered across the ground, their once-vibrant colors dulled to dark browns, with a few flashes of faded orange and red stubbornly clinging on.

A soft, almost bitter chuckle escaped Cynthia.

Some things retain their beauty, even in death. Will the princess look like this, too? Lovely, dignified, even at the end?

Her jaw tightened at the thought. Though she tried to distract herself, she realized she’d grown closer to Lucian’s sister than she’d intended. She shook her head, the words running through her mind.

I’m not the one meant to grieve when she dies. That is the royal family’s burden.

"Should we take a break, or would you rather wait until we reach the border?" Lucian’s question drew her back to the present, and she realized they’d been traveling for several hours.

"Ah..." She thought for a moment. "Perhaps we could just teleport—"

"No," Lucian interrupted sharply, not even bothering to hear her out.

"At least hear me out," Cynthia’s expression hardened, frustration flickering in her eyes.

Now he was refusing to listen to her at all?

"Go ahead..." Lucian clenched his fist, a restrained frustration pulsing within him.

"Why do you always refuse to use magic, Your Highness? It’s not as if we’re bound by the old restrictions anymore. Our circumstances have changed, yet you insist on living as though you have no power. Don’t you realize that this world is ruled by those with the strongest magic? Or have you been out of touch with the social circle for too long while you were at war? Even there, only the strongest survive—"

"Will you keep your mouth shut?" Lucian forced out, his voice low and tense, the words barely slipping through his gritted teeth as he struggled to rein in his anger.

She was talking a little too much today. He felt like a fool for believing she would remain quiet throughout the journey.

Cynthia clenched her jaw, turned away. She did not want to see his face any longer. She feared her anger would overwhelm her and she could lose control over herself.

"Let’s... use it once we cross the border," Lucian spoke in a low tone, barely audible.

Cynthia did not reply to him nor did she look his way.

When she didn’t respond, Lucian pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window, his mind racing. Strangely, every thought seemed to circle back to Cynthia. He hadn’t noticed it before, but lately, she lingered in his mind constantly—whether as anger, hatred, or something else he couldn’t yet define. He knew something between them was shifting, though he couldn’t say what.

The feeling wasn’t mutual, he suspected; she still behaved with the same guarded indifference. Yet sometimes, he found himself wishing she’d genuinely smile at him, as she did with certain servants, and not like the fake smiles she would force on her face whenever he was around. And then he would silently laugh at himself, musing, "What a foolish thing to want."

He was their master—he held more power than any of them, and yet he craved something they had and he didn’t.

"Your Highness, we’ve reached the border," the coachman announced, stopping the carriage in front of the large iron gate. Hey!

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