The Prince's Arranged Marriage-Chapter 76: First day of Inspections Pt. 1

Dawn broke over Veridia City in soft lavender and rosebrush hues. The palace’s high windows caught the earliest rays, painting our chambers with a gentle glow. Alexander stirred beneath the silken covers as I slipped quietly from the bed, careful not to wake him too abruptly. The night had been short—filled with the echoes of celebration and the excitement of this inspection. I dressed quickly in riding clothes: a forest-green tunic, sturdy leather breeches, and knee-high boots polished to a soft sheen. I braided my hair simply, securing it at the nape of my neck with a thin ribbon the color of Veridian fields.

Stepping into the anteroom, I found Marisella already awaiting, map rolled beneath her arm. "Good morning, Your Highness," she greeted softly. "Your carriage awaits in the courtyard. The morning air is crisp—just as Alexander likes it."

I smiled, anticipation fluttering in my chest. "Thank you. I’ll fetch Alexander." I returned to the chamber, where Alexander sat on the edge of the bed, still pulling on his boots.

I reached for his hand. "Morning."

He looked up, eyes bright. "Are you ready, my prince?"

I nodded, sliding under the covers for a quick kiss. "I am. To our first day among the fields."

He returned the kiss with a soft smile, then stood. "I’ll be right behind you."

Within minutes, we had strode down the corridors, pausing to greet servants behind closed doorways. The midday sun would be hot, but the morning held a crispness I welcomed—scent of dew on grass, distant birdcall drifting through the open windows. We stepped into the courtyard where the royal carriages stood waiting: sleek black wheels, leather interiors, exterior glossy and smooth. Four cars in total—two for our party, two for servants and guards.

Marisella approached, her brows lifted in a small, encouraging smile. "Your car awaits, Your Highnesses."

I took Alexander’s arm as we rounded to the first carriage. "This feels like... like a homecoming," I said, settling onto the plush seat beside him. The velvet cushions were warm from the morning sun, and I laid a hand on Alexander’s knee, feeling a familiar comfort. He squeezed my fingers.

"Veridia welcomes us as its own," I murmured. "It is your home now, too."

I leaned closer, resting my head on his shoulder. "I know. And it feels so good to see it—our work—alive." The car driver started the ignition, and the car left through the palace’s main gate. The morning breeze teased the banner of the twin crests at our window: Veridian lion entwined with Avalorian griffin.

The journey to Riverbend took us through rolling hills flecked with wildflowers—poppies, daisies, and the blue‐bell clusters my mother used to pick during my childhood. Ox carts ambled at a steady pace along the dirt road, each carrying barrels of fresh milk, baskets of produce, or bales of hay. Children in simple homespun jackets trailed behind, offering shy waves. I looked out and smiled at one small boy, his eyes wide with recognition of the royal crest embroidered on my jacket. I lifted my hand in greeting; he beamed and waved energetically before jogging to rejoin his father on the cart.

Alexander squeezed my hand, watching me with that warm attentiveness that made my heart lurch. "They are happy to see you," he whispered.

I nodded, voice soft. "I’m glad. I hope they see how far we’ve come."

"Soon, they’ll meet us face to face." He traced patterns with his thumb over my knuckles. "They’ll tell us themselves."

The carriage snaked downward toward Riverbend, the midday sun climbing high in a cloudless sky. Riverbend itself unfolded along the banks of the Serina River—gentle waters that reflected the cornflower blue above. Initial houses of whitewashed stone, thatched roofs, and gardens bursting with produce gave way to broader fields: squares of green as far as the eye could see. The farmers out early, tending crops with long hoes or driving draft horses to plow new furrows. A sense of productive energy pulsed through the air.

We reached the edge of town just as a large group of villagers had gathered at the crossroads to greet us. A banner reading "Welcome Princes Lucien & Alexander" swung in the breeze, painted in bright colors. My heart lodged in my throat. I reached for Alexander’s hand again.

The carriage came to a halt. I stepped down, Alexander at my side. Before us, men and women of all ages bowed respectfully, their faces open, bright with hope. Among them stood a young woman clutching a basket of wild strawberries—my favorite fruit since childhood. Another man held a small bundle of freshly baked bread. I felt tears gather in my eyes.

"Your Highness Lucien!" someone cried. "Thank you for the new canals. Our fields have never been more fertile."

A tall farmer clad in a breeched vest and green scarf stepped forward with a broad grin. "Look there," he said, pointing across the fields. "That land would have been parched before, but now... see how the wheat waves in the breeze? We owe it all to the alliance."

I took a step forward, inclining my head. "Thank you, good sir. It warms my heart to see families fed, children clothed, and fields growing full." My voice trembled with sincerity.

Alexander stood beside me, his presence steady. "Your work is our success," he said, eyes meeting mine for a moment before he turned to the farmer. "Tell us of your harvest this year."

The farmer’s grin widened. "Harvest begins next fortnight, but the grain is golden already. We’re storing it in the new granary south of the river."

I glanced to where he pointed: a sturdy structure of warm bronze bricks, red‐tiled roof gleaming. The new granary looked both robust and welcoming—an emblem of food security. I felt a surge of pride—and relief.

Under the pavilion of warm sun, Alexander and I rose and strode toward the fields. Tall stalks of wheat brushed against my boots, and I inhaled the heady scent of ripeness. Mrs. Hayworth—the village elder—joined us, offering blue‐checked water to sip from. Alexander accepted graciously; I followed suit, grateful for the cool relief.

"Your Highnesses," Mrs. Hayworth said in a gentle but firm voice, "I’ve watched so many seasons come and go. My grandchildren have never known a season like this—fields filled with promise."

She led us through narrow walkways between the wheat rows. I reached out to brush my fingertips along the stalks; they were sturdy, resilient, and already weighted with early grain. "Even the stalks stand straighter," I remarked. "It’s as though the soil itself rejoices." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Alexander chuckled softly. He stepped closer behind me, tilting his head so our shoulders brushed. "Or perhaps they are celebrating their prince and his prince." He winked, and I felt a flush warm my cheeks.

I whirled to him. "Don’t tease me now," I whispered, even as laughter threatened to bubble up.

He offered a mock bow. "My apologies. They are simply eager to please." He kissed the back of my hand. "But I will speak truth: you have given them new life."

I reached up to tuck a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, the gesture intimate beneath the golden light. "And you gave me courage."

Mrs. Hayworth turned her attention to a small group of younger farmers approaching. "These lads are apprentice growers," she said, guiding them to Alexander and me. One shaved head farmer, barely in his twenties, stepped forward with a flourish. "Your Highness Lucien, thanks to the shared seed program, we doubled our yields. I grew up with a hunger in my belly; now my children will know plenty."

I nodded, emotion catching, and placed a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "Your work honors us. May your family never hunger again."

He folded into a bow so deep his forehead nearly touched the wheat. Alexander crossed the distance to press a gentle pat on his back. "You deserve your success," Alexander said quietly. "Your dedication made it happen."

As midday approached, Mrs. Hayworth guided us to the edge of the fields, where a small wooden table had been set among a circle of young saplings. On the table lay a slender leather‐bound ledger and a small bundle of arrowroot stalks, hand-woven into a decorative arrangement.

"Our community wanted to present this," Mrs. Hayworth said. "The ledger records last year’s plantings in Ivory Ink—Avalorian style—and the new yields in Veridian ink. We thought you would appreciate seeing our progress documented. And the arrowroot symbolizes the roots you’ve given this land; may they grow ever deeper."

I picked up the ledger reverently, flipping through pages of precise Veridian script interleaved with Avalorian script. Heart pounding, I traced the lines of numbers: last season’s modest harvests replaced by charts of bumper yields. The ink smudged in places where tears had already fallen. I swallowed hard and looked at Alexander, who nodded encouragement.

I said, voice thick, "this... this means more than words can say."

He slid an arm around me, drawing me close. "Take pride in it. This is our work, your homeland’s success—our success."

I carefully placed the ledger in my satchel. The arrowroot arrangement I held tenderly as though it were a bouquet of love itself.