The Prince's Arranged Marriage-Chapter 95: The Street That Swallowed Him

The man’s hand closed around Lucien’s arm like it had been practiced.

Not rough enough to draw eyes. Not gentle enough to be mistaken for a greeting.

Just firm. Certain. Final.

Lucien didn’t freeze his body wanted to, but his mind snapped into that clear, sharp calm he’d learned on the road. Panic wasted time. Panic made you loud in the wrong way.

And loud was only useful if someone was close enough to hear.

The gate back into the palace stood just a few steps behind the stranger... but it might as well have been miles.

Lucien forced his expression into polite disbelief. The kind that made people hesitate. The kind that made onlookers think, Oh, it’s nothing.

"Unhand me," Lucien said evenly, voice low so it didn’t turn into a scene yet.

The man’s smile stayed polite. "Your Highness, please."

"Please?" Lucien echoed, letting a hint of amusement slip into his tone. "You’re blocking my path."

"Only for a moment."

Lucien’s pulse kicked harder, but he kept his chin lifted. "If this is about pamphlets, I assure you, I’ve read worse things written by men with shakier hands."

The man’s eyes didn’t flicker. That was the first true warning.

Men who kidnapped princes didn’t get rattled by insult.

Lucien’s gaze shifted, quick and subtle.

The second figure at the corner wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t reaching for a weapon. He was simply... positioned.

To intercept.

To close the box.

Lucien let out a slow breath and did the one thing he could do without giving them the advantage of fear.

He made it social.

He raised his voice just a little enough that the vendor could hear.

"Sir," Lucien said calmly, "I’m sure you’ve mistaken me for someone else."

The vendor looked up, eyes widening, confusion mixing with dread.

The stranger’s grip tightened slightly. A silent warning: don’t make this messy.

Lucien smiled at the vendor as if this was an awkward misunderstanding. "It’s quite alright," he added, like he was reassuring a child. "I’ll return in a moment."

The vendor didn’t look reassured. He looked like he might faint.

The second man moved then one smooth step closer, cutting off Lucien’s angle toward the open street.

Lucien’s heart slammed once.

Fine.

If noise wouldn’t help, then speed might.

Lucien shifted his weight and brought his free hand up fast driving his elbow toward the stranger’s ribs with everything he had.

It wasn’t a perfect strike. Lucien wasn’t trained like a soldier.

But he was desperate, and desperation made you strong in ugly ways.

The stranger grunted, breath knocked out just enough.

Lucien yanked his arm back hard and turned toward the gate.

He got two steps.

Then the second man caught him.

A hand clamped over his mouth, and a strong arm wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. The hold was practiced, the kind used on someone who thrashed.

Lucien kicked backward, heel striking shin. He felt the man flinch.

Not enough.

"Easy," a voice murmured near his ear. "Don’t make this worse."

Lucien bit the hand over his mouth.

The man hissed and tightened his grip, twisting Lucien slightly off balance.

The first stranger recovered quickly, stepping in close. "We don’t want to hurt you."

Lucien’s eyes burned with rage.

You already are.

He tried to scream anyway just a raw sound into a palm hoping it would carry past the alley wall, past stone, past stupid pride.

But the second man adjusted his grip, pressing Lucien’s face into his shoulder, smothering it.

The first stranger reached into his coat and pulled out something small and dark.

A cloth.

Lucien’s throat tightened.

He fought harder, kicking, twisting, trying to turn his head away.

The cloth pressed to his nose.

A sharp scent flooded him bitter and sweet at the same time.

Lucien held his breath.

The man cursed softly. "Stubborn."

Lucien’s vision narrowed for a second as his body screamed for air.

Hold. Hold. Hold.

He thought of Alexander’s voice that morning, low and firm.

Don’t make it easy.

Lucien would have laughed if he could. Nothing about this was easy.

His lungs burned.

The cloth pressed harder.

Lucien’s resistance cracked not in his mind, but in his body. He gasped despite himself.

The scent rushed in.

Cold slid through his veins like water poured into fire.

Lucien blinked hard, trying to keep focus. Trying to fix details in his mind like nails in wood. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Boots: soft, not palace.

Accent: local, but forced neutral. Educated.

Hands: callused. Soldier.

He forced his eyes to stay open as the world tilted.

He saw the gate.

The palace.

So close.

Then the street swung sideways, and his stomach lurched.

The men moved him quickly, half-carrying, half-dragging, but still controlled enough that from a distance it might look like two friends helping a drunken noble.

Lucien tried to speak tried to force words out around the fog that was spreading in his head.

"Alexander" he attempted, voice muffled, broken.

The second man’s hand tightened around him. "Shut up."

Lucien’s eyelids fluttered.

No.

Not yet.

He couldn’t pass out yet.

He needed one thing just one something Alexander could follow.

His fingers brushed his own coat as his body sagged.

Something was inside his inner pocket.

His signet ring? No, that was on his hand.

The pamphlet? No.

His small metal clasp—the one he used to secure papers on the road. A little crest etched into it. It had been in his pocket earlier.

He forced his hand to move, clumsy and slow, like his body didn’t belong to him anymore.

The second man thought his movements were weakness, not intention.

Lucien’s fingers found the clasp.

He curled them around it and pulled it out.

His grip loosened immediately.

The clasp slipped free and fell.

It hit stone with a soft, almost nothing sound.

Lucien prayed it stayed visible.

He didn’t know if it would matter.

He didn’t know if Alexander would even reach this street before it was swept clean.

But it was something.

His vision blurred.

The alley swallowed them whole.

-----

He surfaced in pieces.

Darkness, then a flash of light.

The sound of wheels on stone.

The sway of movement.

His head lolled to one side, and he tasted bitter cloth and his own blood where he’d bitten someone.

Lucien tried to focus again.

He was in a carriage or a covered wagon. Something that rocked with the road. His wrists were bound, but not painfully. Whoever did this didn’t want him bruised.

That alone chilled him.

He shifted, testing the ropes. Tight, well-tied, professional.

A voice spoke near him. "You’re awake."

Lucien blinked slowly, letting his face settle into calm even as his insides shook.

Across from him sat the first stranger, posture relaxed, hands folded.

A lantern hung from a hook above, swaying slightly, casting shadows across his features.

Lucien’s throat was dry. "Where are you taking me?"

The man’s expression was respectful, almost apologetic. "Somewhere quiet."

Lucien let out a hoarse laugh. "You could’ve just invited me for a walk."

"We tried polite methods," the man said mildly.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. "Polite."

The man’s gaze didn’t waver. "You’re not harmed."

Lucien lifted his bound hands slightly. "I suppose this is your version of hospitality."

A faint smile. "Temporary inconvenience."

Lucien swallowed, forcing his brain to work through the haze. "Who sent you?"

The man tilted his head as if considering. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Lucien said, voice steadier now. "Because when Prince Alexander finds you"

The man’s smile tightened. "He won’t."

Lucien held his gaze. "He always does."

The man said nothing.

Silence could be an answer.

Lucien’s heart hammered, but he kept his voice even. "You’re wrong about one thing."

"What’s that?"

Lucien leaned forward slightly despite the ropes. "You think taking me is easier than attacking the throne. But I am the throne’s heart right now."

The man’s eyes flickered just once.

Good.

That meant the words landed.

Lucien continued softly. "If you hurt me, you don’t get a quiet coup. You get war. You get Alexander."

The man stared back at him, calm returning like a mask sliding into place. "Then it’s fortunate we don’t plan to hurt you."

Lucien’s stomach twisted.

That sounded less like mercy and more like... intent.

He forced his tone lighter. "So what do you plan?"

The man’s gaze sharpened. "You will rest."

Lucien’s lips parted, but his words tangled as the fog returned in a stronger wave.

The drug whatever it was hadn’t worn off fully.

Lucien fought it, blinking hard.

The carriage rocked.

The lantern swayed.

The stranger’s face blurred at the edges.

Lucien clung to one thought like a rope in dark water:

Find me.

And beneath it, quieter, aching:

Alexander will.

His eyes slipped shut again.