Chapter 91: The Crown Prince’s Decision

Chapter 91: Chapter 91: The Crown Prince’s Decision

Adrian had never considered himself a possessive man.

Looking back, that assessment now seemed questionable.

The realization arrived while reviewing documents.

Which was inconvenient.

Because he was supposed to be working.

Instead, he found himself staring at the same page for nearly ten minutes.

A new personal record.

Across the desk, his aide remained wisely silent.

A survival instinct Adrian had always appreciated.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t helping.

Because regardless of how many reports occupied his desk, his thoughts continued returning to the same conversation.

I want to end the engagement.

The words still irritated him.

Not because Marian had said them.

Because she believed them.

That was the problem.

She genuinely believed this was what she wanted.

Adrian leaned back in his chair.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

As though the movement might somehow improve his mood.

It didn’t.

Nothing had improved his mood lately.

An unfortunate trend.

Across from him, his aide cleared his throat.

Carefully.

The way one might approach a sleeping dragon.

"Your Highness."

Adrian looked up.

"Yes?"

The aide hesitated.

Immediately suspicious.

"What?"

"Regarding Duke Ashford..."

Silence.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Adrian set down his pen.

"What about him?"

The aide visibly regretted everything.

A sensible reaction.

"He visited House Valmort today."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Adrian stared.

The aide wisely continued before he could ask.

"Private audience."

Of course it was.

The irritation returned immediately.

Sharp.

Unpleasant.

Predictable.

Adrian almost laughed.

Not because it was amusing.

Because somehow he wasn’t surprised.

Not even a little.

Of course Cassian had gone.

Of course.

The man had always been infuriatingly straightforward.

If he wanted something, he pursued it.

Simple.

Direct.

Adrian had once admired that quality.

Now he was reconsidering.

Carefully.

Very carefully.

The aide shifted slightly.

"Should we investigate the contents of the meeting?"

Adrian almost answered immediately.

No.

But before the word could leave his mouth, another thought appeared.

An irritating one.

What did they discuss?

The realization annoyed him instantly.

Because the question had appeared without permission.

He already knew why Cassian had gone.

Or thought he did.

There was no mystery there.

Cassian had gone because of Marian.

The problem was that "because of Marian" covered an alarming number of possibilities.

Did Duke Valmort listen?

Did he approve?

Did he refuse?

Did he throw Cassian out?

The image was mildly satisfying.

Unfortunately, also unlikely.

The Duke was far too civilized for that.

Which somehow made the situation worse.

Adrian frowned.

Because another question had appeared.

A worse one.

Did Marian know he was there?

The answer arrived immediately.

Of course she did.

House Valmort was not the Imperial Palace.

Servants talked.

Footmen talked.

Everyone talked.

The moment Duke Ashford entered the estate, the entire household had probably known.

Which led to another thought.

A thoroughly unpleasant one.

Did they meet afterward?

The silence in the office deepened.

Adrian stared out the window.

His expression remained calm.

Years of training ensured that.

Internally, however, the thought refused to leave.

If Cassian had gone to speak with Duke Valmort—

Then Marian would want to know what happened.

Naturally.

Reasonably.

And Cassian would tell her.

Naturally.

Reasonably.

The realization irritated him far more than it should have.

Because he could picture it.

Marian waiting.

Cassian leaving the study.

The two of them speaking in a corridor.

Perhaps smiling.

Perhaps relieved.

The image appeared entirely on its own.

Adrian disliked it immediately.

The aide remained standing awkwardly nearby.

Still waiting.

"Your Highness?"

Adrian blinked.

Right.

The question.

Investigation.

The sensible answer was yes.

The political answer was yes.

The practical answer was yes.

Yet—

"No."

The aide blinked.

Surprised.

Adrian understood.

Most people would investigate.

Most people would want details.

Every word.

Every reaction.

Every secret.

Adrian didn’t.

Because regardless of what happened inside that room, it changed nothing.

At least not from his perspective.

The aide bowed.

Clearly relieved.

And quickly departed.

A wise decision.

Adrian rose from his chair.

Crossing toward the window.

The capital stretched beneath him.

Unchanged.

Orderly.

Predictable.

Unlike everything else.

His reflection stared back at him.

Calm.

Controlled.

Reasonable.

The image annoyed him.

Because beneath that calm sat something else.

Something he had spent twenty-one years believing he wasn’t capable of.

Possessiveness.

An ugly thing.

An irrational thing.

A very real thing.

And for the first time in his life—

Adrian wasn’t entirely certain what to do with it.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

Different this time.

A palace chamberlain entered.

Documents in hand.

Routine business.

Normally unremarkable.

Today, apparently not.

"Your Highness."

Adrian turned.

The chamberlain bowed.

Then carefully presented several folders.

"Regarding Lady Marian’s future household assignments."

Adrian accepted them.

Without concern.

Without interest.

Until he noticed the hesitation.

The chamberlain was waiting.

Interesting.

"What is it?"

The older man cleared his throat.

"Certain arrangements require confirmation."

"Such as?"

"The eastern residence."

"The household staff."

"The future appointments attached to Her Ladyship’s position."

Ah.

There it was.

Not a question.

A different sort of question.

The chamberlain continued carefully.

"There have been... discussions."

Adrian stared.

The man immediately looked as though he regretted existing.

Reasonable.

"What discussions?"

A dangerous question.

The chamberlain knew it.

Unfortunately, he answered anyway.

"Some departments were uncertain whether preparations should continue."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Adrian looked down at the documents.

Then back at the chamberlain.

For several moments he said nothing.

The older man became visibly uncomfortable.

Good.

He should be.

Because suddenly Adrian understood.

The rumors had spread further than he thought.

The palace already believed change was coming.

The staff.

The servants.

The departments.

Everyone.

They all thought the same thing.

The engagement was ending.

A remarkable conclusion.

Entirely incorrect.

"Your Highness?"

Adrian’s expression remained calm.

Almost pleasant.

Which somehow made the atmosphere worse.

Finally—

"Why would they stop?"

The chamberlain froze.

Adrian continued.

Quietly.

With complete certainty.

"Lady Marian will become Crown Princess."

Silence.

The words settled heavily in the room.

Not a prediction.

Not a hope.

A fact.

At least in Adrian’s mind.

The chamberlain stared.

Then immediately lowered his head.

"Understood, Your Highness."

Good.

Because Adrian was tired of people misunderstanding.

The official departed shortly afterward.

The door closed.

Silence returned.

Adrian remained standing by the window.

The city stretched endlessly beyond the palace walls.

Somewhere in that city—

Marian was probably relieved.

Cassian was probably hopeful.

Duke Valmort was probably developing a headache.

A reasonable reaction.

The irony was that none of them understood the actual problem.

The actual problem was not politics.

Not the Emperor.

Not the Empire.

The actual problem was much simpler.

Marian had made her decision.

He knew that.

She had stood before him and said so.

Clearly.

Honestly.

Without hesitation.

Yet somehow he still could not make himself believe it would last.

Perhaps that was arrogance.

Perhaps stubbornness.

Perhaps something uglier.

Adrian honestly didn’t know.

What he did know was this:

People did not throw away eighteen years.

Not truly.

Not permanently.

Not for something that had begun only recently.

The logic remained unchanged.

No matter how often he examined it.

Eighteen years.

People kept repeating the number.

As though it were merely time.

It wasn’t.

Eighteen years of shared memories.

Shared habits.

Conversations.

Promises.

Trust.

A future built piece by piece.

How exactly was that supposed to disappear in a season?

The answer was simple.

It couldn’t.

Which meant one of two things was true.

Either Marian was mistaken.

Or Adrian was.

And at the moment, he found the second possibility completely unacceptable.

The realization settled heavily inside him.

Marian had made her decision.

But Adrian had already made his.

And unlike everyone else—

The Crown Prince had absolutely no intention of changing his.