Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince-Chapter 95 — She Has Returned?!

The golden carriage rolled through the bustling streets, lined with people eagerly awaiting its arrival. They cheered, calling out the names of the princess, the Prince of Selvarys, and the king of Eldoria, honoring them for restoring peace to a kingdom once on the brink of chaos.

"They seem happy for your return," Lucian remarked, a mocking tone lingering in his voice.

He had never been welcomed as the "Prince of Selvarys," but rather as the god of war, shaped by years on the battlefield.

Cynthia did not answer him. She knew their cheers were hollow. They weren’t celebrating her return out of genuine happiness, but because she was the one who had stopped the war by agreeing to marry Lucian. Even if their voices sounded joyful, she couldn’t forget how they had welcomed her in her past life when she returned to Eldoria for Alistair’s marriage. Their smiles now were only because they could catch a glimpse of Lucian through the carriage window—a sign that their marriage held enough stability to keep him at her side, and that their kingdom was safe from war.

As the carriage slowed before the palace gates, Cynthia kept her gaze fixed on the passing crowd, her expression calm but her eyes shadowed by memories. These were the same people who had once thrown stones at her carriage, who’d muttered about "the cursed princess" whenever she walked through the palace halls. Why? Simply because she couldn’t wield magic and the king did not care about her at all. Yet, despite thinking she can’t use magic, they still cheered her simply because in this life, the king supported her.

"Disgsuting," was all she could think.

She glanced at Lucian, who seemed more interested in the architecture than the people. For all his disdain toward her and her lineage, he had once been just like them, condemning her without question. Yet now they sat side by side to demonstrate a perfect coup;e to her people. The irony was bitter, almost laughable.

The carriage came to a stop, and the doors opened with a flourish. Lucian stepped out first. He extended a hand to her, a gesture more for the crowd than for her benefit.

She took it, feeling the familiar chill of his touch, and together they walked forward towards the palace.

As they ascended the palace steps, a voice called out from the crowd, clear and hopeful. "Long live the princess!" The words sent a flicker of something close to regret through Cynthia, though she kept her expression neutral. The people who praised her now had no idea how much of herself she’d lost to give them peace.

Once inside, Lucian dropped her hand the moment the doors closed, his face settling into an unreadable mask. "Your people are easy to please," he murmured, his voice laced with contempt. "They forget years of bloodshed as soon as a peace treaty is signed."

Cynthia’s lips tightened.

"People want to believe in hope. They’ll cling to whatever makes them feel safe."

"Safety is an illusion. Peace is fragile. It shatters the moment people remember their hatred," Lucian scoffed.

"Then we’ll just have to keep pretending, won’t we? To be the most loving couple there could be." She smiled, looking up at him but her eyes did not flicker any light in them.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. His eyes widened once he felt her arms wrapping around his.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing," she whispered.

Just as she finished speaking, numerous footsteps echoed through the empty hallway. A crowd of servants dressed in neat black and white clothes made their way before the young couple and bowed respectfully. Some seemed nervous, their hands fidgeting while others looked at them as if they carried a curse– carrying a repulsed gaze.

"I apologize for arriving late, Your Highness. We did not expect you to arrive so quickly," Cassandra, the head maid, said in a low tone.

"It has been a while," Cynthia said with a grin, subconsciously gripping Lucian’s arm tighter. Memories she thought she could forget rushed through her mind, and her hand slowly dropped as if it were paralyzed.

"It has," Cassandra replied, lifting her upper body and looking at the young lady before her.

"Are you alright?" she asked, slowly reaching for Cynthia’s shoulder, a frown of concern creasing her brow.

Cynthia swatted Cassandra’s hand away sharply.

"I’m fine," she managed to say despite her ragged breathing. "I must be tired. We shall head to our quarters, Lucian." She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and hurried down the hallway as if being pursued by some savage beast. Lucian, unable to grasp her turmoil as usual, merely followed her without questioning her in front of the servants.

Once they reached Cynthia’s quarters, she swung the door open and stepped inside. The few servants still arranging her room flinched at the sound. freewebnσvel.cøm

"Y-Your Highness," they greeted her promptly.

"Leave," she ordered, her voice firm.

"B-But your room..." one of them began, only to look at the ground upon encountering the intense glare from the princess.

"W-We will take our leave," another maid stammered, rushing toward the exit.

The other servants followed her behind.

"She has returned?!" A voice shouted, echoing in the hallway.

"Might the gods protect us!"

"Why are you saying that?"

"You don’t know?"

"She used to bully the servants who worked here before! Not only that..."

The voices faded as the servants hurried away, but their whispers lingered in Lucian’s mind.

Now... are these baseless rumors too? Or is there some truth in every single gossip surrounding her?

That was all Lucian could wonder as he watched Cynthia’s back. "Perhaps I could begin by asking her," he thought.

"Your Highness," he called out, breaking the silence in the cold hall.

"What is it?" she demanded, her voice sharp, and indifferent. She made her way toward the fireplace and threw a few dried branches inside.

"Your tone has changed since we were on our way to your kingdom, Your Highness," Lucian remarked. "Is everything you’ve done so far in Selvarys merely a pretense?"

He could no longer understand her. And, like a fool, he asked the very woman he barely trusted, hoping she would finally open up and share everything– the truth about herself.

"Why do you say that? Do you even care about my sincerity, Your Highness? You have constantly doubted my actions, and to be honest... you don’t care about me," Cynthia sighed. She withdrew a stick from the tinder box placed beside the fireplace and struck it against the flint, igniting a flame before casting it into the hearth.

She then turned to face Lucian, scrutinizing his expression. None of his words registered in her mind. Earlier, the moment she stepped into this room, she was reminded of all the decisions she had made in her quest for revenge. She could not allow his growing care—perhaps a semblance of love—to slip through her fingers. She needed to pressure him until he revealed the truth: that he truly cared for her.

Lucian stood in silence, the flickering flame reflecting in his clear emerald eyes, casting a shadow across his features. He didn’t have the answers to her questions. Inhaling deeply, he stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her small figure. When she stood beside other women, she appeared strong, but to him, she still seemed frail, as if she might shatter at any moment. Despite having witnessed her skill with a sword, he struggled to accept that she might be just fine without his protection.

There had been a time when he had threatened her, insisting that she would be left alone without his support, convinced that without him, she would crumble and come begging for his help. After all, he had always hated her. He concealed that hatred behind a veneer of kindness, laced with sarcasm, yet she continued to try to make their relationship work. He thought that by ignoring her, she would eventually stop trying, but she did not. Now, he found himself wanting the true self he had discovered after living under the same roof, rather than the version he had initially sought to disprove, one shaped by rumors.

"I love you," Cynthia whispered, her voice low, seeming to carry a lingering hint of affection.

Hearing those words, Lucian’s brows furrowed into a frown.

"W-What?" He said in a lower tone which sounded almost like a whisper, his eyes widening as if he had received the biggest shock one could ever.

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