"Do you not trust ?" Aldric asked, his voice soft, laced with hurt.
Sylvia’s throat tightened. For a heartbeat, she almost apologized. Almost. But Lorraine mattered more than anything, more than him and his hurt feelings. "If you have nothing to hide, you won’t mind if I inform the Prince about your little etings with the Dowager’s moles, right?" she asked firmly.
She was shocked when she saw it. She wanted to trust him and that was why she confronted him about it.
Aldric bowed his head and exhaled. "When have I ever hurt the Princess?"
Sylvia pressed her lips together. His voice carried such wounded sincerity that it almost swayed her. Almost. But the lavender haze lifted almost imdiately as her rationality kicked in. He wasn’t even addressing her claims. He was just talking about trust. "That’s not an answer."
Aldric stepped closer, pressing his forehead to hers. "Then all I can ask is to trust ."
His breath brushed against her cheek, his scent familiar, protective. A comfort she craved. But she held her ground. "Do you know where the Princess is?"
He froze. His eyes widened. "You don’t trust ..."
Her chest tightened painfully. She hardened her heart, turned, and began to walk away.
His hand shot out, gripping her arm. "You still haven’t answered about my proposal."
Sylvia couldn’t even face him. She wanted to say yes. She wanted him. But her silence was answer enough.
"You really don’t trust , do you?" His voice cracked with sothing raw.
She avoided his eyes, pulled free, and stepped away.
"Why? Even if you don’t trust , trust your Princess. Trust her to kill if I ever hurt you, just as she killed your husband."
Sylvia froze. Slowly, she turned back, her face pale, eyes wide. That secret... only she and Lorraine knew.
Her body trembled with mory of the bruises, the fear on the night Lorraine walked past without interfering. She had only seen Lorraine, who was fifteen then, hiding and avoiding anyone and everyone in the Arvand mansion. That night, she saw sothing in that young girl’s eyes. But she did nothing.
The morning after, however, she watched Lorraine deliberately poison her abusive husband’s clothes. No words. No explanations. She looked at her and then left. A silent choice left to her. He had died that night, and she was free. Since then, Sylvia had pledged her loyalty forever. Lorraine was her savior.
And Aldric... she didn’t know what his plans were.
"You..." Her voice broke. "Don’t you dare—don’t you dare use that against ."
"Syl—" He reached for her.
"Don’t touch !" she shouted, her face twisted with rage. How could he ask her to trust him after this?
He stopped. His hand hovered, then fell. She turned and stord away, leaving him in the shadows.
Aldric bowed his head. His fists clenched, and when they struck the wall, skin tore against wood, pain blossoming like fire, but he didn’t care. He stood there, breathing in asured rhythm, forcing the chaos in his chest to fall into order. Every instinct scread to chase her, to seize her wrist again, to plead, to explain, to command.
But he knew better. If he pressed her now, she would slip from his grasp forever.
So, he let her go.
His eyes narrowed, shadowed with sothing unreadable. He would wait, as he always had. Wait until the board shifted, until Sylvia no longer had the strength or the will to question where his loyalties lay.
He hoped that day would co by her trust and not by her ruin, for he had a lot of plans for her.
-----
Leroy had first thought she might be hiding in the abandoned building by the walls. He searched every shadowed corner, but she was not there.
Afterward, he ordered the gate rolls, the ledgers where every departure from the city was recorded by the watchn, to be brought to him. Her na was not written. But that ant little. If she had slipped past, she would not have used her na, nor left openly.
My dearest... where are you?
For a mont, his knees nearly gave way beneath him. Yet he remained standing. He was too well-known, too easily recognized. He could not risk breaking here, not where eyes might see what he wished hidden.
So he forced his spine straight, his jaw tight. If he could not find her, then at least he would pursue what was left before him. He turned his attention back to the investigation, to the accident in the arena. Whatever the truth of it, the Emperor had given his orders. And Leroy, prince or prisoner, could not disobey.
-----
Screams of Elyse echoed through the dungeon stone. Every ti the iron door groaned open, her body shook violently, her throat straining though no sound was left in it.
Lorraine watched her unravel, expression calm, almost curious.
When Elyse’s trembling steps carried her toward the noose swaying in the stale air, Lorraine tilted her head. Will she? Won’t she?
Hadrian had already fainted, his hoarse pleading had finally sputtered into silence. Good. His voice had grated on her nerves. Now, nothing distracted her from the spectacle. She wanted to see what Elyse would choose.
But Elyse faltered, curling up on the ground instead.
"What a coward," Lorraine murmured.
The hinges screeched again. As her man entered, Elyse startled like a hunted animal, then bolted for the stool, her shriek tearing her raw throat.
"Hadrian!" Lorraine kicked off her slipper and flung it at her father’s head, jolting him awake. Things were finally getting interesting. She sank her teeth into a fresh apple, juice running down her lip as she bit hungrily.
"NO! Elyse, don’t—!" Hadrian rasped when he realized. His chains rattled as he struggled up, panic lending him strength. "Don’t do it!"
Lorraine’s laughter chid over his plea. How quickly the highborn princess was breaking. Six years she had endured gilded tornt, yet here in a few days the pampered daughter was unraveling, thread by thread.
Elyse’s sapphire eyes were vacant now, void of reason, hollow with terror. She climbed onto the stool, noose clutched in shaking hands.
"Think of your sons!" Hadrian begged. "Think of your mother. Think of ! Do not leave like this. Please, Lazira, stop her. Be rciful... do not make watch her die."
Lorraine didn’t even glance at him. Scream, Hadrian. Scream until your lungs burst. This is how I scread in silence all those years you broke . Only I never had the luxury of sound. You should be grateful I allow you to wail.
The rope scraped against Elyse’s pale throat as she pulled it tight and stepped off the stool.
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