Leroy paused as he saw her standing beneath the grand staircase. His eyes flickered, just for a heartbeat, before he forced a smile, one that faltered before it fully ford.
Lorraine watched him flinch, a subtle betrayal of his composure.
Without a word, he continued walking, with large, determined strides, as though intending to retreat and lock himself away.
Lorraine followed him, not before signing to Aldric, her expression calm but firm. "Ask soone to prepare a bath for him."
Aldric nodded. Lorraine thought he would lock himself inside his room, yet instead of disappearing, he moved straight toward her room.
When he crossed the threshold, the door closed behind them without ceremony.
Then, as if driven by a force neither of them fully understood, he pulled her into a tight embrace.
Her body pressed against his, seeking warmth and connection.
She felt the stiffness in his posture, the tremble in his throat as he held her, like a man trying desperately not to shatter.
His heart thrumd, loud and raw beneath the fabric of his coat, and she traced a line from his chest, slipping her hand inside, over the edge of his shirt.
His body was tense, every muscle taut as though bracing for an impact she could not see.
What was it that tornted him so deeply?
Was it regret for having t the Dowager?
Or had he truly done the thing she most feared: deciding to hand Aralyn over?
Or perhaps it was sothing else altogether, a secret buried too heavy to speak.
Lorraine could feel him holding his breath, suffocating emotions down, trying to stop them from surfacing.
He was in the grip of despair, but he made no sound of it.
It was this silent suffering that struck her hardest. This was not the first ti he had tried to bury his anguish deep within as if that would make his anguish disappear.
She rembered their interaction that very morning, how she had accused him of calling her useless, and how from that mont onward, he seed unmoored, distant, broken in a way he could not explain.
Her voice broke the silence. "Leroy..."
She spoke his na like a prayer, a lifeline thrown into his darkness.
She knew the weight of silent sorrow, how she herself wept in private, how tears, once shed, allowed her to breathe again.
But he... he didn’t cry.
Not a single tear.
Only anguish, deep and hidden, echoing in every tremble of his body.
She would not leave him to bear it alone.
"Your mother sent a letter," Lorraine began softly, her voice trembling as though the words themselves carried guilt. She assud he already knew. Surely, the news had reached him and weighed on his soul. She needed him to speak.
Anything.
Her fingers moved almost of their own accord, removing the mask on his face, searching for a crack, an expression that might reveal even the smallest truth.
"Leroy, say sothing..." she whispered, her gaze locking onto his eyes, bloodshot and rimd with stress, the whites streaked with thin, angry lines of exhaustion.
Then, without warning, his hands shot up and gripped her cheeks; not gently, but roughly, as if to slap away her hope. His fingers dug in, sharp and unyielding, making her wince, though her heart ached more than her flesh.
"How do you even live?" he demanded, his voice hollow, strained like the last breath of a man drowning.
Lorraine couldn’t move a muscle. Her lips were pressed tight, her body stiff under his grip. All she could do was et his gaze, steady and unwavering.
"For you..." she managed, her voice breaking, her words slipping out in a broken whisper. She wanted him to rember.
That night. The vyrnshade bush. The secret warmth of that stolen connection. She had waited for this mont, hoping it would unlock his mory, even just a fraction.
Why now, she wondered, did he ask such a question?
A bitter snort escaped him, and he threw his head back, eyes no longer on her but tracing the ceiling, as though the rafters held so greater truth than her presence.
"Heh!" he scoffed, a hollow sound that seed to mock them both.
"I did promise you," Lorraine added, her voice firr now, though tinged with sorrow.
She yearned to believe it was enough. That the love they now shared, confird, and undeniable, should be sufficient to heal the wounds of the past.
But no.
The nagging thought gnawed at her like a poison.
That he didn’t know.
That he still didn’t rember that it was she, the sa face beneath the vyrnshade blossom, who had held his hand in that impossible mont of vulnerability.
Her chest tightened.
Because if he rembered, none of this would feel so empty, so broken. All the years she waited for him... all the pain... It would all vanish only if he knew the truth.
How could he believe it was soone else when it was always her?
Her heart ached with the cruel injustice of it.
When his eyes finally t hers, the rims were glistening—moist, fragile.
Was he crying, Lorraine wondered, or rely on the brink of it?
"How did you still do it?" His voice trembled, cracked, raw.
"Huh?" Lorraine blinked, genuinely confused, unable to grasp the full aning.
"Do what?"
"Love . Protect . Stay loyal. How did you do it?" His words fell like heavy stones into the hollow silence between them.
She searched his face, but the answer seed to drift out of reach.
"Because... that’s what I want to do," she answered softly, almost chanically, as if repeating sothing rehearsed.
His question struck her as strange, unsettling. She’d never questioned why. She had stayed, despite the silence, despite the cold distance between them. Even when rumors whispered of a mistress... only then did she pause, as if testing the fragile boundary of her own hope.
Was she pathetic for doing so? Was that what he thought now?
"Did you?" His tone was sharper now, almost accusatory, slicing through the fragile calm.
"Did you want to do it, or was there sothing forcing you? Are you thinking... or is soone making you act? Do you even know the ones puppeteering you?"
His eyes, wild and unhinged, seed to tear through her, as if trying to see right through to the very core of her soul.
"Leroy!" Her voice rose, trembling with anger and desperation.
What madness was this?
How could he doubt her love—her will?
How could he reduce her devotion to a set of strings, manipulated by unseen hands?
"Then say sothing!" His hands gripped her shoulders with a force that stung, jolting her like an electric shock.
"Act like a normal woman! Be vengeful! Resent ! Hate ! Why aren’t you furious at the one who never loved you first?"
Her throat tightened.
Her chest ached.
She stared at him, utterly stunned, her mind struggling to process the man before her.
Was this really the man she had married?
Or was this a stranger who was broken, lost in his own despair, lashing out at the only anchor he had left?
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