Leroy turned toward her bed. The sheets were untouched. The pillow, smooth.
She hadn’t even slept here.
And that ant...
His faint smile faltered. The vyrnshade flower slipped slightly between his fingers, its stem bending under his tightening grip.
He drew in a slow breath, steadying his pulse. Lorraine was always unpredictable, slipping out at odd hours, as silent as smoke. But lately, she had told him everything. Every plan, every whisper of danger, every suspicion she harbored. He had asked her, pleaded with her, to stay put.
And still, she had gone.
This... this felt different.
The air in her room was still, heavy with the scent of vyrnshade and paper. He sat on the edge of her desk, scanning the neatly arranged parchnts and sealed missives. Her quills were aligned in perfect symtry, her inkpot sealed, but the thick sheaf of plans, the ones she’d been working on for days, was missing.
She took them with her.
His jaw tightened. What plans did she make without telling him?
He didn’t have ti to wonder for long. A faint click echoed from the bath chamber. Instinct kicked in; his hand brushed his sword before he froze, listening.
Then, he heard the faint sound of movent; stone panel sliding open.
Lorraine erged from the tunnel, her golden hair tousled, the torchlight behind her casting a glow across her cheeks. When she saw him, she paused. Then, that familiar soft, disarming smile curved her lips.
"You’re back," she said gently. "Have you prepared for the Ball today? Rember you need to officiate the betrothal."
He didn’t answer right away. Relief washed through him so swiftly it almost hurt. In two strides, he closed the distance and pulled her into his arms. She let him, resting her head against his shoulder for a mont that felt too brief.
"Did you find anything suspicious out there?" he murmured against her hair.
"I went to the tower. Nowhere else." Her tone was light, almost casual. "A noble lady from Kaltharion had heard of . I replied to her with a swan feather earlier. She visited today."
"Kaltharion?" Leroy pulled back slightly, brows lifting. Until now, Lorraine had only been weaving her influence among the noblewon of Vaeloria. Expanding her web across borders... was sothing new. Sothing dangerous.
His lips curved faintly. "You’re expanding your kingdom of secrets, are you?"
"They cannot forget the river belongs to them, too," Lorraine said, walking to her desk and setting her gloves aside.
"The river?" His tone sharpened. "Lorraine, even if the dam were broken, the old river path is occupied now. It would flood villages; kill hundreds."
He searched her face, but her expression was unreadable.
The dam. The cursed monunt that bled his holand dry. Built to divert the flow from Kaltharion, leaving their fields cracked and lifeless. His people had long stopped believing the river would ever return. And yet here she stood, speaking of it like sothing possible... inevitable.
Lorraine shrugged, as if the impossible were rely inconvenient. "We’ll have to find a way. But first, we need to prepare a path for the river."
Her voice was calm, decisive, like she was discussing strategy; not resurrection.
"But how?" he asked softly. "Lorraine, how could you even—"
She turned to him, eyes glinting with quiet conviction. "I don’t know. Yet. But your people need to trust you, Leroy. And what better way than to give them back what was stolen from them?"
He exhaled deeply, rubbing his neck. Trust him. As if it were that simple. His wife’s ambitions weren’t made of mortal asure; they touched the heavens and threatened the earth.
And sohow, he admired her all the more for it.
"You will rule, Leroy," she said suddenly. Her voice softened, not with doubt, but faith. A dangerous kind of faith.
"I’m going to be a farr," he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering there for a heartbeat too long.
Lorraine chuckled, low and musical. "Then I’ll be the farr’s wife."
He smiled, this ti, fully, and drew her close again.
Her laughter faded against his chest. The quiet stretched between them, threaded with warmth and sothing unspoken—sothing that trembled on the edge of fear and longing.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, eyes closing. For a fleeting mont, the world was simple again. Just her heartbeat against his chest. Just the promise of another dawn.
But beneath that stillness, sothing darker stirred; a knowing, silent and cold.
Because while she spoke of rivers and futures, her hands slled faintly of smoke.
And sowhere, deep within him, Leroy already knew, that this peace was only the calm before the storm.
"You’ve planned sothing for today, haven’t you, Leroy?"
Her voice was soft, but it cut through the quiet like a blade wrapped in silk.
"?" he asked, brow furrowing as he turned toward her.
Unconsciously, his hand brushed against his pocket, where the folded ssage from Damian rested. It’s done. That was all it said. Two words that could change everything.
"Yes, you," Lorraine said, watching him closely. Her eyes were searching, not accusing. There was no anger, no hurt, not even fear. Just a strange, disarming calm.
Leroy pressed his lips together, gaze faltering. What was he supposed to do when she looked at him like that, with trust that felt heavier than any crown?
"Is Aldric in on this plan?" she asked.
"He would have figured it out," Leroy replied quietly.
Lorraine exhaled, a soft, resigned sound that brushed against the still air. "Are we leaving the city today, Leroy?"
He didn’t answer. He simply stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her.
That was his answer.
She didn’t resist, only breathed against him, her fingers tightening briefly at the back of his neck before she pulled away.
Leroy’s chest rose and fell slowly, his thoughts a storm. He knew he was wrong to keep things from her. She wasn’t soone to be protected like a fragile fla. She was the fire itself—his equal, his danger, his solace. But still, he wanted to shield her... in the only way he knew how.
His mind drifted to last night. To Aldric’s voice, quiet but deliberate.
"The princess will be unshakable until she hands your heir to you."
Leroy had laughed at first, thinking it so offhand remark about loyalty or prophecy. But Aldric hadn’t laughed.
The phrasing clung to him. Until she hands your heir...
Until.
What about after?
What would happen to her after that?
He glanced down at Lorraine now, who stood near the window, sunlight weaving through her hair like threads of gold. She looked serene, but her stillness terrified him.
He wanted to ask her, wanted to demand what she knew, what she was planning, but the words caught in his throat. There was sothing sacred about this silence between them, and breaking it felt like shattering glass.
Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His chin rested against her shoulder.
"Promise ," he murmured.
"Promise you what?" she asked, her tone faintly amused.
"That you’ll stay close today."
Lorraine tilted her head slightly, her cheek brushing his. "You’re asking to stay put again?"
"I’m asking you to trust ," he whispered.
She smiled faintly. "I always have, haven’t I?"
Her hand found his and held it tightly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.
And though she couldn’t see his face, his eyes darkened with the weight of everything unsaid, because trust, he knew, was a fragile thing. And if Aldric’s words held any truth...
he might soon have to choose between keeping her alive and keeping her with him.
Outside, the bells of the capital began to toll, slow, distant, like an on carried by wind.
And in that mont, though neither spoke it aloud, both of them knew, that today would not end the way it began.
"I saw fire..." Lorraine murmured after so ti. "Are you going to burn this house down?" she asked.
Because that was what she saw... last night, in her dream.
Leroy’s eyes widened. "Fire?"
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