Chapter 94: In The Golden Hour
Sylvia stood with her hands folded neatly behind her, watching from the shadowed corner of the study. She had been the one to arrange the meeting Lorraine requested with Prince Damian, yet, for the first time in ten years, Lorraine had gone without her.
The exclusion still burned. She had tried to keep the princess away from the prince, he was dangerous for her, and Sylvia knew it, but she hadn’t expected to be shut out by the princess entirely. For a decade, they had been side by side in all things. How had it come to this? Should she tell Lorraine that the prince suspected her loyalty?
Since returning from that meeting, Lorraine had barely left her desk. For almost five days, with only two days short of the Imperial ceremony, she had sifted through every scrap of news from the capital, parchment and missive strewn like battlefield debris. Sylvia doubted she had slept at all.
Lorraine was looking for something.
Somehow, the princess had convinced herself that her husband’s life was in danger, working herself to exhaustion over threats that weren’t hers to bear. Yes, there was always risk—if anything happened to the Emperor, the prince could be blamed, his enemies were eager for blood—but why was she the one trying to shield him? Wasn’t she leaving? Shouldn’t he do it himself?
It didn’t matter. Sylvia was her maid, and her duty was to serve with all her heart, even when she didn’t agree, even when it hurt. Lorraine was her everything.
"How is our move to Corvalith going?" Lorraine asked at last.
Corvalith—the Heart of the Valley, another vassal state of Vaeloria. A kingdom of green woods, silver mountains, and rivers fat with fish. A land of milk and honey, far from Vaeloria’s coils, but not too different.
"Our spies report rebel bands in the vales, robbing merchant caravans. Shipping the gold by sea would be safer if we properly concealed it. I’ve found someone who’d do just that. Also, I’ve heard of a manor for sale in the mountains—"
"That manor wouldn’t be surrounded by mountains and facing a river, would it?" Lorraine asked.
Sylvia blinked. "Why?" That was a pretty specific question.
Lorraine didn’t answer. Her gaze lingered on the far window, though she wasn’t seeing it, only the dream, as vivid as the night it came.
The water was so clear she could see the smooth stones beneath. Then the change, slow at first, then rushing, the current thickening, darkening, bleeding until the whole river churned red. Not from rust. Not from silt. It had felt... alive... something coiling around her. And the fear... of losing her child.
Her fingers tightened around the parchment on her desk until the edges cut into her skin. She forced the image away.
"It’s on high ground," Sylvia said into the quiet, "and only a stream flows closer, not a river."
Lorraine nodded once. "That’s fine," she said, her tone clipped, final, as though the dream still lapped at the edges of her mind, impossible to shake.
But then Lorraine turned from the window and faced her fully. "Sylvia," she said quietly, "what do you know about the story of Vaeronyx and King Aurelthar?"
Sylvia blinked, caught off guard by the question. "It’s... well, it’s said the mighty dragon lived beneath the palace, guarding the first Dragon King’s descendants. When the Lion and the Bear slew the last heir, King Aurelthar, the dragon died too. And... they say his bones are still buried deep beneath what used to be the Palace of the Dragons."
Lorraine exhaled slowly, as though she’d been expecting that answer, and was disappointed by it. "So that’s the story in your region too," she murmured. "The same bedtime lie everyone else believes."
Her gaze sharpened. "Did you see any dragon bones down there in those tunnels, Sylvia?" Her lips curved faintly. "Or hear... a low breathing, catch a whiff of ember, perhaps?"
Sylvia dropped her eyes to hide a laugh. "No, Your Highness. But I’ll be sure to inform you if I come across a sleeping dragon."
"There’s a sect," Lorraine said, her voice softening as if they were exchanging secrets. "They believe the dragon will rise again."
Sylvia’s mirth faded. She could see the danger at once—Leroy, bearing the sigil of a dragon, in a city that already despised the emperor. In Vaeloria, talk of rebellion was stamped out with the death of entire bloodlines. The princess too would be put to danger.
"Prince Damian, the Dowager, and this... ’master’ all belong to that sect," Lorraine continued, her tone unreadable. "We don’t know how many powerful people are among them."
"The Dowager?" Sylvia’s brows rose.
Lorraine nodded as if she understood the disbelief. The Dowager was infamous for sitting on her hands while her eldest son murdered her youngest—anything to keep the throne steady. Why, then, would she align herself with a sect that dreamt of old dynasties awakening?
Spying, Sylvia decided. That was the only explanation. She wanted to be associated with them to find out who might rise against her son’s throne. But how stupid were they to keep her amongst them? It all sounded... fishy.
"I’ll gather information," Sylvia said. And without realizing it, she smiled. The princess still trusted her.
"There’s your smile," Lorraine said, her eyes lingering a moment too long. "I’ve missed it these past few days."
Sylvia ducked her head, covering her mouth to hide the warmth that crept across her face. She was glad, more than glad, that the one person who mattered most still looked at her that way.
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That evening, Lorraine ventured into the gardens for the first time in weeks, longing for fresh air after being cooped up with ink and parchment. The sun bathed the world in golden hues, casting long shadows across the paths.
She headed toward the rose garden, eager to check on the bushes before autumn set in. Emma and Sylvia followed quietly, respecting the tranquility around them. Lorraine inhaled the summer scents of leaves and distant blossoms, feeling the soothing weight of stillness.
She stopped suddenly, drawing Emma and Sylvia’s attention. Under the old ash tree, Leroy slept, his back against the trunk, a mask covering his features. The mask gave him a mysterious presence, as though he were only half in this world.
After his cruel rejection that night, and that unexpected kiss in the view of everyone else, she avoided him. She didn’t go to the tower either even though she wanted to. She heard he waited for the "Divina" in the tower often.
Without realizing it, Lorraine found herself drawn to him, like the tide to the shore.