Chapter 147: Feeling Useless
Leroy leaned against the carved panel, his gaze following every movement as Lorraine shed her silk dress. The fabric slipped down her shoulders like spilled moonlight before pooling soundlessly at her feet. Then, quickly came the shift as she changed to linen, plain and rough, swallowing her radiance as she tried to disguise herself.
She looked suddenly smaller, unbearably mortal, as if the tower walls might forget she had ever been its queen.
She bent to the pocket of her discarded gown, fingers searching. When she drew her hand back, he saw the gleam of green in her palm.
The emerald pin.
His emerald pin.
Something inside him tightened. That simple piece of jewelry, compared to her many treasures, was almost unworthy of her. And yet she held it now as though it were the only jewel in the world.
Her hand moved, subtly, toward the pocket of her linen dress.
He caught her wrist.
Lorraine stilled. Her lashes lifted, and their eyes met. Her expression was unreadable, but her silence was loud enough to echo between them. She didn’t have to explain. He understood. She could have taken gold, diamonds, anything that would have bought her freedom for a lifetime. But when she had thought of leaving, leaving him, her hands had reached for this.
Just this.
Leroy’s throat ached. He turned her wrist slowly, reverently, and pressed his lips to the inside of it. Her skin was warm beneath his mouth, fragile with the flutter of her pulse. He lingered there, as though he could drink her love, her defiance, her secrets, into himself and never let them go.
His chest hurt with too much feeling. This woman... his wife, his unknowable miracle. She had doubted him. She had thought him faithless, thought him capable of keeping another woman in his arms... and still she had risked everything to save his life.
That kind of love... it was merciless, terrible in its power, because it came even when wounded.
He could never. If he had believed her unfaithful, jealousy would have consumed him until nothing was left; he would have burned down the world before he could ever protect her as she had protected him.
But she? She had chosen love even in pain. Chosen him, always him.
His voice was low, breaking against her silence. "Lorraine..."
Her lips parted as if to answer, but she said nothing. She didn’t need to. The emerald pin in her hand said more than words could. She didn’t understand why she took only this with her, either.
And suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of it hidden away. Gently, he took the pin from her trembling fingers, brushed back the loose strands of her hair, and fixed it there, letting the jewel catch the faint light. A small defiance against the plainness of her disguise, a visible promise that she carried a piece of him no matter where she went.
"Not in your pocket," he murmured, his thumb brushing the curve of her cheek. "It belongs here. Always."
The fire between them trembled into something deeper, almost unbearable. And in that fragile, fleeting moment, when silk lay forgotten on the floor and linen tried to make her a stranger, Leroy understood the truth...
No exile, no prophecy, no throne could take her from him. Because she had already chosen what to carry with her into the unknown.
And it was him.
He could never measure up to her.
He caught her wrist as she tried to slip the emerald pin back into the folds of her dress. His grip was firm, almost desperate. "Why not?" he asked quietly. He didn’t like the way she wanted to hide it again, as though the small piece of him she carried didn’t matter.
"Leroy," she said softly, lifting her free hand to his cheek. Her palm was warm, steadying, even as her words cut. "I started a war with House Dravenholt. Why aren’t you mad at me?"
His jaw tightened, but his eyes burned. "Do you know what you said?" he whispered.
War? He didn’t want another war. But he would stand by her side.
"She said something, didn’t she?" Lorraine’s lips curved, bitter with recognition. She didn’t need to guess. She knew. She was back in the mirror lake, and the woman had been there too. Her memory frayed at the edges, stolen by that reflection. She had lost time.
"Who is she?" Leroy asked. His voice cracked, his lashes wet. He thought he had kept that burden from her, that he had shielded her from knowing. But she already carried it, heavier than he could imagine.
He hated it. Hated that she bore it in silence, as though she had to endure everything alone. A helpless fury rose in him, clawing at his ribs. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tear away every pain that touched her. Instead, he felt useless. Again.
"She might be the Swan Oracle of the past... or someone else entirely. I don’t know," Lorraine murmured.
Leroy’s hand tightened around hers. His voice was hoarse. "How can I help? What do you want from me?" If she knew this much, surely she knew more. He would give anything, everything.
Her eyes lit with a sharp, dangerous gleam. "The Dowager will use me to bring you down. She’ll strike my empire first, because she knows she cannot defeat me otherwise. But I have plans..." She smirked, and in that smirk was the steel of a woman who had lived her whole life weaving webs others never saw until it was too late.
"Plans?" Leroy’s brow furrowed.
"I didn’t bring down my father in a day," she said, voice calm, ruthless. "It took years. I planned every step, drew seven backups for each failure. I’ve done the same with House Dravenholt. I almost executed it each time he tried to kill you. If they go against you, I’ll burn their legacy to ash. Their empire will choke on scandals for a thousand years. Before she attacks me, I’ll attack her house and make her busy putting out the fire in her house."
Leroy blinked, his breath catching. He wasn’t even surprised; he was just stunned at the cold brilliance of her. Somehow, between her smiles and her secrets, she had already mapped their enemies’ downfall. And yet, as pride swelled in his chest, so did despair.
Because it meant she had been preparing for this war alone.
His gaze dropped. She was slipping the emerald pin away again. "And?" he pressed.
"You leave first," she said firmly. "I’ll follow. My strength is my anonymity. No one looks twice at me dressed like this. But you—you’re recognized everywhere. If we’re seen together, questions will start. Your enemies will guess. My masks will burn."
"You want to walk away from me," Leroy said. His voice was low, almost accusing.
Lorraine sensed the change in his aura as she observed her.
Is he angry?