Chapter 183: The Secret Child
"Why can’t I claim it?" Hadrian sneered, his expression twisting into one of sheer disgust as he shot a venomous glance at Leroy. "And who are you to advise me, bastard?"
Lorraine stepped forward, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the muscle of restrained anger tightening beneath her skin. How dare he speak to her husband that way?
Before she could raise her hand in righteous fury, his eyes shifted, slowly and deliberately, and landed on her. A smirk curled on his battered lips, cold and cruel.
"I made you, didn’t I?" Hadrian said, venom dripping from every word. "Only because of me, you’re standing here... tall, defiant, daring to turn your nose up at me..."
His words were a calculated provocation, designed to unsettle her. To claim ownership of all her struggles, trying to rewrite the pain of the past he had passed on her, as some stepping stones he carefully set for her ascension, as if he were her creator, and not just merely some cruel man who had hurt her and wanted her dead.
Then, as if his own arrogance choked him, he collapsed into a coughing fit. One of the men in black glanced toward Lorraine, silently awaiting her command: Shall I offer him water? Do you want to show mercy?
But she said nothing.
"I don’t mind your hate," Hadrian continued, each word spat with spite. "But you have to admit... I made you!" He pointed a trembling finger in the direction of Elyse, whose presence loomed like a specter. "Had I pampered you, you would have ended up like that pompous b*tch who only knows how to nag, to complain, to whine for attention."
Lorraine chuckled, low and bitter, the sound almost a release of all the years of suppressed rage.
Her father had spent years pandering to Elyse, indulging every whim, every demand, no matter how foolish or vain, all in the hope that Elyse would secure him power through a convenient marriage. He had invested in Elyse as if she were a prize, a tool.
And now? Now that Elyse held no power, he discarded her like a used pawn.
Because, in his mind, the only path to influence for a woman was through a man.
Her father had never expected anything from Lorraine. No beauty to attract suitors, no traits to command respect. Just a mute and deaf girl, who was weak, invisible, and undesired. What high-value man would ever look at her as something worth claiming?
The last person her father expected to gain power was her.
But oh... how it all turned out.
Lorraine’s voice dropped, steady and cutting like a blade. "And yet... here I stand."
"Be grateful to me!" Hadrian sneered, his voice hoarse but laced with entitlement.
"Why?" Lorraine scoffed, her words dripping with disdain. "You only broke me." Her eyes narrowed, each word deliberate, each syllable a condemnation. "I never did it for you, or for your lineage, or to bring you down. You, Hadrian, were always a footnote in my plans, never my top priority. I engaged with you only to laugh at your stupidity. You couldn’t even figure out that meek little mute, right under your nose. What a tactician," she said, her mocking laugh echoing coldly against the dungeon walls.
Hadrian’s expression flickered with rage, disbelief, and desperation, but Lorraine was merciless.
"Everything I did," she continued, her voice unwavering, "I did it for my husband. To protect him from your cruel schemes, your poisonous ambition designed to destroy him."
Her gaze drifted toward Leroy, standing solid like a rock behind her, the quiet embodiment of strength. "And look at him now... He is in a position to judge you. You will be handed over to the emperor for your crimes."
There was no malice in her tone, only finality. As much as Lorraine had wished for her father’s death, she understood the power of strategy. This would not be a simple murder, and then it would be his complete downfall, his legacy crushed by his own blood.
"Your husband?" Hadrian’s voice cracked, a mixture of derision and disbelief as he spat blood onto the floor. "I can give you a far better life than that wretched bastard. It was Prince Gaston who tried to kill your husband... Gaston, who will take the throne. If you come to my side, I can—"
"Gaston is dead," Lorraine interjected, her words sharp, like a blade severing hope. Her lips curved into a smile, relishing his faltering strength, his trembling lips searching for a rebuttal that would never come. "I killed him."
A long pause followed, pregnant with silence. Her father’s eyes widened, words caught in his throat as if the truth was more suffocating than any blow.
"The throne belongs to my husband," she said, firm and unwavering, "and I will stand by his side as his queen."
Hadrian’s anger erupted, raw and furious. "You dare defy me and—"
"Oh, shut up, Hadrian!" Lorraine’s voice rang out, a powerful echo reverberating through the cold stone walls of the dungeon. "You are forgetting one crucial fact: You are in the least favorable position in this negotiation at this moment. You have nothing I want. And I find no reason to keep you alive."
With calculated resolve, she turned away, her footsteps echoing steadily, leaving Hadrian to grapple with his crumbling empire and the inescapable truth of his ruin.
Leroy was about to turn away, when Hadrian let out a raw and desperate scream, laced with a bitter urgency, as if this was his last gasp of defiance.
"The dowager will do anything to keep the throne safe!" His voice cracked and echoed through the cold stone of the dungeon. "She will not let anyone else claim it! Your bastard husband cannot hold his title for long. The dowager wants a sole ruler of all, no other kings and no vassal states, a united kingdom, similar to the one the Dragon Dynasty had, and she wants her son to be the ruler of all."
Lorraine’s hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. The words struck her like a shard of ice. It was an unexpected claim, unsettling in its implication. Why would he say that? All the previous emperor’s illegitimate children were systematically hunted and destroyed by the dowager...
Her mind raced, the pieces of a hidden puzzle clicking into place. A faint, chilling realization began to take hold.
Her eyes narrowed, and without hesitation, she turned to face her father, her voice steady, cold as steel.
"Aralyn’s son... He didn’t die, did he?" Her words hung in the air, a question heavy with accusation and hope. "Where is he?"