Chapter 163: To Be Useful
When Leroy entered Lorraine’s bedchamber, as the thick curtains were drawn, only dim light filtered through tall windows, casting a pale glow over the scattered parchments strewn across her desk. She sat with her back to him, hunched over the table, quill moving tirelessly across paper. The soft scratch of ink against parchment filled the silence.
As he stepped closer, one of the parchments slipped, fluttering slightly toward the floor, yet Lorraine made no move to catch it. Her posture remained steady, her hand still writing.
His chest tightened. He feared... What if her eyes glowed? What if something other than her own will guided her pen?
Then, softly, she turned.
Her eyes met his, warm and unmistakably her own.
A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding escaped him.
"You’re back," she said, voice low but unmistakable.
Leroy stepped further into the room. His gaze briefly flickered to the parchment, dense with her calculated scribbles: plans meticulously detailing strategies to dismantle House Dravenholt. Without hesitation, he placed his mask over the parchment she continued to write upon, obscuring her work.
"I just woke up," Lorraine answered, voice steady yet slightly slurred. "You weren’t here, so I decided to write it all down before I forgot."
The depth of ink covering the pages, the number of sheets filled... It was evident she hadn’t just begun. Her mind, consumed.
He exhaled deeply. Her body trembled under the weight of exhaustion and possession, both figurative and literal. She was fragile now, more than ever. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her to this darkness.
Without thinking, he reached out, his hand covering hers.
She glanced up, meeting his eyes, searching.
"You look terrible," he said softly.
Lorraine smiled, a faint, almost teasing curve of her lips, and gently poked his cheek. "You look terribler than me," she replied, her words slurring further.
Terribler? Does she even realize what she is saying?
"Are you drunk?" Leroy’s eyes narrowed as they searched the room. His gaze landed on the wine jar that always rested near her desk. It was untouched, still full.
"I don’t like the taste of wine these days," she said, a strange detachment in her tone. "Something’s wrong with me." She returned to her quill as if dismissing the matter entirely.
His concern deepened, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. "Do you have to bring down House Dravenholt? What will happen to the crown prince? And Elyse’s sons?"
Her eyes remained sharp, her face unreadable. No hesitation, no remorse.
"They’ll meet their fate," she answered, as if discussing the weather, not children. "She shouldn’t have threatened your life."
The weight of those words crashed into him. Vengeance, he knew, was a dark fire burning within her, but this... this apathy toward innocent lives went beyond reason.
He exhaled again, slower this time, more deliberate. She shouldn’t be consumed by this. She should not be plotting the deaths of children. She deserved peace. A chance to live free of the past’s suffocating grasp.
And so, in the quiet of that morning, Leroy made a decision. He would take charge, not with force or cruelty, but with the steady resolve of a man determined to protect what he loved most.
He needed to pull her back, even if only a little.
"Did you know about Aldric and your maid?" he asked, his tone casual, almost indifferent, though every word was measured. He knew anything involving her people would pique her curiosity.
Lorraine’s head lifted slightly. Her eyes widened, and a spark of intrigue flickered in them. "Sylvia and Aldric?" Her voice was light, teasing. "Are they still doing it under the stairs?" She smiled, a small, genuine smile that reached her eyes and brought a faint blush to her cheeks.
Leroy allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, relieved that the bait had worked. "Aldric said they’re marrying now."
"Marrying?" Her eyes grew wider, bright with unexpected delight. "That’s great news!" She stood, a bit unsteadily, as if caught between celebration and weariness. Her body swayed, and Leroy instinctively reached out, steadying her.
"Where are you going?" His voice was low, laced with concern. His heart ached. She was not fine.
"To congratulate them," she replied, light as air, almost dismissive.
"They are under the stairs," he whispered, as though the secret should stay buried.
"Oh?" Lorraine sat back down with measured grace and picked up the quill again. "Then I’ll congratulate them later."
Leroy sighed, realizing how impossible it was to distract her for long. "What are you doing now?" he asked.
She didn’t look up, her pen tracing deliberate strokes on the parchment. "You’re handing Hadrian over to the Emperor for the tribute ceremony commotion, right?" Her voice was calm, even clinical. "I need to draw a plan so my brother doesn’t get caught in the fallout. Gaston’s involvement... must stay hidden, otherwise the Emperor would have every reason to come after you."
Leroy exhaled deeply, the weight of her words sinking in. She was right. Always right. He felt hollow, useless to let her bear so much alone. It was time he manned up and took responsibility.
"I’m hungry," he said, attempting to sound light, to make the moment less tense. "Will you eat with me?"
He should have told her about Aldric being her uncle, one of the men in the tunnels, a piece of information that could soothe her or unravel her completely. But he chose silence, not wanting to burden her further. He just wanted to distract her.
"I’m not hungry," she murmured, eyes still fixed on the paper.
"But I don’t want to eat alone," he pressed.
That was enough. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she rose and joined him.
Leroy watched as she played with the food more than ate it. Her movements were absent-minded, mechanical. She took only a few bites, waiting until he promised to eat only after she did.
The lunch passed in near silence, save for the occasional rustle of cutlery or paper.
When the meal ended, Lorraine returned to her desk without a word, her shoulders stooped as if the weight of the world pressed heavier upon them.
Leroy remained seated, helpless, watching her with a quiet ache in his chest. The parchments lay open before her, as intricate and unfathomable as the storm gathering around them both.
Leroy’s voice cracked, edged with frustration, "Why are you doing this? Why punish yourself like this? Can’t you just rest?"
Her eyes didn’t leave the parchment, the faint scratch of her quill the only sound in the room.
"If I rest, I’ll lose everything," she whispered, the words brittle, as though spoken from the deepest crevice of her soul.
He stepped closer, his voice softer but no less desperate. "You won’t lose me."
For him, she was everything. Her presence, fragile as it seemed, filled the hollow spaces in his life. But doubt gnawed at him. Did she value power more than their bond?
Her hand stilled over the parchment. "I can’t become useless..." she murmured, her voice weighed by defeat.
A flash of anger surged in him. That word!
Useless!!
That word had no right to live on her lips. "Who planted that lie in your mind?" His tone sharpened, bitter. "Who told you you were useless?"
Her head lifted slowly, eyes red-rimmed and weary, but burning with a faint, defiant fire.
"Don’t you remember?" Her voice trembled, but it cut through him like a blade. "You did."