Chapter 218: The Secret Behind The Mask
This was not the romantic scenario she had envisioned. She’d imagined being swept into his arms, carried to bed, maybe a little playful kissing before they collapsed together in each other’s embrace. But... here they are...
"And this sudden decree of yours... when exactly did you decide it?" she asked, her tone caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief as she looked up at him.
Leroy shot her a look over his shoulder with half a smirk, half a challenge. "Just now... when I realized I was tired of walking down the corridor every night to see you."
Her breath hitched at the implication, heat blooming in her cheeks before she could stop it. "So this is about convenience," she retorted, trying to sound unimpressed even as her pulse betrayed her.
"No," he said, turning fully toward her this time. She was still nestled in his arms, and his steady, intent gaze made her heart flutter wildly. "It’s about the fact that you’re my wife. And I want you where you belong."
Where you belong...
The sheer intensity in his eyes knocked the air from her lungs. She crossed her arms over her chest, not because she was cold, but because she needed something to keep her composure. "You’re awfully sure of yourself, Your Highness," she murmured.
He adjusted his hold on her easily with one arm and, with the other, set the folded nightdress on the dresser, never once breaking eye contact. "No," he corrected softly, his voice like a quiet vow. "I’m sure of us."
Her heart stuttered. "Then why not move your
stuff to my chambers?" she shot back, tilting her chin up with that familiar defiant spark, the same spark that had first caught his attention years ago.Ah... if only she’d known he could speak to her like this back then. She wouldn’t have spent ten years behind a wall of silence and misunderstandings. Ten years... they’d never come back. But she could reclaim now. She could reclaim the present. She’d talk until he got tired of listening, and she’d listen until his sweet, unguarded confessions drowned her.
Though, honestly... she doubted she’d ever tire of him.
Leroy’s brows lifted, amused. His little porcupine was pretending to bristle again, quills raised in a mock threat... and failing spectacularly.
He chuckled and leaned down, pinching her nose. "Because you belong to me. And since you moved into my mansion, it’s only right that you move into my bedchamber too," he said with infuriating logic.
"So... logically proven," she mumbled under her breath, pouting adorably. If he was going to phrase it like that, what could she possibly argue?
"You know me," Leroy grinned, smug and boyish all at once. "The smartest man."
Lorraine shifted slightly in his hold, glancing around her familiar room. She’d lived here for so long... yet this single decision unsettled her more than she’d expected. Maybe because it felt like more than just changing rooms. It felt like crossing a threshold... into something new, something she couldn’t quite predict.
But perhaps... she’d only understand it if she stepped forward with him.
"Oh, Elias was hurt earlier. Check on him for me," Leroy said suddenly, almost casually.
"What? He’s hurt?" Lorraine’s eyes flew wide. She didn’t know Elias deeply, but she knew about his quiet, blooming love with Emma, her dear maid. Her heart clenched. She needed to see them both.
"You should’ve told me that first!" she scolded.
Before Leroy could react, she wriggled out of his arms with surprising swiftness and dashed toward the door, her skirts swishing.
"He should be in the physician’s wing!" he called after her, half laughing, half exasperated.
He stood there for a long moment, watching her retreating figure disappear down the corridor, the corners of his lips lifting into a soft smile. Then, with that same quiet determination that made kings out of warriors, he picked up the folded clothes from the dresser and followed at his own pace.
He wasn’t going to let her slip away again. Not now. Not ever.
-----
When Lorraine reached the physician’s wing, she found Emma and Sylvia huddled at the door, whispering with faces drawn tight; Emma visibly anxious, Sylvia trying, and failing, to soothe her.
What on earth was going on?
The moment they saw her, both young women darted toward her. The hallway was hushed and empty, the quiet almost heavy, as though it belonged solely to the three of them.
"Your Highness," Sylvia blurted, her cheeks pink. "You went with His Highness and I... I thought you’d be..." She faltered, swallowed hard, and lowered her gaze. "Forgive me. I should have tended to you after you returned."
Lorraine waved her off. She knew exactly what they had assumed—what she herself had assumed too. But her husband had only wanted to shift her chambers, not... anything else. A fact that still left her slightly rattled.
"How is Elias?" she asked Emma.
Emma’s eyes shimmered at once. "He’s asleep now. The wound was deep here—" she touched her side, then her arm, "—but the physician says he’ll recover. Elias kept apologizing, saying he failed—"
"I’m just glad he’s safe," Lorraine said, pressing a hand to her chest in relief.
Turning, she asked, "Has Aldric returned yet?"
"I haven’t checked," Sylvia admitted softly.
"Still... I’m grateful everything went well today," Lorraine murmured. Too many things could have spiraled into disaster. By some miracle, they hadn’t.
But then a sharp thought struck her, and her stomach dipped. "The Candlelight Ball..."
Both maids blinked.
"I completely forgot!" Lorraine exclaimed. "It’s already so close—we only have three days!" Her nerves prickled. This was the one tradition she never missed.
"I’ve been preparing, Your Highness," Emma reassured quickly.
Relief flooded her. The Candlelight Ball, Lorraine’s own creation, was the autumn feast she hosted each year, not for nobles but for her servants. A small rebellion wrapped in warmth. A thanksgiving of sorts. Something no other royal would ever consider.
"Oh, thank heavens," Lorraine sighed. That meant it could still happen.
But Sylvia hesitated. "Your Highness... your father. The mourning. Can we hold a ball now?"
Lorraine’s expression hardened. "That’s no concern. We do not mourn a traitor."
Her brother had already declared it so. By celebrating openly, she would only drive a clearer line between herself and her father; something she needed.
The two women exchanged glances, visibly easing... but only a little.
"What is it?" Lorraine asked, narrowing her eyes.
Sylvia shifted. "Emma... has something to tell you."
Emma froze, her fingers knotting tight in her skirt. She looked at Lorraine with wide, frightened eyes.
"Your Highness... His Highness... his mask..." The words came out broken, barely more than a whisper. She couldn’t even finish.
But Lorraine understood at once.
Emma must have seen something.
"You mean the mark beneath it?" Lorraine asked carefully.
Emma’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, then gave the faintest, trembling nod.
"I... I might know why the dowager wants to keep it hidden."
Lorraine’s heart raced.