Chapter 220: The Secret Behind The Mask(3)
Aldric blinked, first at Emma, then at Lorraine. Sylvia’s eyes never left him, sharp and assessing. Though Emma hadn’t spoken yet, the air between them was heavy with implication. Any observer with half a mind could read the unspoken truth.
Aldric let out a long, measured breath. "I did warn her not to tell anyone," he said evenly, his gaze flicking to Emma, then back to Lorraine. "But you, Your Highness, were never included in that list. Emma should have known better..." He paused, his voice softening slightly. "I feared she might speak of it to that traitor Cedric, or someone who could relay it to the dowager. I am... surprised she hasn’t come to you until now."
His tone was neutral, almost detached, but Lorraine leaned into it instinctively, trusting him as she always had. Still, she could not ignore the tremor in Emma’s hands, the subtle quiver of her shoulders. Emma loved Aldric, and for her to fear him so, something had clearly gone wrong.
But that was not important now. The truth mattered the most.
Lorraine’s eyes softened. "Emma...?" she prompted gently.
Emma drew in a shaky breath, then exhaled slowly, as though summoning courage from somewhere deep inside.
"My uncle... he was tasked with an odd thing," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "He was asked to copy the birth record book of the Dravenholt family. It’s an ancient book, kept for centuries... over four hundred years, I think. And... the strange part was..."
Her hands twisted the edge of her skirt.
"They told him to skip an important detail," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Something a scribe is not allowed to do. As scribes, they are taught to include every detail, even if its truth cannot be verified. To omit something... it went against everything they are sworn to uphold."
She swallowed hard, her gaze flitting between Lorraine and Aldric.
Lorraine felt her heart tighten in her chest. The mark on Leroy’s face... could it really be tied to the Dragon line? But if Emma’s story was correct... it hinted at something far older, something buried and deliberate.
"Emma," Lorraine said, her voice urgent but low, careful not to startle her, "what did they ask him to leave out?"
Emma’s lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. Her trembling hands and wide eyes betrayed the weight of the secret she was about to reveal. The three women waited, silence stretched thick around them, the old study’s cluttered shadows watching like sentinels.
Aldric’s gaze remained calm, but Lorraine could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—a quiet tension, the same look he wore when guarding truths too dangerous for the uninitiated.
Emma cleared her throat, her hands twisting her skirt nervously. "They wanted to leave out... all mentions of the birthmark on the faces of the Dravenholt heirs... The important characteristic of a Dravenholt heir were to be ignored."
Lorraine’s brows shot up, and Sylvia tilted her head sharply toward Aldric, eyes narrowing in curiosity.
"The mark... it belongs to the Dravenholt line?" Lorraine asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The implications hit her like a thunderclap. If that were true... Leroy was a Dravenholt.
A small, reluctant voice in her mind reminded her of the doubts she’d harbored before: the questions about Aralyn, about Leroy’s parentage. If Aralyn had been the past king’s mistress, could Leroy truly be the heir?
Her heart raced as pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. "Leroy is... the past king’s son?" she breathed. The reasoning behind the Dowager’s murderous intentions and her own past suspicions suddenly made sense.
"You’re saying only the true heir bears the mark?" Lorraine asked, her voice tinged with awe and disbelief.
"That’s what my uncle said," Emma replied, her tone careful, precise. "Every king who has ascended the throne after King Tharian Dravenholt bore some form of this mark. It was meticulously recorded in the ancient records for two centuries. But... everything was destroyed when..." Emma exhaled sharply, uncertainty shadowing her words.
"When the current Emperor lacked a mark," Lorraine murmured, her mind racing. "It could have been argued that he was not the rightful heir. His ascension... it would have caused a stir."
She recalled what she’d heard of the current Emperor’s rise: bloodshed, chaos, relentless purges. The court had been torn asunder, and few had supported him. Perhaps the absence of the mark, and the legitimacy it symbolized, had been a silent catalyst for the fear and violence that followed.
Ever since, the Emperor’s actions had been harsh, merciless. Any dissent, no matter how small, was crushed with the full weight of the throne. Even the faintest critique risked death. His court had been molded into obedient yes-men, each one afraid to oppose him.
He had broken the river pact to prove his strength, waged war after war, all to assert his dominance. Bloodshed became his proof of capability, and terror his method of governance.
Foolish, yes, but Lorraine could understand it now. A man without a true claim, insecure in his right to rule, would grasp desperately at power. His insecurities had forged him into what he was today: a tyrant, feared and reviled, yet entirely shaped by the truth of his own weakness.
Lorraine sank deeper into her thoughts, a chilling clarity settling over her. The mark, the Dowager’s obsession, painted a portrait of a lineage carefully concealed, a throne claimed through far more than brute force alone. And now, she understood why every move, every act of cruelty, had been so meticulously orchestrated.
And why she wanted Leroy dead.
And why she had insisted Leroy cover his face. The records might have been tampered with, but she knew that whispers still survived in hidden corners. To see the mark on the hostage prince would ignite questions, speculation... perhaps even rebellion.
Especially when the court was split on the reign of the current Emperor.
A shiver ran through her as the pieces fell together. Her father’s warnings made sense now: the Dowager would move heaven and earth to find him. It was not because Leroy was heir to the Dragon line—an ancient myth, dismissed by most, but because he was the rightful heir to the Dravenholt line, not the current Emperor.
The implications were staggering. The scandal this revelation could unleash... the throne, the court, the empire itself. It all suddenly seemed dangerously fragile, balanced on secrets that a few had fought to bury.
Lorraine’s chest tightened. The weight of truth pressed down on her, yet beneath it surged a fierce resolve. She finally saw the scope of what was at stake.
It made sense. It all made sense.
And in that moment, Lorraine understood that protecting Leroy was no longer a matter of affection alone; it was a necessity. Not just for him, but for the line he carried.
If his father was Dravenholt, then that meant... Aralyn was of the dragon descent.
But Leroy’s question still lingered. How could the heir arrive in the line of the betrayers?