Chapter 226: Her Husband
Lorraine stood quietly by his side, watching the way Leroy’s gaze remained fixed on the window. Her voice hadn’t reached him, not yet. He looked as if he were staring through the glass, past the world outside, into some place far away where words could not follow.
She could only imagine the storm beneath that still exterior. He had grown up as a prince of Kaltharion, sent as a hostage to Vaeloria to save his homeland, endured years of humiliation at the hands of Vaelorian ministers and the Dravenholt family. He had been torn from his family, sent to the battlefield for nine relentless years, not for his glory, not for his name, but to bear the weight of another empire’s shame.
And now... all this time, he had been one of them. A Dravenholt. Not just any son, but the heir—the one born with the mark. The rightful heir of the Dragon and the Lion.
He had been cast aside, erased, his life reshaped by a single woman’s jealousy. He had suffered needlessly, lived as a stranger among those who should have knelt before him.
She reached out and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. And that frightened her more than any outburst ever could.
Her heart squeezed painfully for him. She could only imagine the chaos within him, the way everything he had believed about himself was shifting beneath his feet. Without even realizing it, she reached up, lifted his braid, and wrapped her index finger around it. A small, familiar anchor. She would wait for him. However long it took. She would stand by his side.
Leroy stirred at her touch, his fingers brushing against hers before closing gently around her hand.
"Lorraine..." His voice was quiet, almost fragile. "Who am I to you?"
Lorraine’s throat tightened. His entire identity was fracturing before her eyes; the question carried all the weight of a lifetime of uncertainty. But for her, the answer had always been simple.
"You?" She smiled through the sudden sting in her eyes. Tears welled and spilled freely, but she didn’t care. She had never been ashamed to cry in front of him.
"You’re the boy I met that night beneath the vyrnshade blossoms... the boy I fell in love with and devoted myself to."
Leroy shifted then, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her onto the bed with him. She landed straddling his lap, her hands coming up to cradle his face.
"You’re the man who stole my breath on our wedding day," she whispered, her voice trembling. "And the man I fell even deeper for on our wedding night, when you kissed me so tenderly..."
Her throat closed as the memories caught up to her. Tears slid down her cheeks in steady streams, her fingers trembling against his skin.
"You’re the man I couldn’t bear to part with when the emperor’s decree came... The man I waited for, for thirteen long years. The man I protected with everything I had. The one whose heart I wanted always, the one who holds my heart. The man I love."
Her lips, wet with tears, pressed against his. His grip around her waist loosened, but his gaze softened.
"You’re my husband," she breathed against his mouth.
She kissed him again, firmer this time, as if to anchor him to her.
"You’re my husband," she repeated.
He might be many things. A prince. A king. Perhaps even an emperor. He might be the heir of an ancient dynasty, a man born beneath prophecy, a man destined to rule.
But in her heart, he held a position higher than any crown could bestow, a place only he could occupy, a title no one else could claim.
Her husband.
Leroy let out a soft, unsteady chuckle as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. His own eyes were misted, betraying the storm within. He pulled her against him, resting his chin on her small shoulder, the same shoulder that had borne his weight so many times before, quietly and steadfastly.
Leaning into her, he inhaled her scent, familiar and grounding, and his lips curved faintly.
Her husband.
What an honor that was.
Yet beneath that fragile warmth lay the jagged truth he could not escape. He had heard something terrifying. Everything he’d ever known about himself had shifted, crumbling like sand beneath his feet.
If anyone else had said what Lorraine said, if anyone else had pointed to that woman and called her his mother, he would have snapped their neck without hesitation.
But it was Lorraine who told him. His Lorraine. And that meant he had to believe her.
He didn’t want to. Gods, he didn’t want to.
But he had to.
He had to accept that the woman he had just accused of being a mistress was his mother.
And that meant, inevitably...
He was a bastard.
His mind immediately went back to the dungeons, to that man on his knees, tied up, blood dripping down his battered frame... And Hadrian’s voice, sharp and cruel, echoing through the darkness:
"Bastard!"
Back then, he had thought it was just a curse, a word flung in rage. But now...
Hadrian had been telling the truth. He was a bastard.
His status had never been glorious, but at least it had existed. From the moment he was sent as a hostage prince, and even before that, his life was one of careful steps and lowered eyes. He couldn’t be the haughty prince who commanded respect; survival demanded silence, composure, and restraint.
He learned to bow his head.
To swallow mockery like bitter medicine.
To pretend not to hear.
But still... he was a prince. A hostage prince, yes, but a prince nonetheless. He had a title, even if it was hollow. A throne awaited him, even if it was a vassal state’s. It wasn’t wealth, but it was something.
Enough to offer his wife a crown.
She deserved the world, and he couldn’t give her that. But he could give her a title. A name. A place by his side. That had been his one quiet promise.
And now...
Now he knew he didn’t even have that.
He was a bastard.
The word shattered something deep inside him, a splintering so quiet it almost hurt more than a scream. He couldn’t think of anything else.
And yet... gods, he knew that wasn’t how Lorraine would see it.
She, who had built an empire in the shadows of greater powers. She, who had never once needed his crown or his status to shine. She never expected him to give her anything.
Except his love.
And somehow, that knowledge hollowed him even more.
But he didn’t want to surrender to that hollow. That was why he asked her that question. Why he reached out to her.
And she...
He laughed under his breath. A broken sound, but real.
She proved, as she always did, why no one could love like she did. She proved why he needed her.
She didn’t call him a bastard. Of course, she didn’t. The thought would never even cross her mind. That was who she was.
She didn’t call him the heir to the dragon throne, either. She didn’t need to. He might be all those things, but that wasn’t what she saw when she looked at him.
She loved him.
She would love him if he were just a hostage prince.
She would love him if he were a bastard.
She would love him if he became emperor tomorrow.
Her love wasn’t swayed by titles or bloodlines.
She loved him, as he was.