Chapter 211: Vow To Protect Her Joy
"You’re back..."
The two words unraveled the tension in his chest. Leroy’s hand reached for hers almost instinctively, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. She was warm, alive, here—and that was all that mattered.
"Of course, I would be," he murmured, leaning closer. His voice was lower than usual, as though the very air around her demanded gentleness.
Lorraine let out a sigh, her smile lingering as she shifted to make room for him. "I dreamed you had a hard time in the palace. Did that emperor make it hard for you?"
His heart clenched. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers trailing along her temple before resting against her cheek. "Not much..." he said, a wry smile curving his lips. "But the dowager... she wants to use you against me." His voice dropped, the words carrying a weight he rarely let slip. That was the reason, he knew, that "Lazira’s" name was spoken in the audience hall today.
Lorraine’s chest tightened. She knew that would be the case. She was in panic mode with her support system, her friend, Hadrian’s end. "Will Osric Vaelith change her mind?" she asked carefully.
"I hope so..." Leroy admitted, though his eyes betrayed little faith in such a hope. Silence stretched, heavy, before he finally raised his gaze to hers. "Lorraine..."
Her breath caught at the rawness in his tone.
"Come away with me," he whispered. "Somewhere far away from here..."
Her brows furrowed. Somewhere? His words didn’t sound like a playful invitation to a vacation. No, there was a darkness in his eyes, a yearning to flee, to rip them both from the snares tightening around their throats.
She knew it wasn’t wise. With her father exposed as a traitor, the dowager thirsting for vengeance, and Gaston’s death looming in public declaration, how could the Crown Prince and Princess of Kaltharion vanish now, as though running would shield them from the storm? And hadn’t she already failed when she tried to escape to Corvalith? Whatever bound her to this capital, to this man... she had a feeling it would not let go so easily.
But then she looked at him. At the strain around his eyes, the exhaustion tightening his jaw, the way his shoulders carried the weight of the world. And her resolve softened. If leaving, or even the thought of leaving, would ease him, even for a breath, then she would follow.
"I’ll arrange everything," he said, certainty in his voice, though shadows lingered in his gaze.
Lorraine hesitated, her heart whispering that something about this wasn’t right. But still, she nodded. She would do anything for him. Then, her voice came steady. Holding her arms out, she said with a smile. "Take me out of here."
Her eyes flicked to the chamber walls, her father’s house closing in like a prison. Until Lysander claimed it wholly as his own, she doubted she could ever feel at home here. These walls reeked of her trauma, of Hadrian’s shadow, of the pain that bled her dry.
"But before we leave..." Lorraine’s lips curved into a cheeky smile, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Leroy instinctively reached to draw her back down onto the bed, but she slipped away, leaping down with a fluid grace, skirts brushing against her ankles. She walked out with a skip to her steps, her laughter spilling softly into the hall.
Leroy’s lips curved, warmth spreading in his chest. How rarely did he see her so unburdened, so unshackled by grief or schemes? That little moment of childlike joy... it pierced through all his weariness. Knowing Hadrian, the man who broke her spirit, was no more... perhaps it had finally loosed the chains from her heart.
Be free, my little bird, he thought, his chest tightening as he followed. Smile... Laugh...Spread your wings and soar up high. I’ll be the wind beneath your wings.
It was his silent vow. To protect not just her life, but her joy.
And yet, as he watched her move ahead, his gaze sharpened. Her gown was dusty on the knees, smudged at the elbows. The faint smear along the hem wasn’t dirt at all. His stomach knotted. Blood.
Before he could demand an explanation, they had already reached the library.
The sight inside spoke volumes: books scattered, shelves half-toppled, papers torn from their bindings. The acrid tang of steel still lingered in the air. Four men lay dead in grotesque stillness, the chaos of a violent struggle etched into every corner.
This was no ordinary swordfight. The marks, the overturned furniture, broken chair...it was raw, desperate. She had been attacked.
Leroy’s gaze locked onto her. His voice, low and tight, broke through the stillness. "Are you hurt?"
Lorraine didn’t even turn. She twirled lightly, skirts fanning out, her tone far too bright for the carnage around her. "No! Aldric saved me," she called back, skipping over a fallen chair as though she were dancing through a meadow.
Leroy’s throat worked, his eyes tracing her back, his jaw clenching. She could play in joy, but he saw the shadows. And he swore that none of this would touch her again.
Leroy closed the distance in a few strides and laid a steady hand on her shoulder. "Lorraine."
She stopped mid-step, turning toward him. She didn’t need his question spoken aloud, for she read it in his eyes, in the weight of his touch.
"I almost thought I’d die," she admitted softly, her lips curving into something wry, fragile. "But I knew I wouldn’t. Aldric saved me at the right moment... And..." Her voice faltered. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, wondering if she should tell him, about the Swan Oracle sliding into her body, steering her limb as if she were only half herself.
Leroy leaned closer, urging her wordlessly. "And?"
Lorraine’s lashes flickered. Then she puffed her cheeks and pouted, deliberately lightening the air. "That contraption Damian had would’ve helped me a lot today. Shame on you for not letting me keep it."
A deep breath slipped out of him, his hand rising to rub his forehead. He couldn’t argue; she was right. He should have been here. It burned in his chest that he’d left her to fend for herself. His failure.
"And, Leroy," she said gently, her hand catching his. His eyes opened, emerald pools locking on her face, her warmth threading through his skin. "She doesn’t want me dead. So... I’m safe. For now."
She didn’t want him to shoulder all the blame.
"That’s not very reassuring," he muttered, jaw tight.
Lorraine only chuckled, slipping away toward the shelves. She tipped her head up, eyes lighting with curiosity at the rows of tomes. The books written in High-Veyrani were stored higher, just out of reach. Without hesitation, she dragged a ladder across the floor, her skirts swishing, and began to climb.
Leroy exhaled sharply, the sound half sigh, half growl. Of course, she wouldn’t listen if he told her to come down. He followed, steadying the ladder with strong hands as it wobbled beneath her weight. "What book are you even looking for?" he asked, searching for a way to coax her down sooner.