Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 293: His Gift For Protection

That night, with the hearth still burning low and the mountains sighing beyond the frost-glazed window, Lorraine rested against Leroy’s chest. His fingers drew idle circles on her bare skin, slow, unhurried motions that seemed to mirror the rhythm of his breath. The warmth between them was almost languid, but when she let out a small giggle, it startled the stillness of the room.

Leroy frowned slightly. That sound, that soft, unguarded, beautiful sound wasn’t for him. She had screamed his name moments ago, trembled under his touch, and yet now she was giggling about something else entirely. And in his book, that couldn’t be allowed.

"Who," he murmured against her ear, voice low and dangerous in the dark, "made my wife giggle so much?"

She gasped as he nipped at her earlobe. "Ow!" she protested, rubbing it and pushing him lightly away. "I can’t even laugh now?"

He grunted, dissatisfied, before kissing her neck again. His lips brushed her pulse, hot and teasing, and her laughter spilled again; richer this time. "Leroy, stop, it tickles."

He smiled into her skin, but her next words froze him mid-breath.

"The wife of that lord came to the village today," she said casually, tracing a line down his shoulder. "And I poisoned her."

He lifted his head, brows rising, amusement flickering in his amber eyes. "And that," he asked slowly, "is what made you giggle?"

She met his gaze with a mischievous glint. "Isn’t it funny? She thought she was above them all, above me, and yet she didn’t even notice the poison on the wool I passed her."

Leroy exhaled, half in disbelief, half in reluctant admiration. "Is that something you normally do?"

"All the time," Lorraine said without a hint of hesitation, turning to him with that mischievous gleam in her eyes. Did he already forget who she was after a few quiet months in the mountains? Just because she cooked and cleaned and smiled at the village women, he thought she’d forgotten what it meant to be Lazira, and the venom-tongued Swan Divina?

He let out a low hum and rested his head against her chest, tracing slow, lazy shapes along her collarbone. "Where did you find the poison?"

"Poison is everywhere," she whispered, her tone shifting, turning hushed, reverent. "Like medicine. These mountains... don’t you feel it? They hum sometimes. Like something alive is sleeping beneath the snow... waiting to wake."

He didn’t respond. He only took her hand, pressed a kiss to her wrist, and lingered there.

Lorraine exhaled slowly. She knew this silence well. It wasn’t peace, it was denial. He had felt it too, that strange, ancient presence beneath the snow and stone. He just didn’t want to name it.

She tried to tilt his face toward hers, but he stopped her with a kiss to her eyelids, a gentle, almost pleading kiss, as if to keep her from seeing something she wasn’t meant to.

Her hand drifted to her belly. Rounder now. Warmer. Closer to the time she had seen in her visions. That terrible vision, the one painted in crimson. Blood curling around her legs, cold and vivid as memory.

Her palms went cold.

The fire crackled beside them, the warmth suddenly thin. And for the first time in a long while, Lorraine—Lazira, the Swan Divina—felt something she hadn’t felt in years.

Fear.

"I’ve something to give you," Leroy said quietly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence that had settled between them.

Lorraine blinked out of her thoughts, lifting her gaze to him as he leaned over the side of the bed and pulled open the drawer. Metal clicked softly, and then, he placed something on the sheets between them.

Lorraine’s eyes widened. "Is this what Damian had?" she asked, brushing her fingertips over the weapon. It was a compact crossbow, sleek and deadly, made of dark steel and carved bone.

"You bought it for me?" she asked, sitting up so abruptly that her long golden hair tumbled over her shoulders and back, spilling like molten silk across her bare skin.

Leroy slid behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her chest to keep her warm. His breath brushed her ear as he said, "I made it for you."

Lorraine turned her head toward him, disbelief and awe softening her features. "You made it?"

The darts gleamed faintly under the flickering firelight. Their heads were shaped not like roses, as Damian’s darts had been, but like vyrnshade blossoms, those deep red flowers that grew on the same poisonous shrubs where they had first met years ago. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Her heart swelled. "Leroy..." she whispered, voice trembling between gratitude and affection. "Thank you."

"You need it," he said simply. His tone was steady, but his eyes, those amber eyes, betrayed the quiet fear that never left him. Fear for her. Fear of losing her.

She smiled faintly. He thought she’d stay still now, that she’d listen to him and let the world burn outside these walls. But Lorraine could never stay silent for long. It was who she was: his serpent, his fire, his goddess.

And if he couldn’t stop her, he could at least keep her safe. A long-range weapon that was light, efficient, and precise, would guard her better than any promise he could make.

Lorraine lifted the crossbow reverently, turning it in her hands. "You really are dangerous when you love someone," she murmured.

He gave a quiet chuckle, tightening his hold on her. "You’re one to talk."

Her smile softened. "I love you, Leroy."

He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Me too," he said simply, his voice a low hum against her temple.

Later, when she drifted into sleep with the contraption still clutched to her chest, Leroy carefully pried it from her fingers and set it aside. For a moment, the firelight caught the curve of his lips in a faint, wistful smile, but it faded as quickly as it came.

He pulled her robe higher, covering her shoulders, and she instinctively curled closer to him, her breath warm against his skin. He rested his chin atop her head and closed his eyes, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

For now, she was safe in his arms.

And for tonight, that was enough.

-----

The next few days were almost uneventful. Almost. The snow began to soften, and the air carried the first breath of spring.

Lady Elarene Merrowen was not seen again. Lorraine didn’t mind. She had heard the whispers that the lady had fallen ill, and even the finest physicians her husband could summon had failed to cure her.

Far away, other rumors trickled into the mountains. Princess Lucia had been named heir to the throne of Kaltharion. And the Vaelorian Emperor, in all his paranoia, had sent an army to hunt down the bastard child of Gaston, the one the Kaltharion queen had tried to protect, in the vain hopes of protecting their legacy. And there were rumors that the children of Lucia were also seriously ill, causing the destabilization of the Kaltharion throne.

As for Leroy... The entire empire pretended that he didn’t exist, as if there was a gag order was put on his name. The name that shouldn’t be spoken.

If what Lorraine thought was true, that only meant that the Emperor had put a gag order not to speak about Leroy. And Lorraine, for one, knew that it was the worst thing to do when you do not want something to happen.

And now... people will murmur Leroy’s name in secret.

Well, that was for the best.

Lorraine doubted half of what she heard. News traveled slower than truth across mountains. But one thing she believed without question: the Emperor would not spare a single threat to his crown, not even a child.

So she continued her quiet routine. She spent time among the village women, teaching them small remedies, and sending cryptic instructions through them, messages disguised as superstition. She warned them to clear the path of the old river. She knew it would return soon, that its course would not stay dry forever. How, she had no clue. But she had a strong feeling and she would trust that feeling over anything else, even reality.

And when the river returned, those who lived upon its bed would drown if they were not prepared.

Her hands stayed busy, grinding herbs, mixing tinctures, balancing medicine and poison, that fine line she had mastered. Word spread quickly. People came from neighboring villages, carrying their sick and their desperate. She charged little, earning trust faster than coin, and her name began to circle the valleys like rumor and reverence alike.

Then, one morning, when the snowdrops had begun to rise from the hardened ground and daffodils unfurled their yellow crowns, Lord Merrowen’s daughter appeared at her door.

She came pale-faced and weary, speaking of her mother’s illness, the same illness that no healer or prayer could cure. Lorraine listened in silence, her eyes calm, her hands folded neatly on the counter.

And when the girl finished, Lorraine smiled faintly.

"Your mother is cursed," she said.

The young lady blinked, skepticism flickering beneath her fear.

"There are some things medicine cannot explain," Lorraine continued gently. "But there is an answer to every question."

Hope...fragile, glittering, irresistible hope, lit in the girl’s eyes.

And Lorraine, watching that spark take root, smiled a little wider behind her sleeve.

Hope was always the easiest bait to offer a desperate soul.