Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 315: To Stand By Him

Even with a dragon large enough to blot out the sun lounging behind him, Leroy instinctively threw an arm in front of Lorraine, shielding her from the rustling and cracking of branches down the slope.

A silhouette scrambled upward, panting, slipping, and muttering, his voice carried by the gentle wind. "I thought I’d die of the heat... Damn... water... I need water..."

"I think it’s Damian," Lorraine said brightly, peeling Leroy’s arm off her like it weighed nothing.

Leroy blinked. He had completely forgotten Damian existed for a moment... which was obviously not the case for his wife. Wasn’t she... a little too excited to see him?

A very ungodly part of Leroy bristled.

Damian finally hauled himself up, boots muddy, hair disheveled, eyes so wide he looked seconds away from fainting.

"By the Seven Sacred—" Damian wheezed mid-climb, then froze when his gaze snapped upward.

"Is that... please tell me I haven’t... died? Because that is a dragon. A real one. With a pulse. And a smell. And—oh gods—did he blink at me?"

Vaeronyx lazily blinked again.

Damian tilted backward in shock and would have rolled down the entire slope if Lorraine hadn’t caught his forearm.

"Careful," she said.

Before Damian could grasp her hand, Leroy smoothly intercepted, gripping Damian’s wrist with a little too much possessive strength.

Damian arched an eyebrow. "Jealousy suits you, Your Grace. Missed me already?"

Leroy dropped his hand immediately, ears reddening.

Damian cleared his throat, trying to look composed, but his eyes were glued to the dragon’s massive form. "Can I... touch him?"

"No," Leroy and Vaeronyx snapped in perfect harmony.

Lorraine, who had already extended a hand in encouragement, stared at both, betrayed.

"Never mind then," she huffed. "It’s like touching a big fish anyway. Except he stinks like ash."

Leroy shot the dragon an apologetic look. Vaeronyx stared at Lorraine in absolute disbelief.

Damian choked on a laugh. "A big fish. Yes. I’m sure the ancient demigod dragon who terraformed half a continent... is exactly like a trout."

Vaeronyx muttered, "I should have stayed asleep."

Leroy wasn’t sure if he should defend the dragon or disown his wife’s commentary entirely.

But before he could speak, Lorraine grabbed Damian’s arm with both hands, eyes sparkling. "How did you get here?"

Damian blinked. "Horse?"

His voice was still hollow with awe, his attention never leaving the dragon.

"Bring me to the capital of Kaltharion," she demanded.

"Why?" Damian asked.

"Why?" Leroy echoed, louder.

Lorraine turned toward Leroy but answered Damian instead. "I need to get there first. Vaeronyx and Leroy are going to break the dam. They’ll follow the old river path and land directly in the capital."

Damian’s jaw dropped. "The Serathil will flow again? In Kaltharion?"

"Yes," Lorraine said proudly. "And Leroy’s going to make it happen."

Leroy tugged her arm, trying to draw her attention back. She patted his hand absently, without even looking at him.

Leroy felt the sting in his ribs.

"You’ll take me, right?" she asked Damian. "I want to be there. I need to see my husband landing." With her hands together, she swayed, imagining that magnificent sight.

Images from her memory flashed across her expression... Leroy kneeling, being mocked, bearing it all with quiet dignity, humiliation pressed down on him like a crown of thorns. She had watched it all, unable to do anything to stop it.

And now... everything has changed.

She wanted... she needed to see the moment that crown of thorns transformed into something worthy.

But Leroy didn’t know that.

All he saw was his wife insisting on running off with another man on what might be the most important day of his life.

Absolutely not.

"No," Leroy said, stepping forward, voice firmer than before. "She’s not going anywhere with you."

Damian exhaled. "Well. Someone’s possessive today."

Lorraine’s eyes widened, surprised.

Vaeronyx rested his head on the ground, watching them with ancient amusement, because for all the fire and myth in the sky, the real sparks were right here on the ground.

Leroy didn’t just take her arm this time—he caught her by the waist, pulling her flush against him with a rare, unguarded desperation. The heat of his hands, the tightness of his grip, the trembling breath he released—it all froze Lorraine in place.

His amber eyes, normally so gentle, so steady, had darkened into something fierce and wounded. Something she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

"You’re angry at me?" she asked softly, bewildered.

"You’re running away from me," Leroy answered not as an accusation, but as a fear. His voice cracked around the edges. "Why can’t you stand by my side?"

The words hit her like a memory thrown across years.

He had said those exact words once before, when the world mocked him, when she was a danger to him, when he could have asked her anything, but chose to ask only that.

And now he was asking it again.

His lips trembled. His eyes were red, raw, the way they looked when he’d gone sleepless for nights trying to protect her. Even Damian, who could get between an angry bull and a drunken prince and come out alive, lifted both hands and backed away. This was not a moment for outsiders.

Lorraine reached up and cradled Leroy’s face between her palms, her thumbs brushing the heat of his flushed cheeks. He was not a man who angered without reason; his anger was always carved from love, shaped by fear, softened by devotion. None of it frightened her.

"My love," she whispered, rising onto her toes, brushing her lips against his in a soft, grounding kiss. "I’m not running away. I would never."

When she pulled back, she met his gaze directly. "I want to see you... standing exalted."

Her voice trembled with her truth.

She had watched him kneel.

She had watched him bow his head to survive.

She had watched him carry humiliation so heavy it left hollows beneath his ribs.

And now she wanted, needed, to see him ascend.

Leroy’s eyes softened the moment her hands touched him, melting further when she kissed him, until some tightness inside him gave way with a shudder. A slow smile curved his lips— tender, aching.

"I understand," he murmured. "But I want you to receive the adoration I receive."

Lorraine blinked.

Leroy held her cheeks now, his thumbs tracing the line of her jaw as if shaping the words he’d held for years.

"I stood alone before," he said quietly. "I let them mock me without ever letting you stand beside me. I refused you, not because I didn’t want you there, but because I didn’t want you to bear any of it."

His breath hitched.

"But now... when I am welcomed? When I am honored? When people will bow instead of sneer?" His forehead rested gently against hers.

"This time... I want them to see us together. I want them to revere you with me. The reason I am still standing."

Lorraine’s heart twisted; not painfully, but deeply, achingly.

He wasn’t afraid of her leaving.

He was afraid of facing triumph without the woman who bore his suffering with him.

Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him close enough that their noses brushed.

"I’ll stand with you," she whispered. "Always."

And for the first time that night, the fire in the sky felt small compared to the warmth in Leroy’s eyes.

Damian cleared his throat loudly, the kind of loud that was absolutely on purpose, absolutely unnecessary, and absolutely desperate to remind them he still existed.

"Ahem. Right. Yes. Very touching. Beautiful. Deeply moving," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking everywhere except at the very married couple clinging to each other. "But you do realize you’re having this emotional... whatever-this-is... under an active volcano dragon, right?"

Vaeronyx narrowed his molten-gold eyes. "I am not a volcano."

Damian threw up both hands in surrender. "My apologies. A highly irritable demigod who just finished breathing fire loud enough to wake the ancestors—uh—Your Supremous Majesty!"

Vaeronyx blinked once. Slowly.

Lorraine snorted, unable to help herself.

Leroy shot Damian a look that very clearly said you are absolutely not helping, but Damian was far too busy staring at the dragon with his eyes wide, lips parted, shoulders rigid with the kind of awe that was trying very, very hard to pretend it wasn’t fear.

Lorraine leaned closer to Leroy and whispered, "He’s not going to let me ride him."

"She finally understands me," Vaeronyx said, sounding almost smug. Almost.

Now it was Leroy’s turn to stiffen as if he was offended, bewildered, and dramatically betrayed. "You’re my wife. You and I are one. He should have no problem carrying his son on his shoulder."

Lorraine smiled at that—sweet, amused, and utterly relentless.

Vaeronyx, hearing those words, sagged like a man remembering he’d made a very unfortunate promise to his beloved Swan Oracle. Fate had spoken. Again.

Damian, meanwhile, blinked hard. "You’re actually going to ride a dragon?"

Lorraine shrugged, as if the idea were no more unusual than borrowing a neighbor’s cart.

"By the way," she added, tilting her head, "why are you here?"

Damian straightened, cleared his throat, and pulled out a small stack of carefully kept portraits, each depicting a beautiful woman, each framed with hope and calculation.

"I need you to choose my wife," he declared.