Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 321: A Way To Save Her

Just as Lorraine’s breath evened out, soft and rhythmic in the lantern-lit quiet of the tent, the canvas flap stirred and Vaeronyx stepped inside. Or rather, filled the entrance entirely, his humanoid form so impossibly tall that he nearly brushed the ridgepole. His auburn hair, gleaming like molten metal touched by moonlight, framed an expression caught somewhere between ancient solemnity and outright scandalized horror.

"I see," the dragon king said slowly, his gaze dropping to Leroy’s hands, still dutifully massaging the legs of his very pregnant wife. "Chivalry truly is dead."

Leroy did not look up, nor did he stop. "Good evening to you too."

"This is not ’evening,’ this is exploitation," Vaeronyx declared, folding his arms with all the offended dignity of a deity who had witnessed a thousand years of marital customs. "In my era, a husband would be collecting rare herbs, offering heated water, fanning his wife, and perhaps slaying a beast or two to ease her mood, not making her waddle around a battlefield carrying documents."

Leroy let out a long, measured breath. Everyone else thought the same, even if none dared say it aloud. Of course, the only soul bold enough to voice it would be the ancient dragon ancestor watching over them.

"She wants to do it," Leroy said, his voice steady but laced with quiet devotion. "And I need her to do it." 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Because Lorraine, his Lorraine, existed in a space between ordinary and extraordinary, an impossible paradox of softness and danger. No woman in any kingdom’s history had ever confessed with such fierce conviction that she would be his sword, his poison, and his someone. And for so long, she had believed herself "useless," blind to her own worth. If he ever told her to sit still and rest, she would hear rejection instead of care. She would think he was pushing her away.

Lorraine opened one eye at Vaeronyx’s tone. Warm laughter bubbled from her, muffled behind the hand she pressed over her face. "Vaeronyx, I am fine."

"You are with child," he countered, affronted, as if this invalidated every decision she could possibly make. "You should be resting atop a mountain of silk, guarded by twelve priestesses, and fanned by—"

"We don’t have twelve priestesses," Leroy cut in gently. "We barely have two functioning lanterns."

Vaeronyx blinked at him, clearly interpreting this as a moral failing on Leroy’s part.

"And," Lorraine added, shifting slightly and smiling with that quiet, knowing softness she reserved only for her husband, "my husband knows me. I want to be here."

The dragon king’s ancient eyes softened, grief rising like a shadow behind them. "You are so much like her," he whispered. "Too strong for your own good."

His gaze drifted downward to Lorraine’s rounded belly, and something inside him dimmed. He knew. He remembered. The curse of those who could see the future—their light blazing so bright it was destined to burn out too soon, too quickly, often before their child could even wean. The Swan Oracle had known her fate, and Vaeronyx had been powerless to stop it.

He sighed deeply and turned away, leaving the tent with the heavy tread of someone carrying centuries of sorrow.

Leroy watched him go, his hands stilling for a moment on Lorraine’s leg. He knew exactly what the dragon king was thinking.

Because that same unspoken fear, that cold, sharp, unbearable fear, lived in his own heart as well. A shadow that never quite left him, no matter how brightly Lorraine smiled.

"Don’t mind him..." Lorraine murmured, her fingers sliding over his hand. Her touch was warm, steady. "He doesn’t know us."

He lowered himself beside her, letting her lace her fingers with his. For a moment, it was just their breathing, the soft rustle of canvas, the faint murmur of the river outside the tent.

Then—"Ah..." She winced and smiled at the same time.

Leroy froze. He knew that expression too well now. Young as he was, inexperienced as he was, he knew that.

"He kicks so hard..." Lorraine whispered, her face blooming with pride and pain all at once. Her joy made the tent glow more than any lantern ever could.

Leroy rested his palm against her belly. A firm push met his hand—bold, impatient, a spark of fire from the child who would one day rule the kingdoms their ancestors had broken.

The belly shifted again, a rolling motion as if a small creature were burrowing under the surface. Lorraine laughed softly, breath catching.

He pressed gently, murmuring something the baby seemed to understand. Slowly, the tiny movements settled. The child quieted. Lorraine exhaled, melting into the pillows, already sliding into deeper sleep.

She trusted him that completely.

Leroy stayed a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall. Then, with the careful reverence of a man who knew how fragile blessings could be, he drew a fur blanket over her shoulders, smoothing it into place.

Only when he was completely sure she was comfortable, warm, safe, guarded even in her dreams, did he stand and slip outside into the night, carrying his fears like armor no one else could see.

His hands twitched as his eyes landed on her visible belly—round, vulnerable, too precious. The fear in him sharpened like a blade. Gritting his teeth, Leroy stepped out of the tent and walked straight toward the lone figure perched on the high rock.

Vaeronyx did not move.

The dragon king’s auburn hair shimmered under the moonlight, cascading in molten strands. He sat with the stillness of an ancient mountain, too heavy with memory, too old for comfort. No soldier dared come near him. Even the air felt quieter around him.

"Tell me how to stop it," Leroy said.

Vaeronyx did not look at him. "Stop what?"

"You know what."

Silence.

Vaeronyx’s jaw tightened. Fate... even demigods could not outrun it. How would a mortal?

Leroy stepped closer, fury simmering. "Don’t think you can take her after she leaves. Isn’t that what you’re scheming?" His voice cracked with rage. His fists curled, and for a moment he nearly struck the mighty dragon who had fought beside him.

Because he knew.

After Lorraine’s death—if she died—the Swan Oracle would return. She would take Lorraine’s body. Vaeronyx would have his beloved back... in a way.

Vaeronyx finally turned his head, a cold, ancient smirk tugging at his lips. "You overestimate my cunning, boy. If I wished to reclaim her, I wouldn’t be sitting on a rock waiting for your permission."

Leroy’s anger flared white-hot.

Vaeronyx rose to his full height: tall, terrible, unfathomable. "If there were a way to save her," he said, his voice low and cracking with grief older than kingdoms, "wouldn’t I have saved my wife?"

The words struck like a blow.

Leroy’s breath froze.

And the night around them held its silence like a wound.