Chapter 89: Cedrick’s Doubt
Lorraine no longer saw the easel, the half-finished lines, or the painter’s furrowed brow. Her gaze rested on him out of habit, but her mind was elsewhere, far from this gilded chamber.
The letter Leroy had shown her still burned in her thoughts. It bore the seal of his father, the King of Kaltharion, commanding him to lead the delegation that would present the kingdom’s annual tribute before the Emperor of Vaeloria.
The news was not yet public, but the royal circles had already been quietly informed. It should have been an honor, a visible post of respect. But Lorraine knew better. In Kaltharion’s current state, it was an act weighted with humiliation. If the duty required bowing low or enduring the Emperor’s condescension, Leroy was summoned. For any matter of true influence, however, he was cast aside like a worn slipper.
Her pulse quickened. She knew the bitter history between Kaltharion and Vaeloria—the betrayal that had shattered the old alliance, the Emperor’s treachery that had driven steel between their thrones. She understood the King’s anger. But Leroy had not signed that broken pact. He had not waged that losing war.
Why, then, did the punishment fall upon him?
Her mind began threading together every whisper, every scrap of court gossip she had collected these past days. At first, they were fragments without shape. But then her gaze caught the faint cut marring Leroy’s cheek, a small thing, barely noticeable, yet it shifted something in her thoughts, as though a loose tile had been nudged into place.
And then... suddenly... it was there. The pattern.
She almost wished she was wrong.
A cold weight settled in her chest. This was no idle insult; this was something calculated. And if her instincts were right, it was dangerous. She would need to move quickly.
The fading light pulled her back into the present. The sun had slipped low, yet the painter still lingered, dutifully scratching his charcoal across the parchment. She turned her head and found Leroy watching her with a smile that was... strange. Not warm. Not mocking. Something else.
It made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stir.
She rose to her feet. She had no time for games. Not now. There was too much to be done.
-----
Cedric sat at Zara’s bedside, his fingers working gently along her legs as though willing life back into them. That afternoon, she had looked at him with wide, terrified eyes and whispered that she could no longer feel them at all.
His first instinct had been to storm to Prince Leroy and demand he come at once. But he had stayed. Zara was trembling so violently the coverlet shifted with her shivers, her tears soaking the pillow. This was the woman whose laughter could fill a hall, whose very step carried strength and purpose, whose fingers had brought victory to them in the battlefield, now curled small as a hedgehog caught in a cold rain, unable to move her toes or fingers.
And through her sobs, she had asked for one thing. One person. Leroy.
Cedric had wanted, more than anything, to give her that. But he knew what the prince would say: Call a physician. He wanted to seize Leroy by the shoulders and shout, The physicians know nothing. She needs you, not your orders. But the words would die before they ever reached his lips. Leroy would not care.
At least, that was what Cedric told himself. Zara did not believe him. She clung to the memory of the man who had once guarded her as fiercely as his own life.
He had soothed her as best he could, coaxed her into uneasy sleep, and then gone in search of Leroy.
And where had he found him?
Bent over her, the princess, kissing her in full view of the staff. Not a fleeting courtesy, but a long, deep, shameless kiss, something wholly unbecoming of Vaelorian nobility. The sort of scene that cheapened the woman, the man, and every onlooker drawn unwillingly into it.
Cedric had turned on his heel and gone back without a word.
Now he sat once more at Zara’s side, holding her hand in his, while the maid assigned to her kept watch from the corner. The girl’s expression was carved from stone, as if another woman’s suffering were no concern of hers.
That woman, the princess, was a heartless creature, but clever enough to keep her skirts clean. She had given instructions that Zara be granted anything she wished, ensuring no finger could point her way in blame.
Yet Cedric could feel it... That woman pulled every string in this place. Even Leroy’s.
His jaw tightened, his blood hot. If the princess had her way, Zara’s fate was already decided. She wouldn’t live long.
When Zara stirred awake, the maid arrived with a tray with another bowl of nourishing soup, just as the royal physician prescribed. Piping hot, perfectly seasoned, served at the exact temperature Zara preferred.
It should have been a kindness. But something about it made Cedric’s hackles rise.
Ever since that woman started doting on Zara, her health had begun to falter. People whispered it was the Silent Crown’s curse. Cedric could almost believe them—except for one thing. The curse seemed to touch only those the princess disliked, never the ones she liked.
He steadied the bowl and brought the spoon to her lips, helping her drink in slow, careful sips. She tried to swallow, but each mouthful looked like an effort. The stiffness in her movements was worse than yesterday, almost as if the paralysis was spreading. Yet, no physician could explain it.
If Prince Leroy demanded answers, the court healers might try harder. But he didn’t. The physicians, without pressure, treated her with a lazy sort of politeness. No one was truly on Zara’s side. No one except Cedric.
When a drop of broth trickled down her chin, he caught it with a cloth, wiping gently. His fingers brushed her lips.
And in that fleeting contact, his heart stopped.
I touched her lips.
The thought flared so brightly it burned away every other suspicion for a moment. His pulse raced; his mouth curled into a small, foolish smile. He decided then and there he would never wash that hand again. Not even if the kingdom fell into the sea.
They spoke small, unimportant things about the weather, the servants, a funny incident he’d seen in the stables. Her mood seemed lighter when he was near, and that eased something in him.
But the question that had been clawing at his thoughts for days wouldn’t stay buried.
He’d seen how Prince Leroy behaved when he wanted a woman. The prince could be scandalously uncouth like kissing his wife in public, brazen enough to make old matrons fan themselves. Cedric had stood guard outside the tower and heard... noises... that made his ears bleed. The divina’s cries had carried like a battle trumpet.
And yet, he had never heard a single sound when Leroy was alone with Zara. No stolen kiss in public. No lingering touch in private. No impropriety at all.
It didn’t fit.
He wanted to know.