Chapter 136: To Talk
"Why not?" Leroy asked.
He didn’t know how he still had patience left in him. Then again, he was the kind of man who had waited ten years just to hear her voice. And now here she was...speaking... just not the words he longed for, but still speaking.
What was he supposed to do with this woman he loved more than his own breath?
The torch was behind her, its glow throwing the ancient throne into silhouette, its carved lines framing her head like some cruel crown. Shadows obscured her face, but he could feel her every tremor, every confused breath. Confusion he might never unravel.
Lorraine bowed her head. For the first time, doubt pierced her armor. Had she gone too far? Her father rotted in the bowels of her empire, and she could not let him free. His disappearance would stir questions, dangerous questions. If her identity surfaced... if the truth reached beyond these walls...
She couldn’t risk her husband’s life. The thought made her throat ache, made her want to weep.
Leroy stepped forward. Instinctively, she stepped back. He halted, unable to see her eyes, but the recoil pierced him deeper than any blade.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, voice low, wounded. "Do you think I would hurt you?"
She shook her head quickly.
"You were afraid of me the other day," Leroy pressed, his chest tightening. He could still feel her trembling when he tried to touch her. "It hurt me."
At that, Lorraine finally looked up. The torchlight flickered, catching the fragile edges of her face.
"You were mad," she whispered. "When you’re mad... you look like Hadrian." She lowered her gaze again, ashamed.
Leroy fisted his hand. He only thought of himself and his feelings. But she... she was suffering.
"I’m sorry..." Her voice was so faint it nearly broke. He had never raised a hand to her. Never. He had been her safest place, even when he wounded her in other ways. She didn’t want him believing she feared his violence—because she didn’t. She feared losing him.
"I can’t get angry at you?" Leroy asked softly. He fisted and relaxed his hands to regain his composure. They were married. They owned each other. Weren’t they allowed this much?
"No." The word left her lips almost before he finished the question.
His breath hitched. His eyes misted, the weight of understanding pressing down on him. This fragile creature saw him as her whole world, and his anger, any anger, could splinter it. It didn’t matter what had provoked it. To her, his fury was devastation and she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
She wasn’t finished. She exhaled slowly, regret tugging at her voice. "I’m sorry. You had just escaped death, and I—" Her chest constricted. She hadn’t handled that moment well, but gods, it had still cut her.
"You were angry at me," she said, voice trembling. "You shouted when I only did what you asked me to do."
Leroy’s throat bobbed. At last, the truth broke out of him in a quiet, aching murmur:
"I was angry at you... because you didn’t trust me. Because you thought I was the sort of man who would bring a mistress into our home."
The hurt bled out of him with the words, leaving only a soft, fragile honesty.
Lorraine’s heart split into two, hearing the pain in his voice. "How would I know?" she said. But then her voice trailed into a breath. "I’m sorry..."
She still couldn’t understand him. Was he saying that he loved her? That he wouldn’t take other women into his bed?
"And... It’s your house..." she murmured.
Leroy’s lips curved wryly. Maybe that was at the root of all her fears. Aldric had mentioned it, but only now did he grasp it fully. His wife owned nothing, by Vaelorian law, and everything was his. Even if he wronged her, she had no recourse but silence and obedience. No wonder she thought she had no claim to him, no right even to question him when she doubted him.
And truthfully, hadn’t he proved her fears right? Ten years at war. Letters unanswered. A marriage left unconsummated. Strangers beneath the same name.
No wonder she was insecure.
He stepped closer, slowly this time. Lorraine’s instinct was to retreat, but she forced herself still. She didn’t want to run. Not from him. Not when he was baring himself in a way she had never seen before.
His arm found her waist, gingerly at first, then surely. Warmth bled through her. She relaxed as his lips pressed to her forehead, gentle, but with a lingering weight that said he would not let her slip away.
Her eyes fluttered closed. She savored his kiss. Memorized it.
"We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?" he murmured against her skin.
She nodded, the knot in her throat thickening. Yes. She had to tell him. About Elyse. About the night under the Vyrnshade blossoms.
"Let’s go home," Leroy said, chuckling low, though his voice was rough with ache. "You’re not a rat to live in tunnels. You’re my mouseling. And you belong in a house... our house."
The word our slipped from him like a vow.
Lorraine buried her face in his chest. His scent of earth, steel, and sweat overwhelmed her, dizzying and real. Had he truly searched for her all this time?
She dared, finally, to hope.
Leroy could sense it... the way her body eased into him, the way her trembling slowed. A knot in his chest loosened. He gathered her fully in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, and carried her toward the throne, the only seat in the vast, echoing chamber.
When his hand brushed the carved armrest, a sudden prickling shot through his skin. It was like the spark one gets when wool rubs against wool on a dry winter’s night... an unseen bite of energy that made the hairs on his arm rise. He had no word for it beyond the gods’ mischief, but it felt alive, as if the throne itself rejected or recognized him.
He looked at Lorraine, and it appeared that she felt nothing. He ignored it. Tightening his hold on Lorraine, he lowered himself into the great chair, settling her onto his lap.
And then...
The chamber shuddered. A deep rumble rolled through the floor stones, low and resonant, like the growl of some wild beast waking after long hunger. Dust drifted from the high vaults. The very air trembled with it, as if the throne had stirred something buried far beneath.