Chapter 175: The Root Of His Torment
Lorraine’s body trembled as if every fiber of her being struggled to process his words. The slow, teasing grin on Leroy’s face made the ache in her chest worse, not because of cruelty, but because of tenderness, and something far more dangerous: hope.
"Only you, Lorraine..." he whispered again, his voice lower this time, deeper, as though repeating a sacred vow. "You are mine. Mine alone."
Her heart fluttered and then stuttered, like a fragile bird trapped in a storm. Her entire belief, the fragile fortress she had built around herself to survive the treacherous world they inhabited, began to crack.
Happiness tried to break through the shock, that faint light calling her toward something real, something gentle... But the disbelief screamed louder, louder than her yearning.
It couldn’t be true.
Could it?
Was she dead? Had the cruel fate finally delivered her to some illusory heaven where her husband only loved her? Where no lies, no manipulation, no politics stood between them?
"I must be dreaming," she whispered, her voice hollow, as if testing the reality of the words. "I must be dead."
Leroy chuckled, a low, soothing sound that seemed to pull her back toward the present, toward life. "Hey," he murmured, shaking her gently, his large hand cupping her cheek, his touch warm, grounding. "Speak louder..."
He could see the dazed vacancy in her eyes. The way she seemed adrift, suspended between disbelief and fragile hope.
"I... I lied," she said, the words barely audible, as if confessing the gravest crime.
Her voice trembled. "You wanted..." He wanted to marry Elyse!
The corner of Leroy’s mouth twitched into a teasing grin, almost amused by her stunned expression, as though he was savoring the moment she was beginning to awaken.
"Lied?" he chuckled, eyes twinkling, his tone light but edged with intimacy, "You mean that thing about your age?"
Lorraine’s gaze remained locked on him, wide, as if she were a child seeing the world anew—raw, unguarded, confused.
His words were laced with mischief, but beneath them lay something far deeper.
Something unbearably tender.
"This..." he said softly, "This stunned, innocent look on your face..." His eyes flickered to her chest, and a slow smirk curved his lips as he continued, unabashed. "You looked like a ten-year-old, then. Flat as a... washing board..."
She followed his gaze to her own chest, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of embarrassment and wonder.
"You had the nerve," he teased further, "To tell me you were sixteen, and expect me to touch your non-existent tits... Did you think I was stupid enough to believe you were actually sixteen?" His voice was playful, but not cruel, like a lover trying to disarm her shock with levity.
But she remained still, her expression untouched by laughter, as though the weight of his words pressed her deeper into the surreal.
"And before you say anything else," Leroy continued, voice steady now, "I told your father I wanted to marry the eldest, because you are the eldest. Your father’s other daughter was the mistress’s daughter when she was born. She could never become the legitimate daughter... No matter what Hadrian says or does."
Each word fell like a heavy stone. She understood them, and yet... they seemed to float, disjointed, not quite registering. Her mind tried to grasp the truth, but it was like trying to catch the wind.
All at once, the layers of deception, silence, and pain peeled away. What remained was the raw, undeniable fact of his love.
Her body, her soul, and her heart had waited for this clarity, for this confession, for this reckoning. But in that moment, it still felt like a dream she was too afraid to wake from.
"You didn’t want me..." she said. Their marriage was left unconsummated for ten years. That was not what someone who wanted her would do. "You didn’t touch me."
Leroy’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until the ripples of the warm bath trembled around them. His warm breath fell on her face and his eyes glistened with want. She pressed her hand against his taut chest, seeking support, as if afraid of drifting away. He anchored her, steady and unwavering, while her body hovered, half-floating, half-surrendering, over him, their eyes locked.
"Try and tell me why I restrained myself," he murmured, his voice low, rough with longing. He needed her—his sharp, distant wife—back. She had been slipping away far too long, untouchable, elusive.
Her eyes widened, realization dawning like the slow break of day. "Because I wasn’t of age?" The words trembled from her lips, fragile yet undeniable. She was only sixteen when they married, a year short of the kingdom’s threshold for adulthood.
She searched his face, though uncertain what answer she sought.
His voice was quiet, almost ashamed. "Because your body was not ready... I was waiting for the signs of life to bloom, and when I finally saw them... war called me away." He sighed, the weight of his guilt pressing in. "The last time I returned, I knew I had to leave soon. I should have told you all these, shouldn’t I?"
He smiled, an aching, bittersweet curl of lips, as her arms instinctively tightened around his shoulders. Of course, she would believe him. This was love—the blind, desperate kind.
"You wanted me..." Her words came like a confession, each syllable anchoring her deeper to him.
"Only you," he whispered, his palm patting her back with gentle assurance. "How could it be anyone else, when all I saw was how you lived... so alone?"
Her breath caught. "You watched me?" Her voice was barely audible, disbelief threading through every word. She had suffered in silence, thinking no one cared, that no one saw. And all along, he had.
"Your father kept the mansion like an army barracks," he admitted, voice cracking. "I trained to be invisible... just to steal glimpses of you." His grip tightened, as though to hold himself together. "Once, I saw you passed out in that room... I..."
Her eyes narrowed, sharp with memory. "Did you leave that apple?" She recalled the strange, fleeting dream of the boy who had given her something once that was so real, so vivid that doubt had always gnawed at her.
"That was all I had then," he confessed, his voice heavy with regret. "That apple... and the moment I decided I wouldn’t let you suffer another day. I would bring you out. Give you a life of happiness. Of safety."
Her heart steadied, clarity sharpening her gaze. "You went to the warrior games for me," she said softly. "You were vague with my father about whom you intended to marry... because you had another reason."
She could feel his heartbeat now: slow, burdened, resolute. The truth was palpable, woven into every tremble of his body. She knew, without a shadow of doubt, the loneliness and helplessness he endured in this hostile land, and the way he must have pushed himself to the edge for her.
"You knew my father wouldn’t accept the scourge of the family," she whispered, eyes unwavering. "You wanted to trap him. My father didn’t conspire to change your fiancée. You did it... because you wanted me."
Leroy’s lips curved into a proud and defiant smirk.
"There were rumors then," she pressed on, "that you were going to abdicate your position as the crown prince of Kaltharion. You spread them, didn’t you?"
He chuckled, low and victorious. "There you are..." His eyes gleamed, possessive. This was his wife. His sharp, unyielding, brilliant wife.
"Oh!" Lorraine’s hand found his shoulder, clutching it with sudden tenderness. A soft smile curved her lips as she looked deep into his eyes, full of quiet certainty. "You’re mine alone..."
"I am." His fingers tightened possessively around her waist, as if to etch the truth into flesh and bone. "And that is why I will not let anyone take you from me."
Her gaze held his, steady and searching, but her brows knitted in concern. A subtle tremor lingered in his voice.
Then it struck her, the hidden weight behind his words.
"Do you think the Oracle will take me from you?" Her voice was gentle, but unwavering.
His jaw clenched, and for the first time, the facade of certainty wavered.
That fear... that doubt. It was the root of his torment.