Chapter 184: Why He Killed Her Mother
Lorraine hadn’t thought of it until this very moment, but now the pieces fit together with cruel precision. Aralyn had earlier spoken of her son, so small, so fragile. "I lost him," she had said, the words heavy with sorrow and guilt, as though she believed she had buried him far too soon.
But something in Lorraine’s chest twisted now. Had Aralyn not told the whole truth? Or was she simply as much a pawn in the dowager’s game as Lorraine herself had been?
If Aralyn had indeed been the mistress of the past king, her son’s claim to the throne would be illegitimate in the eyes of ministers and court. The rules of bloodline and legitimacy were merciless; years had passed, and no claim could now be accepted.
So why... why had the dowager singled out Aralyn alone?
Was it rage that Aralyn had somehow shielded her son from oblivion? Or a calculated fear that the boy, hidden in shadow, might one day return to claim what should have been his with a proper claim?
Hadrian’s swollen eyes fixated on Lorraine, his face twitching involuntarily as he laughed with a hollow, bitter sound. "You truly are an Arvand," he sneered, mock admiration lacing every word. "Look at you... An innate ability to connect the dots. Why didn’t you tell your Papa sooner? Papa would have—"
"Where is he?" Lorraine’s voice cut through the air like thunder, her hands balling into fists, trembling with rage.
She refused to let that absurd word "Papa" slip past her lips without contempt. He was no father. In the home where she was meant to find safety, all she had known was pain, suffering, and betrayal, all because of him. Nothing would erase that.
Then the truth fully dawned on her, sharper than any blade. "You don’t know either, do you?" she said, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.
It all made perfect sense now. Aralyn had not been kept alive all these years so that Hadrian might pry out the boy’s whereabouts. Her smirk deepened, layered now with suspicion. Aralyn had remained silent, not out of weakness, but as an act of defiance and protection.
That woman was no ordinary, innocent soul. She was a fierce protector.
Her façade of helplessness and sorrow was just that: a carefully crafted mask.
Lorraine resolved to tread carefully from now on. Women like Aralyn, driven by love and steeled by sacrifice, were the most dangerous of all. They would do anything to protect what was theirs, no matter the cost.
She said nothing further, her expression unreadable, and turned to leave the dungeon.
Leroy followed her closely, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining with a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
Her father remained kneeling, broken and helpless, caught in the web of his own lies. She didn’t believe there was more to learn from him. Nothing new would spill from those lips.
But the thought... the dark possibility that another heir to the throne of Vaeloria still lived... stirred something deep and uneasy in her chest.
The current emperor was fragile, weak, and easily manipulated. His show of chivalry and valor was his deep-rooted insecurities that no one respected him as the Emperor. It was why he was quick to punish and destroy, rather than build. He was a man more interested in building a narrative about himself rather than actually ruling.
What if this other prince was different?
Would he be a man of peace, one who could finally bring stability to the empire? Or would he be just another power-hungry tyrant, desperate to claim his birthright by any means?
If Leroy was the heir to the Dragon throne, what role would Aralyn’s son play in the delicate balance of power? Why had the prophecy, so clear in its warnings and promises, remained silent about this other potential heir?
What if the boy truly was dead, and all this was a desperate attempt to wield fear, to manipulate Lorraine into submission?
Her mind teetered on the edge of questions without answers.
Suddenly, Hadrian’s voice pierced the silence, low and grudging. "Did you know there were oppositions to the current emperor ascending the throne?"
Leroy stopped in his steps, then gently held her hand tighter, as if to steady not just her body, but her swirling thoughts. Lorraine glanced at him, a small, steady smile touching her lips.
Everything was becoming more tangled, more dangerous, but she had him by her side, and that was enough.
"The previous king had gotten delusional in his deathbed," Hadrian continued, his tone carrying the weight of bitter memories. "He spoke of Aralyn by name... over and over. I was there..."
Lorraine turned sharply, eyes narrowing as she faced him fully. Was this the truth? Or yet another calculated lie meant to confuse and destabilize her?
These were revelations that struck at the very foundation of what she believed. The only way a bastard could claim the throne was if the king himself anointed the child as heir, or explicitly wrote it down in a will.
Did the previous emperor truly intend for Aralyn’s son to inherit the throne? Or was this merely the desperate ramblings of a dying man, grasping at shadows of regret?
Her breath hitched, but she said nothing.
"He also spoke a lot about the prophecy... about the Great Dragon King returning to claim his empire," Hadrian said, his smirk curling with cruel satisfaction as he watched Lorraine and Leroy absorb his words.
"The Dowager believed in all those ancient tales... She wanted her son to be the reincarnation of that legendary ruler. But, alas... he bore none of the auspicious signs foretold at his birth."
Hadrian paused, his expression unreadable, as though the weight of his confession was already too heavy to carry.
"Do you want to know why I had to kill your mother?" he asked, his voice low, deliberate, as if savoring each syllable.
Lorraine remained silent, meeting his gaze squarely, though her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum. She dared not show the tremor of emotion rising within her.
What if Hadrian was playing some calculated game, manipulating her desire for truth, using it as a bargaining chip?
That was the cruelty she knew too well.
He continued, unperturbed by her silence. "I heard she came from the House of Thalyssar, the house that begot the Swan Oracle. The Dowager whispered endlessly of how the Swan Oracle would return and... disrupt everything we built."
He swallowed hard, as though forcing down the guilt and despair that threatened to surface.
For a brief, fleeting moment, Lorraine saw something raw and honest in his eyes, a crack in his carefully constructed facade.
"I had to do it," he said, voice hollow but resolute, "To protect House Arvand."
Lorraine’s chest tightened, pain like ice settling in her heart. "So," she said, voice sharp and steady, "because of a whisper, a fear planted by others, you sacrificed your wife... and your daughter?"
Her hands trembled, not from weakness, but from the fury of injustice.
"For what?"