Chapter 155: Suffocating Hearts
Leroy ignored her question, his jaw set as he carried her from the dining hall. Morning light slanted through tall windows, painting them in soft gold.
Lorraine’s morning gown brushed against his sleeve, the pale fabric shifting with every step. He wore no armor, no sword, only the ease of morning attire, and for once, they looked less like players on a battlefield and more like a man and a woman.
Yet unease gnawed at him. Each time her head rested lightly against his shoulder, he felt the weight of all he had failed to do: how often she bore the burden of planning, deciding, worrying in silence. Exhaustion had hollowed her eyes, and he hated that he had let it come to this—always too late, too slow, a step behind her.
The household stilled at the sight of them. Servants froze in the corridors, wide-eyed, whispers trailing like shadows in their wake. Lorraine did not look at them, her gaze remained steady, lips pressed in silence, but Leroy felt the heat of every stare. He tightened his hold as though to shield her from their eyes.
Step by step, he carried her up the grand staircase, past the defaced portrait where her painted face had been ruined, past the watching eyes. His heart beat heavy, not from the weight in his arms, but from the unfamiliar ache lodged in his chest.
Lorraine looked up at him, his mask still in place, his jaw tense with restraint. Her fingers lifted almost unconsciously, tracing the line of his jaw, then brushing across his lips. She lingered there, featherlight, as though committing the shape of him to memory.
Leaning against his chest, hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat, she found the perfect place to rest. For a moment, the world and its shadows vanished. He bent down, drawn by her touch, and the tension in his face softened, his lips curving faintly as his eyes met hers.
Her lashes grew heavy. Her body slackened, sinking into him, yet before surrendering to sleep, she managed the faintest smile in answer to his. Her head fell against his shoulder, her breathing even and slow, lost to rest at last.
At her chamber door, he shifted her in his arms and pushed it open with his shoulder. The hush of the room closed around them. Morning light pooled across the floorboards, a quiet, tender contrast to the restless house outside.
He set her down gently upon the edge of the bed, but his hands lingered at her arms, unwilling to let go.
"Rest," he whispered, softer this time, almost a plea.
The moment his hand slipped away, she stirred. Her brows knit faintly, her lashes fluttered, and he saw the truth: she would not sleep without him.
So he stayed. Drawing her against him once more, he let her settle over him, her arms tightening, fingers curling into his shirt as if to anchor him there.
A rare warmth bloomed in his chest, unbidden yet fierce. He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing her in.
"I’ll stay then..." he murmured, and he meant it with his whole heart.
Leroy stayed by Lorraine’s side for an hour, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breath. When it became clear she wouldn’t wake, he carefully shifted her onto the bed, tucking pillows around her the way a mother might protect a sleeping child, enclosing her in softness, giving the illusion of safety. He lingered a moment, his hand brushing her cheek, then bent to press a kiss against her forehead.
Only when her breathing stayed steady did he rise. He left the chamber as though afraid even the whisper of his steps against the rug might disturb her.
Outside, Sylvia was waiting. Her posture was stiff, her hands twisted together, but her eyes never left the prince’s door. She had made her choice that she would speak to him. Aldric’s calm, unsettling words from earlier gnawed at her, and she could not risk her princess’s safety for the confusion in her own heart.
Yet that confusion clawed at her still. On one hand, Aldric had been a steady force, a shield in moments when Lorraine and she herself had needed one most. His kindness had never faltered, his loyalty never questioned. Could a man pretend so convincingly? Or change so much in a short time?
And yet... his words had been too sharp, his knowledge too deep. There were things he should not have known. There was something odd about him. Dangerous, even.
Her devotion to the princess demanded she doubt him. But her heart—traitorous heart—wanted to believe in him. It tore her apart. If only she hadn’t come to care for him. If only she hadn’t fallen in love.
A brush of fabric against her hand snapped her from thought. She flinched and turned.
Of course. Aldric.
Had he guessed? Did he know she was waiting to confide in the prince?
Helplessness clawed at her chest. With her late husband, abuse had been clear, obvious, written in blows and bruises. With Aldric, she didn’t even know what she was fighting. He confused her, softened her, frightened her, all at once. Was he a liar—or was he the only one who saw her?
"Here." His voice was quiet. He held out a small vial. "I saw you stumble earlier. Your toe. I brought this."
Sylvia’s throat tightened. Anger rose, words pressed hot against her tongue, yet when she tried to speak, only tears came. "What are you doing?"
Aldric exhaled sharply, almost pained. He reached to wipe her tears, but she turned her face away, lips pressed, refusing him. His chest ached at the sight.
"Don’t trust me," he said lowly. "Hate me if you must. But take it." He caught her hand, pressed the vial into her pocket with a firmness that brooked no refusal.
She refused to look at him, eyes fixed on the far wall, but her shoulders trembled. He stood there a moment, struggling. He had meant to wait, to bide his time until explanations were possible, but he missed her. Gods, he missed her. Her eyes that told stories, her scent that calmed him, even her anger that reminded him she was alive, present, near.
He stepped closer, caging her against the wall, his hands braced on her shoulders. His forehead dropped to hers, their breath mingling, too close, too charged. She did not push him away. She only cried, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Sylvia..." he breathed, her name breaking in his mouth, and then his lips found hers; desperate, searching, stealing.
She gasped, then wrenched herself back with a force that trembled. "Stop this!" she snapped, voice breaking as she shoved him away.
For a heartbeat he stilled, his eyes dark, unreadable. Then the silence pressed in heavy between them, thick, suffocating, waiting to break.