Chapter 42: The Weight of the Bear

Leroy watched Aldric laugh, not with malice, not quite with mockery. But there was something behind that sound. Something unreadable. He hated that he couldn’t tell what. "I refuse to be her pawn anymore," Leroy said, his voice firm. "Tell her that." "Pawn?" Aldric raised a brow. "I wore a mask, hiding my face, for her. I went to war for her. She told me she’d protect my wife and..." Leroy’s jaw tightened. He looked away, swallowing the rest of his words like they might betray him. "I trusted the wrong person." Lorraine had paid the price. In silence. In shame. In Aldric’s own words, she was rubbing dirt on her skin, just to survive. And where had the dowager been? Aldric was silent, then wet his lips. He understood. The dowager had her influence, but when Leroy had left five years ago, his hands had been tied. There had been little he could do to safeguard Lorraine. He wasn’t to blame for that. "You don’t have to be summoned, you know," Aldric said gently. "You can visit her anytime. She holds a mother’s love for you." "You think she cares?" Leroy scoffed. "She holds a mother’s love toward me, you said? What good is her motherly love when she couldn’t even protect her own son? Why give away promises she can’t keep?" Aldric looked away. That line had been crossed, but Leroy was right. Zevran Dravenholt had once been the darling of the empire. The youngest of the dowager’s sons. Polished, diplomatic, and born with the rare charm that could win over both the nobles and the people. He had married the Grand Duke’s daughter. A perfect match. But too perfect. Too close to the throne. The reason the grand duke orchestrated that match. Officially, Zevran had conspired with the Grand Duke to overthrow the Emperor. But unofficially, there were whispers. No one knew for sure if the plan was truly his, or if he’d been framed by a narrative crafted to make the Grand Duke fall. But the Emperor, ever the tactician, wouldn’t risk a trial. Zevran had too many sympathizers. So instead, the Emperor sent his own brother to war. To die. A war front Zevran wasn’t trained to command. An unwinnable battle. And the dowager could do nothing to stop it. She had brought a lion into the world, but the lion had grown fangs too sharp to be tamed. "She doesn’t have power anymore, Leroy," Aldric said. "She’s been out of the game for years. Her wings were clipped." By the very child she once cradled. The Emperor had sent his own brother to die, and felt nothing. All for the throne. And this was the same man who broke The River Pact. That sacred covenant between Vaeloria and Kaltharion. Forged in blood and fire after the fall of Aurelthar the Eternal, the Dragon-King whose dynasty ruled the realm with terror for a thousand years. In his place rose two brothers-in-arms: Tharian Dravenholt, the Lion of the South, and Caedric Regis, the Bear of the North. Together, they made a vow under moonlight. A pact of unity. Never again would they let ambition divide them. Never again would they let tyranny return. Peace ruled for almost two centuries. But the moment the Lion was crowned emperor twenty years ago... he raised his sword against the Bear. Blood flowed. The Bear was forced to kneel ten years ago. The pact had been shattered. The Emperor was undefeated. Ruthless. And now? Now, Leroy was a discarded heir, caught in the claws of that same Lion. "Who took over?" Leroy asked, voice bitter. "Who’s playing the game now? I won’t be another piece on someone’s board." Aldric looked at him quietly. "And what will you do about it?" Leroy didn’t answer. "Will you fight back?" Aldric pressed. "With what? With who? Or will you just keep flinching and praying it all passes over?" Leroy’s silence was answer enough. Aldric stood. "Talk to the dowager. She cares for you, whether you believe it or not." Leroy’s eyes snapped up. "If not her—then who?" A pause. A sigh. "How good was your education as Crown Prince of Kaltharion?" Aldric asked. Leroy’s breath hitched. His fists curled. And Aldric left without another word. The silence that followed felt like a noose tightening around his throat. Leroy couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. His chest ached, not from old wounds, but from powerlessness. He forced himself to look out the window. The Vyrnshade shrub was blooming, their blood-red petals trembling under the breeze. He was back in the garden again. Back to that night. To that girl. That vow. His breath slowed. His hands unclenched. He reached up and rubbed his forehead, the weight of memory heavier than any blade. And then... he saw it. The silver bear on his desk. The emblem of House Regis. His house. He picked it up. The metal was cold. Dense. Heavy. He stared at it for a long time. At the symbol he had been born beneath, and the burden he had run from. His brows furrowed. The Bear had knelt before the Lion once. Would he let it stay that way? Leroy set the figurine down with a quiet thud. His heart pounded. His eyes burned. Should I return to Kaltharion? ----- Days passed, and Lorraine avoided Leroy like a cat avoids water: gracefully, consistently, and with a look of disdain that said, "Touch me and you die." Ever since Leroy returned, she realized her movement had been restricted. Subtly. Strategically. She couldn’t step outside the estate without a footman trailing her like a shadow with boundary issues. And there was this trouble of him knocking on her door any time he wanted to. Her usage of the secret tunnel had halved. How could she surrender that tunnel to rats and spiders when she was supposed to rule the underworld? To make it worse, maintaining the estate was like trying to keep a rowdy tavern full of noble toddlers in order. Paperwork piled up like guilt. She had to approve vendors, inspect bills, renew contracts, approve seasonal wine shipments... Sigh! Who even ordered seventy pounds of goat cheese? She was irritated. It was then, while glaring at a missive about compost ratios, that she had a revelation so simple, so life-changing, it nearly brought tears to her eyes. Wait a minute... Isn’t this his job?" Leroy. Isn’t he the lord of the manor? If he insisted on taking control, shouldn’t he also inherit the most ancient and feared burden—administrative work? And so, with the fervor of a woman reclaiming her time, Lorraine rolled up her sleeves and sorted every bill, every account book, every boring trade document that had plagued her waking hours. It took her an entire night. But she was fine with it. She wanted freedom. By the time Leroy returned from whatever princely brooding he was up to, she had stacked it all just so on his desk, tied with silk ribbons and sealed with the smug joy of delegation. She didn’t know at that time that she was in for her husband’s anger.