Chapter 5: Her Defiance

Lorraine’s smile wavered, fragile as a candle in a storm. Her lips curled into a faint smirk, a mask to hide the emptiness clawing at her heart. "Do you want to go to the gala that much?" she signed, her fingers trembling with suppressed pain. The words were a challenge, a shield for her wounded pride. Sylvia translated the question to Zara, who stood across the grand hall. Zara’s face lit up, her brown eyes sparkling with unbridled joy. "Of course," she said, her voice bright and oblivious to the devastation she’d wrought. Lorraine’s hands moved before her heart could protest. She reached for the necklace Leroy had gifted her, its emeralds glinting in the candlelight. The piece was exquisite, a treasure she could replace tenfold with her own wealth. Its true value lay in his touch, his rare warmth when he’d given it to her. Now, that memory felt tainted, worthless in Zara’s shadow. With a sharp tug, she tore it free. The clasp snapped, grazing her neck with a thin cut. The sting was nothing compared to the agony searing her chest. She flung the necklace toward the grand chandelier, where it caught, dangling like a taunt in the flickering light. "You can leave after you get that," she signed, her gaze slicing toward Sir Aldric, cold and unyielding. "No one helps her." The command hung heavy as she turned, her footsteps echoing like a drumbeat. She reached her chambers and slammed the door, the sound a thunderclap through the manor. Sir Aldric stifled a chuckle behind her, his respect for her resolve clear in his steady gaze. Sylvia followed, a silent pillar of loyalty. In the hall, Emma’s laughter spilled out as she signed Lorraine’s words to Zara, whose face paled, the glow fading from her eyes. Cedric stood, his sigh heavy with weariness. "I’ll get help," he muttered, already moving toward the stairs, eager to escape the brewing storm. Zara’s shock morphed into fury. "Why should you?" she snapped, her voice sharp. "Who does she think she is? I’m going to Leroy." She barely took a step before Sir Aldric blocked her path, his broad frame an immovable barrier. "You’re not going anywhere, Zara," he said, his tone laced with dark amusement. Cedric opened his mouth to protest, but Sir Aldric’s glare silenced him. "You’ll have to listen to Sir Al, Zara," Cedric said, then hurried down the stairs, waving off her shouts as he fled. "Tell Leroy how cruel the woman he’s married to is!" Zara yelled after him, her words dripping with scorn. Sir Aldric’s smirk deepened. "Get to work if you want to leave," he said, crossing his arms. Zara stomped her foot, her gaze darting to the window, searching for Leroy’s figure. The courtyard was empty, cold and indifferent. "Get to it!" Sir Aldric pressed, his patience thinning. Defiance flared in Zara’s chest. "Let Leroy say that," she retorted, chin high, hands on her hips. Raised among Sarrathia’s warriors, she feared no man, not even Sir Aldric’s towering presence. "Leroy! Leroy!" she called, her voice ringing through the hall, sharp and childlike. Sir Aldric’s eyes darkened, his voice a low growl. "Get. To. It." Zara’s bravado faltered, her knees trembling under his stare. She swallowed hard, stepping back, her mind racing for a way to reach the necklace. As she wavered, she glimpsed Leroy and his entourage leaving the manor, their carriages vanishing into the night. "Damn you, Cedric," she wanted to shout but only muttered seeing Sir Aldric. She wanted to kill Cedric. Cedric must have lied to Leroy, spinning some excuse for her absence. That’s why Leroy left without her. ----- In her chambers, Lorraine’s rage burned like wildfire. Her fingers tore at the gown’s fastenings, each breath a jagged gasp. The emerald silk fell away, a discarded dream at her feet. To be humiliated in her own home, her sanctuary, by a girl barely out of childhood, a girl who flaunted Leroy’s favor like a prize. The shame scorched her, hotter than her fury. "You could’ve killed her, yet you sank to her level," Sylvia said, her voice dry, a faint smirk curling her lips. Lorraine’s fists clenched, a retort rising, but Sylvia’s words struck true. Who would have dared challenge her if she’d ended Zara’s life and buried her where none would look? Leroy? A bitter scoff escaped her. As if! Emma entered, her giggles fading as she saw the cut on Lorraine’s neck. "You’ve hurt yourself," she gasped, stepping closer. Lorraine brushed her off, the wound a mere whisper of pain. She crossed to the dresser, opening a hidden drawer. Inside lay linen and wool, the garb of a commoner, her key to freedom. She shed her silks, donning the disguise with swift hands. Sylvia moved to help, her touch steady. "Must you go there today, Your Highness?" Emma asked, her voice soft. "Shouldn’t you wait for the Prince’s return?" Lorraine’s glare silenced her, sharp and unyielding. Emma shrank against the wall, chastened. The Princess’s fury was a storm, and perhaps that place would quell it. Yet, Emma’s heart ached. How could the Prince wound her so cruelly, leaving her alone again, just as he returned? "Inform anyone who asks, the Princess is resting," Sylvia instructed. Emma nodded as Sylvia opened a panel in the bath area. A stone brick shifted, revealing a tunnel’s dark mouth. Lorraine and Sylvia slipped inside, disappearing into the darkness. Emma sealed it and stood guard by the door. The tunnels wound beneath the manor, a maze Lorraine knew by heart. After a time, they emerged in the city’s shadowed fringes—the Redlight District. Lorraine pulled her hood low, blending into the night as they ventured into its pulsing core. "Is he ready?" she whispered, her voice tight with need. Sylvia nodded, her eyes glinting with anticipation. When the Princess sought escape, Sylvia found her own thrill. Those men were a fleeting joy, worth every stolen moment. As they neared their refuge, a small girl darted from the shadows. Sylvia crouched, listening, then straightened, her face taut. "The Prince is already out of the palace and is heading to the mansion," she said. Lorraine’s heart lurched. The gala should have lasted past midnight. Why was he leaving so soon? Had news of Zara’s ordeal reached him? Was he rushing to save his mistress? Or had her father woven tales about Elyse’s collapse, blaming her, and he wants retribution? Panic surged, cold and sharp. She had to return. Now. Lifting their skirts, they ran back through the tunnels, breaths ragged in the damp air. Lorraine’s mind raced with dread. Whatever awaited her at the manor, she’d face it with her head high. But a chilling fear gripped her: was this the moment Leroy would cast her aside for good? Would it be bad, though?