Chapter 50: The Consensus

Lorraine closed her eyes and let Emma gently style her hair. Her head ached, not from pain, but from people. Then came the knock. A sharp, familiar rhythm. Aldric. Sylvia moved to open the door, but paused a beat too long. When she finally did, Aldric stood tall in the frame, eyes shadowed. He looked at her. Not at Lorraine. Not at Emma. Only at her. Sylvia’s throat tightened. Since their last, quietly desperate rendezvous, she had avoided him. She had cut him off with words she hadn’t fully meant but had no choice but to say. She thought he’d pester her after her. He hadn’t. She’s been avoiding him since then. And now here he was. Her heart clenched. She bowed her head low, refusing to meet his gaze. If she looked at him, she might crumble. Aldric cleared his throat. Lorraine’s lashes fluttered open. "The prince requests your presence in his study," he said stiffly, eyes now on Lorraine. Emma stilled her hands. Lorraine let out a long, audible sigh. Ugh! That man! She had left the paperwork with him. She’d drawn a line as she wanted to handle the shadows, the plots, the pulse of the kingdom until she left. He could deal with numbers and stamps. And yet. With a muttered grumble, she rose, shooting Sylvia a look that said, We’ll talk about the Tower later. Down the halls she went, her shoes whispering across the cold floors of the mansion, her irritation rising with each step. Until she entered the study. Leroy was buried in scrolls and ledgers, his brows furrowed, his sleeves rolled up like some overworked scribe. A chair beside him stood empty. He pointed to it without looking up. She stopped. Dead in her tracks. Oh no. She knew that look. That gesture. This wasn’t a summons. It was trap bait. He wanted her to help with the paperwork. Lorraine narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t going to fall for this. And yet... she sat. Back in the first year of their marriage, he had patiently taught her how to deal with numbers, something no one had bothered to teach her back in her father’s mansion, doing so with care and patience. Maybe she should help him. He handed her a quill. She took it with a sigh of theatrical betrayal. But then, like a dance, she found the rhythm. He passed her a ledger; she filled it without needing to ask what he needed. He corrected a figure; she caught a missing seal. Back and forth, wordless and smooth. And before she realized it, the mountain was reduced to a hill. That’s when the message arrived. Aldric brought a sealed letter from an unnamed man and handed directly to Leroy. He turned it in his hands. Lorraine’s breath caught. She recognized the seal—the Bear Mark of the Kaltharion King. Leroy’s father. Her curiosity spiked, but she didn’t dare lean closer. She didn’t need to. The prince made no move to hide it from her. He broke the seal. Her eyes skimmed the intricate letters, written in High Veyrani, the old royal tongue of Veyrakar (the name the kingdom was known by when Vaeloria and Kaltharion were united). Now, high Veyrani was only used by the highborn priests and trueblood royals. It was obscure, poetic, and riddled with double meanings, yet ran closer to the language they now spoke commonly. Lorraine had taught herself this tongue years ago, digging into its roots to understand the kingdom’s twisted history. She did like the library back in her father’s mansion. One of her favorite hiding spots. No one dared to disturb her there. Her eyes caught one line in particular, and it struck her like a slap wrapped in velvet: "When the moon casts no shadow, bring your wife to the Tavern of Ash and Stone. I’ve long wondered what Vaeloria deemed worthy of our bloodline. Let us drink to tradition and speak of nothing, as families tend to." A summons. Veiled. Intimate. Unsettling. Her gaze darted to Leroy’s hand. It trembled. Just slightly. He stood abruptly, face unreadable, posture stiff. She rose with him. "You don’t need to come," he said curtly, avoiding her eyes. But she followed. Of course she did. Not just from curiosity, though that burned hot in her chest. But because something had shaken him. And she needed to know what kind of father had made the man she now called husband. The man who called her useless. The man who kissed her like she was the air he breathed. And besides, if her own father was scheming with the King of Kaltharion, she needed to know everything. Leroy tried, once or twice, to talk her out of it. But not seriously. Lorraine saw through his half-hearted resistance. If he truly didn’t want her there, he would’ve shut the carriage door in her face. Instead, he held it open. He had chosen an unmarked carriage—a plain one, simple and undistinguished. Not something the crown prince would normally ride in. That piqued her curiosity even more. And so, without a word, they rode together into the night. The Emberkeep Inn. A tired, half-forgotten place on the edge of the capital. Not royal, not even noble. Leroy tried to lock her in the carriage, but someone came to greet him. He noticed Lorraine and asked her to come with him. Leroy tried to protest, but that man stood adamant. Someone who could override the decision of the crown prince? Lorraine got curious. Leroy didn’t feel comfortable in his presence. That man... who might that be? In the end, Leroy had to relent. Lorraine followed Leroy with a quiet grace, a step behind him, as tradition dictated. She was his consort. This was what was expected. Her heart was steady, at least outwardly. Inside, it pounded with unease. She knew they’d speak ill of her. They always did. But they wouldn’t be the first, and she could handle it. Her curiosity overrode everything else, even the alarm bells ringing loudly in her heart, seeing how tense Leroy was acting. When Leroy had objected to bringing her, part of her wondered, just a little, if it was to spare her feelings. Perhaps he didn’t want her in the bear’s den. But that was foolish. She was "deaf," after all. She wouldn’t hear their words. And even if she did, what did it matter? She was also "mute." She couldn’t respond. Besides, why would he care about her feelings? As they reached the door, she looked up at him. The single braid over his shoulder shifted slightly as he removed his mask. Inside the tavern, there were no patrons. Only his family. Lorraine followed him in, her head bowed low. Her hands trembled, hidden in her skirts. She offered a deep curtsy to the King and Queen, seated at a crooked table in a dimly lit corner. Leroy bowed beside her. Here it goes... The King didn’t acknowledge either of them. The Queen gave a faint smile and a nod. Lorraine’s gaze flicked to Lucia, Leroy’s sister. Her expression was unreadable, hollow. Not the warmth one might expect after years of absence; there was not even surprise in her face. Just... flatness. When Lucia noticed Lorraine’s stare, she returned it blankly, before Lorraine quickly bowed again and stepped behind her husband. She needed to play her part. They thought of her as useless. Let them. But another stare burned through her skin. She glanced up to find Gaston, Leroy’s cousin, watching her. There was a smirk curling on his lips—mocking, amused, and something else she couldn’t name. Almost leering. Maybe he thought she was pretty. Pretty enough, despite being useless. Yes. That seemed to be the consensus. The dinner began.