CHAPTER 133: HIS SACRED POSSESSION

Lorraine walked closer, her hand resting gently on Leroy’s cheek. He flinched at the coldness of her touch.

And for once, he realized that it didn’t matter what prophecy she sang, what power glowed through her veins, or even who she might be. What mattered was this: she was his Lorraine.

He caught her wrist, firm enough to claim her, tender enough not to harm her. The otherworldly smile lingered, her luminous eyes fixed on him like twin moons.

From the corner of his vision, he saw the two men collapse forward, trembling, foreheads pressed to the stone as they muttered words he couldn’t catch. He didn’t care what they feared. His gaze never left her.

"Whoever you are," Leroy said in sharp, deliberate High Veyrani, the syllables cutting like a blade, "leave my wife."

The smile faltered. Her eyes widened.

Leroy stepped closer, his grip unyielding, his other hand now wrapped around her waist, claiming her. "Now." His voice rose, thunder without fury, command without doubt.

This was his wife.

She flinched. And before his eyes, the glow in her gaze began to dim. The moonlight faded from her hair and face, until the brilliance bled away entirely... leaving behind her own, achingly familiar icy-blue eyes. His wife’s eyes that he fell in love with.

"Lorraine..." he whispered, raw with relief. His wife was back, in his arms. He felt like the world had started to spin again. Holding her in his arms, everything returned back to normal. She was the axis of his world.

But her lashes fluttered, then closed. Her body slackened. Leroy caught her before she fell, heart hammering with panic.

"Lorraine!" He shook her gently, his tone caught between a cry and a restraint, as though it would undo him if he let his fear out fully.

Her breathing steadied, falling into the rhythm of deep sleep.

Leroy gathered her into his arms. His stance shifted, back straight, shoulders squared, every inch the warlord protecting his prize. When the two men rose and dared to move closer, his glare cut through them like drawn steel.

"One step nearer," his voice burned, low and lethal, "and I’ll kill you where you stand."

The menace in his words froze them. They stumbled back until the wall pressed against their spines, their trembling reverence collapsing into silence.

Leroy’s gaze shifted to the wooden couch in the chamber’s shadowed corner. He lowered himself onto it, still cradling Lorraine in his arms. Carefully, he pulled down her hood and pressed his lips to her cool forehead. After days of endless searching, he had finally found her.

Whatever those glowing eyes had meant, he cast it aside. For now, she was here—warm, breathing, safe in his embrace. That was all he wanted. That was all he needed.

"You stink," he murmured with a rough chuckle, rocking her slightly. She slept deeply, unaware, but he held her tighter as if to convince himself she was real. Her familiar weight anchored him.

"My sweet little Porcupine," he whispered, voice thick. "You worried me too much."

His eyes lingered on her face, unblinking, drinking in every detail as though afraid she might vanish again. Movement stirred at the edge of the chamber, and his tenderness hardened instantly. His gaze lifted, sharp as drawn steel.

"You can wait outside," he ordered.

The men hesitated, signing furiously with their hands. Leroy didn’t bother to read. His tone left no space for negotiation.

"Leave us. Now."

They exchanged uneasy looks before retreating.

-----

In the corridor beyond, one finally exhaled. His fingers trembled as he signed, "But... he touched her."

"Of course he did," the other replied, though his own signs were slow, deliberate, his voice lowered as if the walls might hear.

"But we couldn’t even raise our eyes to her," the first breathed, his chest still tight. "He looked straight into hers. And she let him."

Almost unconsciously, his hand pressed to his sternum, where the echo of that unbearable pressure remained. It was the same suffocating awe that had seized them in the Oracle’s presence. For centuries, they had only heard fragments, whispers, scripture... and yet here, they had stood before the Swan Oracle herself.

A great honor.

She was as graceful as in the old writings, yet the strength radiating from her had been immeasurable, enough to crush them with a glance.

"I thought my heart would burst. I thought I would die," he signed, shaking his head. "But the Prince... he..."

The first man’s signs slowed, then fell silent. Awe, fear, and resignation flickered in his eyes.

"We are witnessing history."

The second only nodded, wordless. Surely, they stood at the precipice of a new era, but he knew such eras were never born without blood.

His gaze drifted back to the heavy door. Inside, the Prince held his Princess with a tenderness at odds with the power she had shown. Yet even that, perhaps, was the truth of it. His strength was not his own, and never was; it was drawn entirely from her.

What if...

He shook his head. He didn’t want history to repeat itself.

-----

Inside, Leroy leaned back against the carved wood. Yet with his wife asleep in his embrace, he felt not the hardness of oak beneath him, but the softness of clouds high above.

And just like that, with her steady breath warming his chest, he too slipped into sleep. He had fought wars without rest, endured nights of vigilance on bloodied battlefields. But only here, with her, could he truly close his eyes.

-----

Lorraine stood ankle-deep in the still lake, a hush falling over the mirrored surface. Warmth spread around her as the woman stepped free from her body, like a reflection escaping the glass.

Lorraine waited. Surely she would speak. But the woman only gazed back with that serene, almost eternal smile. Contentment radiated from her eyes, a peace Lorraine herself had never known.

"Will I see you again?" Lorraine whispered. It was the only question that mattered.

No words. Only that gentle smile, before the woman sank back into the water, vanishing into the depths.

Lorraine’s breath caught. She lunged forward, trying to follow, but warmth rushed around her like invisible arms. It rocked her, lulled her, as if the lake itself had drawn her into an embrace.

The world dissolved. The supernatural lake, the woman, the silver light—all dissipated into a velvet darkness.

And then—wetness on her lips.

Her lashes fluttered as her lungs burned. She gasped against a mouth pressing to hers, stealing her breath, giving it back in ragged waves. A hand cupped her face. Reflexively, her fingers lifted to his cheek. The heat of him grounded her; the taste of him seared through her half-dreaming haze.

Her chest heaved. The familiar scent, the intoxicating press of his tongue... her body recognized him before her mind did.

Between fevered kisses, her eyes opened. Slowly, the fragments returned: her flight from home, the lesson she was teaching her father and sister...

And then his face.

Leroy.

Her husband.

Her eyes widened; the haze shattered. Sleep fled from her bones as her heart crashed against her ribs.

What was he doing here?