CHAPTER 263: THROUGH THE FIRE

Lorraine’s lungs burned as fiercely as the fire around her. Smoke clawed at her throat, the air heavy with heat and the acrid scent of charred wood. She turned, desperate, searching for anything, anything, to defend herself. Her fingers scraped against the floor, the sound drowned beneath the roar of the flames. She would not give up. Not here. Not like this.

And then... She felt a shadow blocking her. In the warmth of the fire, that shadow brought a much-appreciated shade and cool.

And then...A wet splash struck her cheek. Warm. Thick. The metallic scent hit her a heartbeat later.

Blood.

Her eyes widened just as a cry tore through the inferno, the man’s final, strangled sound, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.

Lorraine froze.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

Through the orange veil of smoke and fire, he stood there...like something carved out of myth.

Leroy.

Her husband.

His brown hair was dusted with ash, streaked by the glow of firelight, and his eyes... those deep, storm-washed green eyes, burned gold beneath the reflection of the flames. The light caught in them like molten metal, fierce and unyielding. His broad shoulders rose and fell with steady breaths, his coat scorched but intact, gleaming faintly beneath the soot. He looked like the kind of man the gods themselves might have forged in anger and grace... the tallest in the kingdom, a warrior molded by battle, his stance grounded and sure.

The longsword in his hand dripped crimson, each drop sizzling as it hit the scorched floor. Behind him, the enemy who’d moments ago towered over her lay still, lifeless.

For a moment, Lorraine could only stare. Her heart thudded in her chest, faster than the drum of the flames around them.

He was her salvation and her undoing all at once.

"Leroy..." her voice shook. "You’re here."

The firelight framed him like a painting come alive, his silhouette wreathed in gold and smoke, his expression carved from fury and fear and something heartbreakingly tender when his gaze finally found her.

"Lorraine," he breathed, voice low, hoarse, and full of something she hadn’t heard in a long time... relief.

She couldn’t speak. Not when the world burned and yet, somehow, she felt safe for the first time that night.

The prince who had come for her... the husband she thought she might never see again...stood before her like a white knight risen from flame and ruin.

"Leroy... I..." Lorraine whispered, her voice breaking before she could form another word. The rest was lost to the sob that tore through her throat. Tears streamed down her soot-streaked face, shimmering under the golden glow of the inferno.

Leroy got to her, his expression darkening as his gaze swept over her—her torn gown, the bruises on her arms, the fear still trembling in her breath. For a heartbeat, his jaw clenched, the fury in him so sharp it could have cut through steel.

Then, wordlessly, he turned toward the dresser, which the flame hadn’t gotten to yet, and pulled out a gown and cloak, shaking the ash off it.

"Here," he said softly, his voice low but steady, steady enough to anchor her.

He helped her into it, his hands gentle as he draped the fabric over her trembling shoulders. The scent of smoke clung to him, but beneath it, he still smelled like himself; warm leather, cedar, and something faintly metallic, like the air before a storm.

It hit her all at once, how real he was, how close, and Lorraine’s restraint broke. She buried her face against his chest, clutching the front of his tunic as if letting go would mean losing him again.

He said nothing, only held her tighter, his chin resting on her hair. Around them, the flames crackled, the mansion groaning under its own ruin, yet within the circle of his arms, the chaos dimmed.

She didn’t have to ask how he’d found her. She already knew. Leroy always found a way. He must have come through the tunnels beneath the estate. And he had walked straight through the blaze to reach her.

Her tears soaked into the fabric over his heart, and she trembled, whispering against him, "You came..."

He drew back just enough to look at her, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away the soot and tears. In the firelight, his eyes gleamed, bright, golden-green, alive with something more than human.

Of course, he was untouched. Not a strand of hair singed, not a mark on his skin.

Of course, he had walked through fire.

He was the heir of the dragon.

And fire, no matter how furious, would never dare touch him.

He realized it too. After all, he had walked through fire untouched. The thought flickered behind his calm eyes—fire could never harm what bore dragon blood. Still holding Lorraine’s trembling hand, Leroy turned away from the tunnels. There was no need for shadows or escape. He would walk her out the way a prince should—through the front, through the blaze, through the heart of ruin.

The corridor outside her chambers was eerily quiet. Smoke drifted like ghosts between the walls, curling through shattered glass and broken marble. The bodies of fallen soldiers lay scattered, their armor gleaming dully in the firelight. Lorraine caught her breath as they passed Leroy’s chamber; the door was already half-consumed, the tapestries smoldering.

No sign of Aldric. Her heart eased, if only a little. He must be with Sylvia, she thought. Then they were safe.

But when they reached the landing, her step faltered. The grand staircase, the pride of the mansion, was a living inferno. Flames licked upward in hungry waves, devouring the oak, roaring like the breath of a beast reborn.

Lorraine swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. Then she noticed the men below—the emperor’s soldiers, standing frozen in the grand hall. They were not fighting, not shouting. They were staring upward in awe.

And then she saw why.

Beyond the fire, the great portrait of her and Leroy stood untouched. Even from where she stood, she could see it—her smile, regal and steady; his smirk, proud and knowing; the golden hues of the background glowing faintly beneath a shimmering veil of blue flame.

Dragon Ash.

Lorraine’s heart stuttered with astonishment and pride. "It works! Do you see?" she gasped, her voice trembling between disbelief and wonder. "The fire won’t touch it!"

Leroy’s gaze lingered on the painting, his expression unreadable.

"I left the rest in my room," she murmured, half to herself. "I don’t want to lose it..."

Leroy reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch, the same one that held the Dragon Ash.

Lorraine’s lips curved faintly as she recognized it. He had thought of everything.

Without a word, he untied the pouch and sprinkled a handful of the silvery-blue dust over her shoulders. It glimmered faintly against her soot-darkened skin.

Then he looked at her.

Lorraine followed his gaze, toward the staircase, toward the seething wall of fire that blocked their way.

Her eyes widened. Her heart stilled.

She understood.

He meant for her to walk with him...

Through the fire.