CHAPTER 27: TANGLED HEARTS

Lorraine gasped, instinctively stepping back as a glint of metal caught the edge of her vision. Her heart surged violently, pounding against her ribs like it was trying to escape. She spun around, dread pooling in her stomach, only to find the source of the shimmer emerging from the tall grass.

Leroy.

Her husband stood there, bathed in lantern light. The ceremonial sword at his waist glimmered, its polished surface catching every flicker of flame. His fingers rested on the hilt as though prepared to draw it, as though he expected to face an invisible army at any moment.

Behind the mask that veiled the upper half of his face, his eyes were two fathomless voids. His sharp jaw cast a stark shadow along his neck, severe and strong.

It didn’t matter whether she could see his full face or not. He was always handsome. Perhaps it was his towering form, his broad shoulders, or the way he moved with such quiet confidence. Or maybe it was her own foolishness, her love that had colored everything he did and made her blind to the truth.

She scoffed and turned her head away. What was he even doing here? Wasn’t he too busy playing the gallant hero for Elyse earlier? Had he already fulfilled his duties and collected his reward?

Lysander approached Leroy, cradling the baby in his arms. Lorraine frowned. Why was her brother bringing the baby to Leroy?

She watched in growing confusion as Leroy looked down at the child, not moving, as if the mere idea of touching the baby might burn him. She rolled her eyes, but then, unexpectedly, Leroy reached out and gently pressed his palm against the baby’s head.

It was the blessing of Kaltharion. A silent promise from the older generation to the younger. An acknowledgment. A bond.

Her gaze shifted to Leroy’s face, or what she could see of it. His attention had moved to the ring on the baby’s tiny hand. He looked at her, and for a moment, she met his hollow eyes. Was he angry? She didn’t care. He had given that ring to her. It was hers to do with as she pleased.

Leroy’s voice broke the stillness. "He could gift his aunt’s ring to his ladylove when he grows up."

His tone was light, playful even. It was jarring. So different from the cold man she was used to.

Lysander chuckled. "Or to his wife."

Lorraine’s breath caught as she watched Leroy unfasten something from his belt. A dagger, its sheath engraved with his dragon crest. He laid it gently over the baby’s chest.

Her eyes widened.

She knew what that meant.

In Kaltharion, gifting one’s dagger was not a trivial gesture. It was a vow. A vow to protect, to stand as godfather, to offer strength and shield in times of need. It was a sacred symbol of loyalty and guardianship.

Leroy had just offered that to her brother’s son.

Why?

She glanced at Lysander, expecting shock or gratitude, but he only tilted his head, clearly unaware of the significance behind the gesture.

As she took a step closer, Lysander leaned toward Leroy and whispered something. The breeze whispered through the grass, muffling his words. Lorraine couldn’t make out a single syllable, but she didn’t have to.

Leroy’s posture changed instantly. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on his sword hilt. His jaw clenched, more sharply defined than moments ago. The air around him shifted, turning it tense and volatile.

Something inside him had snapped at Lysander’s words.

Lorraine moved faster, her heart pounding with a new kind of fear.

Leroy reached forward, hand stretching toward the baby. Not gently, not protectively. He was reaching for the dagger. To take it back.

She rushed in, stepping between her husband and her nephew. With firm but quiet defiance, she covered the dagger with both hands. She would not let him retract that promise. No matter what her brother had said, this child, her mother’s grandson, deserved protection.

Leroy glared at her. She didn’t return the look. Instead, she turned to Lysander and gestured for him to leave. Lysander hesitated, locking eyes with Leroy in a silent clash, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.

Lorraine lingered for a moment. She glanced once more at Leroy, still standing rigidly with fury simmering under the surface, and turned away.

A heaviness sat low in her abdomen, a dull ache that made her wince. Her monthlies were due. She needed to find Emma soon. She didn’t even know why Leroy remained when he was supposed to be the star of the ball her father hosted.

Before leaving, she walked to her mother’s grave. The path was overgrown, the grass tall and wild. She bent down to pull some of the weeds and laid a few wildflowers on the cold stone. No one else would do this. Only her.

To her surprise, Leroy followed. He knelt beside her in silence, clearing the overbrush without a word. That unspoken help tugged at something inside her.

Her body couldn’t take the pain much longer. She clutched her abdomen and finally sat beside the grave, her breath uneven. From her pocket, she retrieved her pain medicine and swallowed it quickly. After a few minutes, the sharpness dulled, just enough.

Leroy approached and held out his hand to her.

She turned her face away.

He didn’t retreat. Instead, he knelt in front of her.

Her eyes dropped. She adjusted her gloves slowly, ignoring him. She could still see him earlier with Elyse in her mind. Shielding her. Protecting her like she was fragile glass.

"Are you hurting?" he asked, his voice low.

She didn’t answer. She acted as though she hadn’t heard. If she were truly deaf, she wouldn’t have caught it anyway. She leaned further into the silence.

But then, he removed his mask.

Why? He always did that when they were alone. At first, she thought it meant she was special. That she mattered. But not anymore. Not after seeing the way he looked at Zara. Not after watching him protect Elyse with such tenderness.

Did he see her take the medicine earlier? Was that why he asked if she was hurting? Did that mean he cared for her?

If she was useless to him, why did he keep pretending to her?

She didn’t know.

Her vision blurred as tears welled up.

Leroy gently tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes. The lantern light danced across his features. His golden hair was tousled by the wind, a lock brushing against his brow. His green eyes, usually guarded, shimmered with something she couldn’t name. Concern. Regret. Maybe both.

Her breath hitched.

She wanted to hate him. But it was hard, so hard, when he looked at her like this.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked softly.

Her throat tightened. The ache in her abdomen was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.

Why does he do this to me? Aren’t I a mistake?

Her tears spilled, warm and silent, falling like pearls against the cold earth beneath her.