CHAPTER 28: THE GREAT FALL

Lorraine wiped her tears, frustrated with herself. Were her hormones to blame for this constant flooding of emotions? She had never cried this often, never felt so fragile. It made her feel weak, and she hated that feeling.

None of it should matter. In less than a month, she would be gone. Far from all of this. Far from him. She wouldn’t have to care about what Leroy thought of her, what he felt, or didn’t feel. That freedom should have brought relief, yet the heaviness in her chest refused to lift.

Leroy was still watching her. He hadn’t moved, though he had released her chin.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked again.

She rubbed her stomach in response, her face tightening in pain. She knew he didn’t understand sign language, but she signed it anyway. "I’m fine now," she added with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Leroy seemed as if he was about to say something, his eyes flickering with an emotion she couldn’t place. But she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. She stood, her silk skirt brushing past his outstretched hand. He rose too, silently following her as if tethered to her shadow.

Fortunately, Emma appeared midway. Lorraine signed that she wanted to leave. Emma didn’t ask questions. She simply translated it for Leroy.

Lorraine didn’t wait for a response. She did what she had always done best. She walked away from him before he could walk away first.

Leroy’s footsteps eventually slowed, then stopped altogether. Behind his mask, whatever emotions his eyes held were swallowed whole by the darkness.

-----

The ballroom pulsed with music and laughter, loud and alive. Lorraine stepped back into the chaos, needing to at least give the impression she had been there long enough. Her father was already glaring at her from across the hall, disapproval carved deep into his features. Of course. She had wandered again. Defied him again. As always.

The crowd shifted, parting for her. Many rightfully feared her presence, as though merely brushing against her could pass along the curse that clung to her like perfume.

She walked with her head bowed, lost in thought, until she nearly collided with someone.

Her breath caught.

Seraphina.

The most coveted courtesan in Vaeloria stood before her in her signature gown stitched with glimmering rose silk and silver thread. Her beauty was infamous, delicate, and deliberate. Seraphina’s power didn’t come from titles or land but from the way powerful men fell over themselves to be the one she chose for the night. She was a symbol of prestige and elusive pleasure.

But with fame came pride.

Her eyes scanned Lorraine from head to toe, and her lips curled into a mocking smile. "You’re quite the presence," she said, voice silken with venom. "I almost recognized you without effort. And... That gown... bold choice. Not everyone dares to wear yesterday’s fashion with today’s confidence."

Lorraine held her gaze. In another life, in another outfit (her infamous black velvet), the same Seraphina would have bowed low, careful not to meet her eyes. But this was good. If even Seraphina couldn’t recognize her up this close, then her double life remained intact.

A small victory, quiet and satisfying.

She caught Emma’s arm just as she opened her mouth to retaliate. There was no need for a scene. Lorraine stepped aside, allowing Seraphina to pass. The courtesan walked away with the haughty strut of someone who believed they had won a silent war.

Lorraine let herself melt into the shadows, skimming along the edge of the hall, unnoticed. She needed to look like she was here. Appearances mattered.

But her thoughts shifted quickly to something else. She remembered the task she had assigned to her shinobis. They should have finished by now.

Lord Cassian... where are you?

She scanned the room. In the center, jesters performed with exaggerated flair, spinning wooden swords and dancing around open flames. They reenacted the founding lore of the Vaelorian Empire, how the noble lion defeated the monstrous dragon. The tale was always the same, but the portrayal tonight was particularly mocking. The dragon was made to look foolish and cowardly.

Her lips curled bitterly.

A victory ball for Leroy, and yet her father made sure to ridicule him. The dragon symbol belonged to Leroy, the hostage prince. The lion belonged to Vaeloria, the conquerors. Even now, her father played his games, pretending loyalty to the Emperor while taunting the man he wanted to advance his plans.

Around the room, chaos bloomed like roses.

Drunken noblemen fought over spilled wine and courtesans. Peacock-like beauties flaunted their charms, tailed by their admirers. Gossip spread in corners where painted ladies whispered behind fans. The energy was fevered, burning past midnight without sign of slowing.

Then came the crack.

A loud splintering sound rang through the air as the stained-glass window above the high balcony fractured. The moonlight poured through the broken shards, illuminating a dark silhouette swaying on a rope.

A gasp spread like wildfire across the ballroom.

There, dangling precariously from the balcony, was a lady in an extravagant ball gown, the fabric billowing like wings. The rope descended slowly, creaking with weight.

The music stopped. People stared, too stunned to move. Whispers turned sharp and urgent.

"Another suicide?" someone murmured. The memory of Viscount Norton’s daughter still hung fresh in the air.

A man leaned closer to the balcony and squinted into the moonlight. "Is... is that Lord Cassian?" he said, voice cracking with disbelief.

The room erupted in a storm of shocked murmurs.

Lorraine’s heart stuttered.

She had instructed her shinobis to drug Lord Cassian, dress him in a woman’s gown, and leave him disoriented in the ballroom. It was meant to humiliate him, not endanger him. But this? Dangling from a rope, suspended over a drop?

This wasn’t her doing.

Her mind raced. She scanned the crowd. No one stood out. No strange movement. Except...

Leroy.

He wasn’t gawking or murmuring like the rest. He was staring... directly at her.

Her breath hitched.

Did he...?

Did he do this to Cassian? Did he see what happened earlier and decide to retaliate?

Her thoughts were interrupted as Leroy moved toward the balcony. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"We should get him down!"

The crowd parted instinctively, letting him through. His presence demanded it.

Lorraine scoffed softly at herself. Of course, not. He was saving him. Why did she even think he’d do that for her?

But then someone shouted, "There’s someone up there! Someone in a dark cape on the roof!"

All eyes turned to the rafters. The rope swayed violently.

Just as Leroy reached the edge, the rope snapped.

The room screamed.

Leroy leapt forward, arms outstretched. He almost reached him.

Almost.

But Lord Cassian’s body twisted in the air. His head collided with the stone railing, a sickening crack echoing through the room. Then he fell the rest of the way, landing in a crumpled heap on the marble floor. Blood bloomed beneath him like a red flower, vivid and horrifying.

The ballroom froze.

The music would not start again tonight.