CHAPTER 29: THE WHITE FEATHER

The gasps from the crowd confirmed what Lorraine already suspected. Lord Cassian was dead.

Lady Mirabel rushed to the balcony, shrieked his name, and collapsed into the arms of a maid. The once vibrant ballroom was now drowned in panic. Screams cut through whispers, and guests scrambled in every direction like leaves in a storm.

Lorraine stood still, silent among the chaos.

But she could feel the weight of the stares, the whispers curling like smoke in the corners of the hall. People were muttering about the earlier interaction between her and Lord Cassian. About the curse she carried like a stain on her skin. Was it the curse that had brought about his death? Or something more deliberate?

Someone asked the question loud enough that it echoed.

Did she arrange it?

She knew she had to leave. If things turned against her, no one here would protect her. Her father would not. Leroy wouldn’t. She was alone.

Her eyes swept across the hall. Leroy still stood on the balcony, unmoving. Viscount Norton and Lady Isolde were quietly retreating toward the exit, grief written on their faces as they remembered their daughter’s fall.

But one person was missing.

Prince Damian.

Lorraine’s brow furrowed. Where had he gone?

She slipped through the shifting crowd, sticking close to the Norton entourage. Behind her, voices escalated, and then came the sound that pierced her more than anything else that night.

"Lorraine? Heh! Who would risk everything by killing Lord Cassian for her?"

Her chest tightened.

Her brother’s voice.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the cruel honesty in them. No one would risk everything for her. She was just Lorraine, the cursed Silent Crown. Alone, abandoned, always.

But even through the sharp sting, something unexpected unfurled in her chest. Because his words, while cruel, had steered attention away from her. People began to murmur and shift their gazes elsewhere. They left her alone.

Was that his way of protecting me?

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something sharp like that. In the past, she always dismissed his words as petty jabs, punishment for her presence near Elyse. But now... she wasn’t so sure.

She didn’t stop to dwell on it. Her escape mattered more. She needed a carriage before her father noticed her absence. She nodded to Emma, who disappeared into the night to arrange it.

As Lorraine waited near the outer courtyard, the Norton couple stood nearby. She folded her arms against the chill in the air. Then she felt it... fabric brushing her sleeve.

She turned.

Leroy.

Of course.

He had the uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere, like a shadow cast before light.

She could barely see his expression in the dimness, but the tension in his posture told her enough. He was angry again. No surprise there. With her, that always seemed to be his default.

He could laugh with Zara. He could play savior with Elyse. But with her?

Always fury. Always silence.

She wondered if he had come to stop her from leaving. She didn’t have the patience for it. Her body was aching, her mind exhausted.

Then she felt it again.

That eerie sensation of being watched.

Leroy suddenly turned his head, gaze snapping toward the rooftop. Lorraine followed, squinting into the dark.

She saw a cape. Just for a moment. A flutter of fabric merging with the shadows above.

There was someone on the roof.

Her shinobis never wore capes. Whoever it was, it wasn’t them.

Leroy looked at her again, eyes narrowed behind his mask, as if this, too, was her fault.

She lowered her head, unwilling to meet his silent accusation. But something else caught her eye.

Lady Isolde had paused near the steps. A robed figure approached her and offered a folded square of white silk. Despite her husband’s protests, she accepted it.

Lorraine leaned closer, watching intently.

Lady Isolde opened the cloth. Inside was a single white feather. A swan feather. The moment her eyes landed on it, she collapsed to her knees and began to weep.

Lorraine’s lips curled into a smile. This is going to get interesting...

The carriage finally arrived. She climbed inside, surprised when Leroy joined her without a word.

He said nothing for the entire ride back. And she didn’t speak either. Her lower body ached with that unmistakable sticky discomfort. Three days of misery awaited her. But perhaps that was preferable to the ballroom she had left behind.

Back in her room, she changed into her nightwear. She was about to collapse into her bed when a knock came.

Sir Aldric stood, a kitchen maid behind him carrying a tray of food.

Lorraine stared at it, unamused, as food was the last thing on her mind.

"His Highness wants you to eat before bed," Aldric signed.

Lorraine rolled her eyes. Of course.

She had only rubbed her stomach once, and Leroy thought she was starving. He, like many men of his kind, didn’t understand that a woman’s pain was not always hunger.

But then again, why would he know? He never needed to. He only needed to exist. Others would revolve around him.

Still, the thought flickered. Maybe this was his strange, awkward attempt at caring.

It annoyed her.

She wasn’t a starving child anymore. Her father had controlled every morsel she ate, but after her marriage, Leroy had handed over the keys to everything. The household, the kitchen, the funds. She and Aldric ran it all. She had eaten well ever since.

So why this now?

Was this his version of torture? Her father starved her. Leroy was going to feed her until she burst?

She picked at a small portion, chewing slowly before handing the tray back to the maid.

"Tell him I ate," she signed.

Sir Aldric smiled, knowing well that no one could make Lorraine do what she didn’t want. Not even Leroy.

She turned to head to her bedroom and stopped. Leroy was standing at the threshold, watching her. She sighed, brushing past him. She closed the door. Then locked it, just in case. She didn’t want to deal with him that night.

Outside, Leroy turned to Aldric. "Why didn’t you tell me she was sick?" he asked, his voice low.

"She did tell you," Aldric said calmly. "She said she didn’t want to go to the ball."

Leroy opened his mouth, then closed it again. A faint mutter escaped him.

Aldric almost laughed.

Was he... pouting?

Then Leroy asked, "What does receiving a white feather mean?"

Cedric, who had joined them from the hallway, stiffened at the question.

Aldric turned sharply. "A swan feather in white silk?"

Leroy nodded once.

"Did you receive it?" Aldric asked slowly, voice barely above a whisper.

Leroy shook his head. "No. Someone else did."

Aldric’s eyes went wide.

Cedric frowned, his instincts on edge. Aldric was the most stoic man he knew. And yet, at that moment, the shock in his eyes was unmistakable.

What could make Sir Aldric anxious?