CHAPTER 36: GOT CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

"Don’t play dumb, Cedric," she said, cheeks flushed. "I’m not that stupid little girl anymore who..." She swallowed the rest of her words.

She was not the girl who waited around with letters she never sent and looked at the gate every evening like a fool.

She looked at him then, and for a second, there it was... the years between them, the ache of unspoken things. But she caught it, swallowed it, and smiled.

"Maybe you can take Zara so that my princess would be free," she mumbled. So, what if she didn’t get the love of the man? It was fine if the princess’s route was cleared.

"I—Emma, it’s not like that with me and Zara." Cedric’s eyes widened, caught off guard. "She-the prince-She~"

"Oh, save it." She shook her head. "You think I don’t notice the way you look at her? Like she’s a mystery you want to solve. Like, only she matters."

"You matter to me."

The words slipped out of him too fast, and it surprised them both.

She stared at him. Her grip on the birdseed bag loosened, and a few kernels spilled to the ground. But instead of melting, she drew back.

"No, I used to matter," she whispered. "Now I’m just the silly maid who talks too much and feels too much."

Cedric stepped forward. "You’re not~"

But she was already turning away, golden hair catching the light like fire.

"I have work to do, Sir Cedric."

"Emma!"

"Good day."

And with that, she rushed off, skirts swishing like a storm, leaving Cedric in the middle of the garden, heart hammering and clueless as ever.

-----

That night, Lorraine fell asleep easily, cradled by weariness. But in the hollow stillness of the early morning hours, she jolted awake, as though something unseen had tugged her soul. Her mind was blank. Empty.

She turned her head and stared at the ceiling. Then at the window. Her body ached with stillness, and her thoughts wouldn’t settle. She tried reading, sitting by the window, but her eyes wouldn’t follow the words. The memory of her fall still haunted her, whispering threats beneath the wind.

She couldn’t stay there any longer.

Donning her outer robe, Lorraine quietly opened her door. Perhaps Sir Aldric was awake. Talking to him might soothe her restless mind.

She stepped into the hallway. The cramps in her belly hadn’t eased, but walking helped a little. Without realizing, her feet took her past her intended path and toward his chambers.

It wasn’t that strange. Their rooms were adjacent, after all. They were lord and lady of the manor. But still... if she truly wanted to speak to Sir Al, she would’ve turned the other way.

Now she stood in front of Leroy’s bedchamber door.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not because he forbade her. Leroy never forbade her anything. He never said don’t do this

or you can’t do that. He left her free to live however she pleased. She used to enjoy that after what she was put through in her earlier life, but that freedom soon turned out to be isolating.

Tradition had its rules, and she’d tried to follow them, partly to honor her mother, partly to keep things simple. In Vaelorian custom, it was considered bad luck for a woman to be near her husband during her monthly bleeding. Also, tt was always the husband who came to the wife’s chamber, never the other way around. A nobleman’s bedchamber was considered his private sanctum. It was the same in Kaltharion culture, too.

Leroy took that rule a bit too seriously. Even the maids weren’t allowed to set foot in his room when he was in it. Cleaning was scheduled only when he was away. Not even Lorraine had ever entered while he was inside.

And yet, here she was. Barefoot in the middle of the hallway... Wearing a robe that was hardly warm enough... Standing in front of the one door she shouldn’t be standing at.

Why?

She knew why.

Because some deep, foolish part of her wanted to know if he was in there. If he were alone. If he was thinking about someone else... or doing something with someone else.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned forward and pressed her ear to the door. A ridiculous gesture. The oak was thick, solid, and stubborn. She should’ve known, for she chose every single door. She couldn’t hear anything through it, obviously, not even her own sense of dignity slipping away.

She bent down and peeked under the door.

Darkness. No light inside.

Her heart tightened. She blinked. Then sighed.

Ugh. What am I even doing?

She straightened, thoroughly embarrassed. Her face burned hotter than her cramps.

She turned to leave.

And then the door opened. Her breath caught in her throat. Leroy stood there... Shirt half undone, chest bare, mask still in place like he’d only just put it on. Maybe he had been on his way out. Or maybe not. She didn’t wait to find out.

She bowed quickly and spun on her heel, desperate to flee before...

He caught the back of her robe.

She stilled. Completely.

Her instinct screamed: Run.

Her pride begged: Don’t let him see you like this.

So she tried to wriggle free, planning to leave the robe behind if she had to. But of course, it was no use. He proved once again who was the strongest among the two.

With one steady tug, he pulled her around. Her palms landed flat against a warm, solid chest. She looked up.

Leroy.

His hair was tousled. His lips parted slightly from sleep. The curve of his jaw, framed by the edge of his mask, was sharp enough to cut through her excuses.

He didn’t speak.

He simply pulled her closer, one arm wrapped behind her back, the other under her arms as if lifting a startled kitten. She gasped.

But he didn’t stop. He just adjusted her easily in his arms, her body tucked against his bare chest. His skin was warm and smooth over coiled strength, and she could feel every ripple of muscle beneath her fingers. It was like resting against sun-warmed stone, unyielding and alive.

Then, without a word, he kicked the door shut behind him.

The sound of it closing echoed like a heartbeat.

"Couldn’t sleep?" he murmured, voice low and gravelly with sleep. His words vibrated through his chest. She felt them, more than she heard them. "Me neither."

Then he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in, like her scent was the only thing tethering him to the moment.