CHAPTER 43: THE GOLD-HOARDING DRAGON

Lorraine had even left a note to avoid getting summoned by him.

Her soul felt lighter. Her brain finally had space to focus on more important things, like leaving. The plans were moving smoothly. Her father had been politically exiled, his power nearly gutted. Zara was failing at her assassination attempts, and most importantly, Leroy was too busy being emotionally unavailable to interfere.

Lorraine stood by her window that evening, sipping her tea like a retired villainess on vacation. She even felt like dressing elaborately that day because she was happy. She watched Zara fumble with a bow and arrow in the training yard below.

There was another reason for her happiness.

The poor thing couldn’t even notch the arrow. Her fingers trembled. Her face was pale.

Lorraine smirked.

Zara had spirit. Lorraine would give her that. It had been nearly a week since Zara challenged her with that ridiculous "I’ll kill you" threat, and she hadn’t gotten within breathing distance since.

It wasn’t for lack of trying.

Unfortunately for Zara, she’d already sealed her fate.

The poison was subtle. It would start with muscle failure, slow and irreversible. First her grip. Then her limbs. In a few weeks, she’d be paralyzed. Two weeks after that—starvation.

Cruel? Maybe.

But Lorraine believed in poetic deaths. And Zara had tried to kill her. First.

Lorraine smiled into her cup.

Everything was finally falling into place. The estate was running smoothly (now that she’d passed the suffering on to Leroy), no one was watching her movements closely anymore, and Zara was quietly dying. What more could a woman ask for?

Meanwhile...

Leroy stood before his desk, arms crossed, eye twitching.

Across from him, Aldric stood with the caution of a man who knew better than to breathe too loudly near a lit fuse.

Leroy’s voice came quiet—too quiet.

"What is all this?"

Aldric glanced at the mountain of scrolls, ledgers, receipts, and contracts stacked on the desk like a bureaucratic tower. "Estate records. Merchant accounts. Quarterly taxes. Grain inventories. Ship manifests. Invoices for the peacocks you apparently own now. Everything the princess has been managing since you went off to win glory and lose limbs."

He cleared his throat. "Since you’ve returned, you should be the one who handles it all. She... left them for you."

Leroy said nothing. Just stared. Then, with growing horror, he flipped open one of the thicker books. "...How come I own this much?"

Aldric peered over his shoulder with a grin that was part reverence, part "I told you so."

"That’s what you legally own. If you want the rest..." He slid out a separate ledger with a flourish. "You might want to sit for this."

Leroy skimmed it. Skimmed again. Froze. "This much gold?" His voice cracked.

That was almost the treasury of Kaltharion when they were a flourishing state. He owned a kingdom’s gold? How was that even possible?

"Indeed. Oh, and one more thing..." Aldric leaned in, voice dropping like they were plotting treason. It could very well be considered treason if the Emperor were to get wind of it. "Every single piece of silver in this manor?" He tapped the desk. "Not silver."

Leroy’s eyes slowly lifted and ended up on the bear he always held. So, that was gold? Really? No wonder it was heavy.

"Pure gold," Aldric confirmed, eyes glinting with mischief. "Apparently, Her Highness has a fondness for hoarding gold. If I may hazard a theory... she was likely a dragon in her past life."

Leroy didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile.

He was still staring at the desk like it might sink in with the weight of his wealth; wealth he didn’t know existed.

Then, slowly, he picked up the note she had left him. He read it once. His jaw clenched. He read it again.

{Your Highness,

In your absence, certain responsibilities naturally fell upon me. I have done what I could, within my means, to keep order.

Now that you have returned, I trust the estate will benefit from its rightful steward’s attention. The ledgers, correspondence, and matters of estate have been left in proper order for your review.

May your decisions continue to reflect the strength of the crown and the clarity that comes with presence.

Respectfully,

Lorraine.}

Leroy’s lips flattened into a blade-thin line. He turned to Aldric with the composure of a man who had just walked through fire and come out drier than before.

"Bring that porcupine of mine."

Aldric blinked. "Do you... want me to gently~"

"BRING. HER."

The desk trembled. Somewhere upstairs, a chandelier reconsidered its will to live.

Aldric nodded like a man signing a peace treaty under duress.

"Right. Fetch the dragon. Got it."

He backed away, hands raised like he was fleeing a live volcano. Leroy, meanwhile, stood perfectly still, except for his twitching eye and the vein pulsing on his temple like it was trying to escape his face.

Then, with all the grace of a storm god filing taxes, he slammed the note back onto the desk.

The stack of ledgers shivered. A quill snapped in two.

Somewhere in the manor, a maid dove behind a curtain and began whispering a prayer.

And up in the tower, Lorraine daintily sipped her tea, watching the clouds roll by like she didn’t just commit mild administrative treason.

"I think I heard thunder," Lorraine mused aloud, teacup in hand.

Sylvia peeked through the window.

"That’s not thunder," she said grimly. "That’s the sound of a man realizing he’s actually expected to do his job."

She shot Lorraine a sideways glance.

"Should we... run?"

Lorraine only smiled—calm as a cat after knocking over a priceless vase and watching it shatter in slow motion.

What will the mad Leroy do? What could he do?

Sylvia’s eyes drifted back toward the tower window, where sunlight glinted off the manor’s rooftops.

"...Is it really fine? Leaving that much gold in the prince’s hands?" she asked, her voice laced with the kind of concern only a woman raised near politics and poison could master.

Lorraine tilted her head, gaze distant as her lips pressed into a contemplative line.

"I kept the better half," she said at last. "Besides, transporting all of it would’ve been too risky. He can keep some."

The shrug that followed was elegant, offhanded, and completely deliberate.

To anyone else, it would have sounded like a woman conceding. But Sylvia knew her better. Underneath that calm exterior and well-rehearsed indifference, Lorraine had already laid out her moves like a queen on a bloodstained chessboard.

The Grand Duke—her father—had been weakened. That was no accident. His power, once the only real leash keeping Leroy alive and protected, was unraveling. And without that, Leroy had no safety net. He needed something else to survive.

What power is worth more than titles or threats?

Gold.

Enough gold to buy loyalty. To barter favor. To raise fists and armies and kings. Enough gold to ensure that even if the throne turned against him, there’d be someone—somewhere—who would stand for him.

If he was smart, he’d use it to carve out a power of his own. If not... well, the jungle would swallow him whole.

Sylvia hated how Lorraine was still thinking about him.

That man had once dared to doubt her. Had believed she’d betray him with the steward, of all people. Sylvia’s fingers curled. She would never forgive that. Not out of pride. Not even for justice.

Only for loyalty.

Yes. Loyalty. That was all it was.

Sure, she was definitely not thinking about how complicated her own feelings were toward a certain "steward." No. That was nothing. A fleeting annoyance. A weathered footnote in the diary of a loyal handmaiden.

It was just that she cared about Lorraine. That was why she was furious.

That was why she kept glaring out the window, as if she could melt the prince from afar.

Yes. That was the only reason.

Right?

Right.

Lorraine heard Aldric’s hesitant knock, a sound like guilt wrapped in politeness.