CHAPTER 53: HIS DEFIANCE TO PROTECT

Lorraine saw the blade coming.

It gleamed cold and steady, already slicing through the air toward her face. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t think. Her body had moved before her mind caught up, stepping between the dagger and Leroy’s braid, ready to take the hit.

She knew what it meant. That blade would mark her, either cutting deep or possibly kill her, but she didn’t care. Her legs moved with conviction. Because no one, not even this wretched King, had the right to touch that braid. That braid didn’t just belong to Leroy. That was her braid too. She loved that braid on him.

Then...

She felt a sharp tug on her waist. A hard yank.

Leroy.

He pulled her back just in time.

The dagger halted a breath away from her face, its tip biting into the skin above her brow. A thin line of blood beaded and trickled down, catching on her eyebrow like a red tear. Her knees slammed onto the dirty wooden floor. Her heart thundered in her chest. If Leroy hadn’t moved when he did, she would’ve taken that blade full on.

Her breath stuttered as she looked up, at the man who had nearly disfigured her, the one who still held a dagger over his own son’s head like it was a birthright. But before she could burn him with her gaze, he pulled away.

A new presence stepped forward.

She hadn’t been introduced to this man, but she’d felt his looming weight in the room since the moment she walked in. A mountain of muscle, cloaked in arrogance and the thrill of violence. He reminded of the "best" of her eunuchs who grew up in violence and found a twisted pleasure in making others writhe in pain.

Her eunuchs wouldn’t have the guts to look at her but this man did. His eyes gleamed with unhinged amusement. His lip curled with disdain.

"You dare interrupt our King, bitch?" he spat.

Lorraine bowed her head.

She clenched her jaw, tasting iron and restraint. She’d done it now. She’d overstepped. Even her own father would’ve stripped the skin off her back with his belt if he were here. This family? They’d likely enjoy it.

She could deploy her poison, create a distraction... something to avoid it. But she needed to accept it to stroke the ego of that heartless king. Otherwise, Leroy would pay for it. It appeared that already that king favored his adopted son more than his blood. She wouldn’t be the reason her husband lost his birthright.

She didn’t expect Leroy to interfere. He shouldn’t.

They were in the presence of Kaltharion King. Even if they were a vassal state, he still was Leroy’s King. His father. Lorraine was just a wife in name, believed to be mute, deaf, and dispensable. Even if she were beaten half to death in the King’s name, no one would stop it.

Not her father. Certainly not Leroy.

This was the same man who once stood by while Cassian’s eyes had raked her body like she was for sale, and when his hands made her skin crawl. That Leroy wouldn’t move. That Leroy wouldn’t dare lift a hand.

So, she braced.

It had been a while since she was hit, but her body remembered pain well. She knew how to survive it.

She shut her eyes. And waited.

Then...

*CRACK*

Not pain.

Something else.

Warmth.

A solid weight pressed behind her. A wall of heat wrapped around her waist, anchoring her. Her eyes flew open in shock as her back collided with Leroy’s chest.

He was... holding her?

She blinked, stunned.

In front of her, the madman’s face contorted in agony, and she saw his forearm... Mangled... Hanging limply like a broken puppet. Bones snapped at odd angles. He staggered backward.

Lorraine’s gaze followed the arm that had stopped the blow.

Leroy’s.

His forearm was outstretched, taut like steel, shielding her face.

She froze. Her eyes widened.

The man had struck with enough force to shatter a grown warrior’s bones. If that hit had landed on her, she would’ve died. Definitely.

Everyone had stilled. The tavern was breathless. No one moved. No one spoke. Not even the King. Shock rippled through the room like an unseen storm.

But Lorraine... she could only feel Leroy. The thrum of his heart behind her back. The curl of his fingers at her waist, firm, anchoring. The heat of him soaking through her spine.

He protected her.

He had stepped in and stood against his father. Against the throne. Against Kaltharion.

Why?

Was it for her?

Her heart wanted to believe so. But her mind was alert. No, it was for diplomacy. It was for her father’s sake, and for her Kingdom’s sake, and not hers.

But even that couldn’t explain the fire in her chest and the trembling rage she saw in his clenched jaw. There was a quiet defiance in his stance.

Leroy had defied his father.

For her.

She looked at his face, serene, but no longer submissive. The corner of his lips was twitching. That same boy who once knelt to take lashes now stood like an immovable wall; his braid still intact, his silence no longer passive.

The King looked at his son as if seeing him for the first time, his face twisted in disbelief.

And Lorraine understood.

This moment... was a fracture.

The bond between father and son... whatever kept Leroy compliant, quiet, bowed, was cracking. Snapping. Broken the moment he had chosen to protect his wife.

Lorraine’s blood surged.

Yes, things would change now. They had to.

But in that split second, with her forehead bleeding and her husband’s arm around her, all she could think was: Finally.Leroy stood up.

And for the first time, she was glad he did.

But first...

Her hand reached for his arm. It wasn’t a conscious choice. Just instinct. Concern.

If that beast of a man’s hand was shattered on impact, then Leroy’s arm, though it had withstood the blow, must have taken damage too. It had to be hurting. Maybe even broken beneath that composed, expressionless shell.

But the moment Leroy looked at her, something shifted.

The strange, disarming softness she’d glimpsed in the moment his arms had shielded her, that warmth from his face, was gone.

What replaced it was a storm. A cocktail of fury, confusion... and fear.

He looked at her like she was the threat. That it was all her fault. Maybe it was. Had she behaved in the way she should have, this wouldn’t have happened.

His voice cracked through the silence like a whip:

"Get out!"

She flinched, not from fear, but from the finality in his voice.