Chapter 65: Candlelight Whispers - Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride - NovelsTime

Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride

Chapter 65: Candlelight Whispers

Author: Golda
updatedAt: 2025-08-22

CHAPTER 65: CANDLELIGHT WHISPERS

The rhythm built, gentle at first, then wild with a desperation they both tried and failed to hide. His hips met hers in steady, urgent strokes, his breath hot against her ear. She answered him with broken moans, soft and trembling, echoing in the stillness like confessions.

He was everywhere—above her, around her, inside her. His mouth traced a fevered path along her shoulder, her collarbone, her jaw, her lips, her tongue... His hand gripped her thigh, anchoring her, while the other cradled the nape of her neck like a vow.

And Lorraine forgot everything as her fingernails dug into his back.

Her name.

Her lies.

Even her pain.

All that remained was him. The feel of him, the weight of him, the fire of him, igniting her from the inside out.

When the pleasure peaked, she cried out, her body arching into his, trembling and undone. He groaned a guttural, raw sound and collapsed over her as he followed, both of them shuddering, their bodies locking through the storm of release as he filled her insides.

They lay there after, tangled and breathless. The scent of sweat and skin wrapped around them, their heartbeats thundering in unison. His weight was heavy but grounding. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

And Lorraine, still pinned beneath him, smiled to herself—soft, wicked, and utterly content.

Her hand lifted, slipping into his damp hair. She threaded her fingers through the thick braid, feeling the strength of it, like a rope binding them together. As her fingers trailed down, they caught the emerald pin that held it in place. A slight tug, and it slipped free.

He didn’t notice. He was still lost, panting, spent, slick with sweat.

Let him believe it was lust. Let him think it was madness. Only she knew the truth.

That she was his and he was hers. And for now, that was enough.

They were one. Their marriage was consummated.

-----

Sylvia pressed her back to the wall in the rear chamber, her breath caught in her throat. She could hear everything.

She heard the cries, the groans...The unmistakable rhythm of two bodies colliding in fevered hunger.

That room was supposed to be soundproof. She knew it was. When she was in the backroom during divinations, not a whisper ever reached her ears. Not even the rustle of robes or the murmurs of prayer.

But now?

Now, every sound echoed like sin through the wooden panels.

She stood frozen. Her heart pounded, and worse, heat bloomed low in her belly. Her knees wobbled with the mortifying realization that she wasn’t just embarrassed... she was affected.

Of all the things she expected to happen... this hadn’t been on the list.

And she wasn’t alone in her stunned silence.

On the winding stairwell, Cedric stood halfway frozen, one foot suspended mid-step, the color drained from his face, and then returned in a fierce flush. He could hear it too. Not faintly. Not vaguely.

No, it was clear.

Explicit.

Indisputable.

He struggled with what to do. Run? Plug his ears? Throw himself into a wall and pray for blessed unconsciousness?

His whole life, he’d heard things about "what men and women did", but no one had ever sounded like that. The woman wasn’t screaming in pain, no... and the Prince—what in the blazes was he doing to summon that kind of reaction?

And for that long?

Was it normal? Was it even possible?

A deep horror settled in Cedric’s chest. A new kind of reverence (or was it fear?) for his liege bloomed in his thoughts. Was this why he needed so many women in his life? Was this... a royal trait? A cursed hunger?

His face burned. His palms sweated. He tried to descend the stairs, but the two guards remained by the front doors, looking as though they’d been carved from stone. They probably heard it too. Everyone probably did.

Resigned, Cedric sank onto a step and dropped his head into his hands. There was no escape.

The infernal noises went on and on. A never-ending storm of sinful cries and sounds no poor squire should ever be forced to overhear.

And then, after what felt like the passing of kingdoms, the noise finally... blessedly... stopped.

Silence fell. A thick, damp, and loaded silence.

Cedric blinked at the ceiling, relieved.

Sylvia stared at the wall and sighed.

Finally! It’s over!

-----

Lorraine felt proud.

As if she’d just claimed a throne made not of gold, but of skin and breath and power.

His body lay heavy on hers, almost crushing, yet comforting. It was getting harder to breathe, yes, but she didn’t care. She liked it. She liked feeling the rise and fall of his chest against hers. She liked the way his breath fanned across her collarbone, hot and damp, grounding her in the aftermath of pleasure.

She had never felt more alive.

"What do you want?" he asked again, voice low as he murmured against her skin.

Lorraine was still floating somewhere between the high heavens and the weight of earth. What more could she want?

"I..." she hummed, a satisfied purr curling in her throat as she rolled the emerald pin between her fingers. His

pin. Taken from his hair. Her prize. A symbol of conquest. She had the strongest warrior with all his muscles, lying bare and defenseless on top of her, every wall dropped, every inch of him surrendered.

What more could she possibly achieve than that?

He pressed his ear to her chest, as if committing the rhythm of her heart to memory.

And she smiled, sly and soft. "What can you give me?" she asked, fingers lazily tracing down the line of his spine.

His hand, the one that had been gripping her shoulder, loosened and slid down her arm with slow reverence. "Anything," he whispered. His hand curved around her breast, cradling it like something sacred. "Anything you want."

Lorraine blinked at the ceiling, dazed and amused all at once.

So this was what the courtesans meant by candlelight whispers.

They had often talked, in low tones and winks, of the moment after—the sacred lull between climax and reason, when a man was pliant, weak, and drunk on skin. When a woman could bend him to her will with a mere sigh, and he’d give her anything just to hear her moan again.

Lorraine had never understood that phrase before.

But now? Now she knew.

It was so easy to manipulate a man when he was sated, when his hunger had been devoured and left him aching only for softness.

And yet...

He shifted.

His fingers twirled teasingly around her nipple, coaxing a sharp gasp from her lips. Then he dipped lower, warm mouth catching the other peak, tongue swirling around it in a slow, sinful rhythm.

His wet hair clung to her skin, tickling her neck. She arched into him, another moan slipping free.

Her fingers fumbled. The pin nearly dropped.

Maybe she wasn’t the one in control after all.

Because at this moment, with her body still trembling and his mouth teasing her into another spiral of heat, she wasn’t sure who was manipulating whom.

And honestly?

She didn’t care.

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