CHAPTER 78: THE SLASH ACROSS HER SMILE

Elyse’s fingers tightened slightly on her teacup. Her smile wavered, just a fraction, as she looked to Zara, hoping for alliance, some response, some cue.

Zara stayed quiet.

Lorraine didn’t even shift in her seat.

And just as Elyse opened her mouth, likely to fill the silence with another passive-aggressive jab, Lorraine lifted her hands. Her movements were smooth and unhurried, like a queen who knew the battle was already hers.

Sylvia leaned in with perfect timing, her voice cool and measured as she translated: "Her Highness says she wasn’t aware the lady of the manor required invitations in her own home."

A flicker passed through Elyse’s expression, but she recovered quickly. "That might be... I came for Zara, of course. I wasn’t expecting... others."

Lorraine didn’t react.

Her eyes simply moved to Zara, then returned to Elyse.

Then, slowly, she uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the other way. A statement without words: Continue your performance, I’m watching.

Zara fidgeted with her sleeve. The past few days had been hell. She had a feeling the one they called "The Silent Crown" wasn’t a simple woman. She was scared of her. She couldn’t explain that fear, but she felt suffocated in this manor. The only reason she was still here was because of Leroy. She wanted to protect him from his cruel wife.

The numbness in her body was gradually improving thanks to the new medications prescribed by the royal physician. She knew she had to regain her strength first before taking on the Silent Crown. She had to kill her.

Elyse lifted her tea delicately. "Still, I’m glad you’re here. It gives us a chance to... understand each other. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of one another soon."

Lorraine’s eyes flicked down to the tea. Then back to Elyse.

She smiled wider.

Sylvia waited, but Lorraine didn’t raise a single finger to sign. Her silence was answer enough.

Elyse set her cup down. "I suppose silence is easier than saying something unwise."

Lorraine finally lifted her hands, and only then, slowly... she signed a few precise signs, elegant as calligraphy.

Sylvia translated: "It is better to be silent than to be needlessly loud and dangerously dull."

Zara made a small noise in her throat, quickly covered with a sip of tea.

Elyse leaned back, lashes lowering. "How... clever."

Lorraine offered a gracious nod, as if she’d just accepted a compliment instead of delivering an insult. Then she reached for her own cup, her movements languid and unhurried.

The drawing room suddenly felt a little colder.

Elyse recovered fast, as expected of someone seasoned in the duels of high society. She placed her teacup down with poised grace, as if Lorraine’s dig had never landed.

"I understand things can get... territorial. But I didn’t come here to quarrel."

She turned to Zara again, brushing a loose curl from the girl’s face. "I came to extend an invitation. The Ladies’ Society is hosting a tea party. You’re new here, you might not know, but only the most distinguished women of the court, of course, are invited. And as the Prince’s... dearest, I thought it was time Zara stepped into the light."

Her tone was warm. Her smile was radiant. And yet every word was a blade. Zara flushed, uncertain. Lorraine didn’t move.

Elyse continued, now turning her gaze with calculated sympathy. "You’ve never been invited, have you, Lorraine?" She spoke as if addressing a child she pitied.

Still, Lorraine didn’t sign. She didn’t flinch. But her jaw was clenched now, barely.

Elyse’s eyes sparkled with triumph. "I thought as much. Your status, of course. And the... reputation. I only asked for Zara today to spare you the embarrassment, dear. Imagine how cruel it would have seemed if you’d been ignored in your own home."

Lorraine’s lips curled at last, just a fraction, cold and deadly. Her hands lifted, but Sylvia didn’t get the chance to translate.

Elyse rose, effortlessly cutting her off with a curtsy so shallow it was more insult than farewell.

"Do take care of yourself, Lorraine," she said, voice honeyed. "Your silence suits you. Always has."

She turned on her heel before Lorraine could strike back, skirts swishing as she moved through the drawing room like a conquering queen.

But as she reached the grand staircase, something caught her eye.

It hung alone on the far wall of the great hall, the only painting ever commissioned of Lorraine and Leroy.

Painted in their first year of marriage. Lorraine had been sixteen then, her heart hopelessly his. She stood in the portrait with a tender smile, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with quiet adoration. A girl in love. A girl who believed love would be enough.

Beside her, Leroy stood tall, masked in gold, covering his brow, nose, and cheekbones, dapper in his regalia. Only his cool eyes and sharp jaw were visible. His braid, draped behind one ear, was rendered with careful attention. He hadn’t looked at her in the painting. Just as he hadn’t in life.

He looked regal. Distant. Beautiful.

It had been years since Lorraine had last looked at it. She only looked now because Elyse was standing before it.

Lorraine entered quietly, her footsteps muffled by the rug, and stopped a few paces beside her half-sister. The scent of jasmine and frost, Elyse’s signature, hung in the space between them.

Elyse tilted her head with a contemplative hum. "Oh... I’d forgotten how earnest you looked," she said, almost fondly. "There’s such wonder in your face. Just like on the day you were married. Like a little girl playing dress-up... thinking you were in love. Thinking you were enough for a prince."

She glanced over her shoulder. Her smile was a razor wrapped in silk. "You know, Lorraine... You had all this only because I gave it up. I threw it to you like scraps." A pause. A slow, knowing smile. "And now... I want it all back."

Lorraine didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her hands were balled in the folds of her sleeves, her breath thin.

What could she say? That Leroy loved her now? That Elyse didn’t matter anymore?

Elyse turned back to the painting, stepping closer. She reached out, fingertips trailing along the bottom of the frame with idle reverence.

Then, slowly, she raised one hand.

Her emerald ring caught the light. With one elegant flick, she dragged its sharp edge across the canvas.

A fine diagonal slash cut through Lorraine’s painted lips. Lorraine’s lips trembled.

Elyse gave a soft gasp, hand to her chest. "Oh...! How clumsy of me."

Then she turned, looked Lorraine in her eyes, and smiled, all innocent and sweet. "I suppose it was always too delicate," she murmured. "These old paintings... they don’t age well. So easy to ruin."

And with that, she left. No apology. No hesitation.

Lorraine remained rooted to the floor, staring at the girl she used to be... Still smiling. Still foolish. With a slash of silence across her lips.

And somewhere deep inside, something cracked.