CHAPTER 84: EMMA’S SUGGESTION

In the pale light of morning, Emma stood behind Lorraine, running a brush through her hair while the princess sifted through a stack of secret missives.

"What is it, Your Highness?" Sylvia asked, catching the subtle shift in Lorraine’s expression.

Lorraine’s eyes stayed on the parchment. "Something happened at the Arvand mansion. My father killed all his guards in the dead of night. Someone broke in... and cut Elyse’s hair." Her voice faded, the words trailing like smoke.

Of course, her father would bury it beneath layers of silence and threats, but Lorraine’s network reached everywhere, especially into her father’s house.

"Who would have done such a thing?" Emma asked.

"No one saw anything. Elyse’s scream woke the entire manor. Father was furious and had every guard from that night executed. He’s certain they helped the intruder," Lorraine murmured, eyes lingering on the ink.

Why did she think of Leroy?

She didn’t know. The thought came as suddenly as a breath. Just as it had when Lord Cassian was hanged and fell to his death, she had wanted to believe Leroy was behind it.

But then, it had been Prince Damian.

"It’s the prince," Emma said, a spark of gossipy delight in her voice. "Think about it... Lady Elyse came here yesterday and ruined your portrait. I heard the prince was furious when Sir Al told him. It must be him. I’m sure of it."

"Emma!" Sylvia’s tone cut through the air, quelling the younger woman’s excitement. Her gaze flicked to Lorraine, who now sat still as stone, her face unreadable.

"We can’t know without proof of the prince’s whereabouts last night," Sylvia said calmly. "It could have been anyone... even Prince Damian."

The mention of Damian’s name snapped Lorraine from her reverie. She said nothing, though her thoughts churned.

If it were Damian, he would brag to her. Until then... Until she confirmed... she would let herself imagine it was Leroy.

A girl could dream, couldn’t she?

Lorraine opened the drawer and took out the emerald pin she had pulled from Leroy’s braid. She rolled it between her fingers, the cool metal doing little to steady the rush in her chest.

Sylvia pressed her lips together at the sight. Emma, on the other hand, practically vibrated with excitement. She knew the princess’s thoughts were drifting toward the prince. Sylvia didn’t approve. She hated seeing the princess tangled up in feelings for a man who doubted her, let alone one who didn’t deserve her devotion.

"Your Highness," Emma said, kneeling at Lorraine’s side, eyes bright.

Lorraine recognized that gleam instantly. The little maid had stumbled upon something she was dying to say. Lorraine could always refuse, but as always, the sparkle in those bluish-green eyes made it impossible to turn her away.

"You should lure the prince to your bed," Emma blurted.

Lorraine choked on her own breath.

"Emma!" Sylvia snapped, but the cheeky maid was unstoppable.

"The prince hasn’t slept in your bed for ages," Emma continued. "But you two are constantly sneaking off to the tower."

Lorraine swallowed. Every word was true, but where was Emma going with this? She hadn’t given it much thought. She was getting what she wanted, and that was enough.

"What if you fell pregnant?" Emma asked.

It was, Lorraine admitted, a valid concern. Still, she relaxed. She didn’t have to think about it because she’d be leaving in a few days. "It wouldn’t matter."

"But it does." Emma’s eyes widened.

"He wouldn’t know, anyway," Lorraine said without thinking, forgetting Emma wasn’t in on the escape plan.

"But he would know. Your belly will show! What will you say when he asks how you got pregnant?"

Lorraine opened her mouth, but Sylvia cut in smoothly. "The princess will hand over the pin and say the child belongs to the man it came from. Simple."

Only when Sylvia said it aloud did Lorraine realize the flaw, that she couldn’t tell Emma she was leaving, and Leroy would never know either way.

"But then you’d have to tell him about your other identities," Emma pressed, taking Lorraine’s hands. "He might even be angry you kept it from him. And... can you even tell him everything? Wouldn’t it cause bigger troubles?"

Lorraine studied her. Emma’s face was uncharacteristically serious; she had clearly thought this through. "What do you suggest?" she asked, just to give poor Emma some closure.

"You have to sleep with the prince in your bed at least once," Emma declared. "Then you wouldn’t have to tell him anything—no doubts, no questions."

Sylvia scoffed. That man was already full of doubts. He probably wouldn’t believe a woman could get pregnant from one night.

"I’m serious," Emma said, standing abruptly. She rushed to the dresser, rummaging until she pulled out a nightgown—sheer imported silk that would leave nothing to the imagination under candlelight, gold embroidery along the neckline designed to draw the eye exactly where it wanted to go.

"Oh, put it aside, Emma," Lorraine said, pushing it away. She’d bought it five years ago in a misguided attempt to seduce her husband. It hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t now.

Besides, she knew his tastes. He didn’t care for faces, only for something twisted and cruel. Unfortunately, in this mansion, she carried the aura of a blameless lamb, a useless fool. She was never his type.

Lorraine sighed.

After a bout of whispered arguments and Sylvia’s firm reasoning, the scandalous gown was shoved back into the darkest corner of Lorraine’s dresser, where it belonged.

Lorraine might have forgotten about it.

Emma hadn’t.

She had her own plans.

The hallway was quiet at this hour, evening light spilling in through the tall windows and pooling across the polished marble floor. Emma hugged a stack of folded linens to her chest, muttering to herself about what hairstyle might best suit the princess tonight.

The prince will visit her tonight.

A sly smile curved her lips. She’d already slipped into the prince’s chambers, swapped out his sheets for the princess’s, infused with her familiar scent, and even tucked one of the princess’s fragrance pouches beneath his pillow. By the time his head touched it, every breath he took would be Lorraine.

"You’re out late," a familiar, low voice called from the shadows at the far end of the corridor.

Emma jumped in fright.