Bathed in the golden flicker of oil lamps, that woman stood.
Without her armor, she was transformed and looked younger, softer, yet no less arresting. Her olive skin glowed under the light, and her dark hair, free of the morning's fiery glint, tumbled over her shoulders. The gown she wore clung to her lithe frame, its cut daringly modern. Her brown eyes, a rarity in Vaeloria's sea of blues and grays, sparkled with a boldness that made Lorraine's chest tighten.
A jolt of recognition hit her. The woman's sharp cheekbones and confident gaze mirrored Elyse, her half-sister, save for the skin tone. Lorraine's breath hitched. Was this why Leroy had chosen her? Did he see in her the same vibrant allure of his first love that had always eclipsed Lorraine in her father's house?
She pushed the thought aside, clinging to reason. Nothing was certain. Not yet.
The woman dipped into a curtsey, simple and unpolished. "I'm Zara Velthryn from Sarrathia," she said, her voice clear, her brown eyes catching the lamplight.
Sir Aldric emerged behind her, his broad frame filling the hallway. Lorraine caught the deep sigh he let out, a sound weighted with unspoken weariness.
Sarrathia. The name sparked a memory. Lorraine recalled tales of the small, defiant realm Vaelorian forces had subdued three years ago under Leroy's command. A land of rugged hills and fierce warriors, Sarrathia trained its women as fighters, which explained Zara's armored presence in the parade. It also aligned with the whispers that had plagued Lorraine for years: rumors of Leroy taking a mistress during those campaigns.
But if Zara came from a warrior clan, perhaps her place at Leroy's side was earned through prowess, not intimacy. Lorraine clung to that frail hope, fighting the dread coiling in her gut.
"I'm nineteen," Zara added, pulling Lorraine from her thoughts.
Lorraine blinked, her brows knitting in confusion. Why mention her age? Unless…
"Oh, right!" Zara clapped her hands against her skirt, her voice loud and brash. A playful smile lit her face, making her look even younger. "I heard you can't hear!"
Lorraine's throat tightened. Behind her, Emma stiffened, her hands twitching as if to lunge at the insolent woman. Sylvia, ever composed, grabbed Emma's arm, her gaze flicking to Sir Aldric's tense form.
"Sign my name to her," Zara ordered Sir Aldric, her tone blunt, stripped of the respect due a man of his rank. Even Leroy, stoic as he was, honored Sir Aldric as a friend and elder. Zara's disregard grated against the air.
Before Sir Aldric could respond, a young man in a squire's ceremonial robe pushed past him. He seized Zara's arm, pulling her down to kneel beside him. "I apologize on Zara's behalf," he said, his head bowed low. "She's spent too long on battlefields and hasn't yet grasped Vaelorian customs."
Lorraine's eyes settled on the young man's steel-blue gaze, his neatly cropped brown hair brushed back. Recognition clicked.
Cedric Thaloryn, Leroy's squire.
Five years ago, when Leroy left for war, the lesser house of Thaloryn was fiercely loyal to the Vaelorian crown. This loyalty made Cedric a strategic choice as the squire to the hostage prince from Kaltharion. Back then, he appeared small and endearing, resembling a twelve-year-old even though he was actually fifteen. Five years have since passed, transforming him into a strikingly handsome young man.
She doubted his loyalty to Leroy, but his survival at Leroy's side spoke of trust—deep, unshakable trust.
But as Cedric knelt, his deference to Zara twisted something inside Lorraine. Did it confirm the rumors? Was she truly Leroy's mistress? The thought squeezed her heart, sharp and unrelenting.
Emma stepped forward, her hands moving swiftly to sign everything that had transpired. Lorraine kept her face a mask, though her pulse thundered. Through the corner of her eye, she watched Zara fidget, resisting the kneel like a soldier unbowed by rank. Cedric, still on one knee, let out a resigned sigh as Zara rose abruptly.
"That's a rather elaborate attire for bed, isn't it, Milady?" Zara's voice sliced through the silence, casual and cutting.
Emma's hands froze mid-sign, her glare venomous. Lorraine's heart sank. For bed? The words struck like a slap. Was she excluded from the gala? Had Leroy sent this woman to deliver the insult?
Zara, oblivious to the turmoil she'd sparked, turned to Cedric. "Do women in Vaeloria go to bed in ball gowns?" she asked, her tone genuinely curious.
Sylvia, who rarely spoke, stepped forward, her voice icy. "State your business here, Lady Zara."
"Lady?" Zara chuckled, waving a hand. "No need for ceremony. I find all this pomp vain. Just call me Zara." Her smile was bright, almost innocent, and for a fleeting moment, Lorraine saw a younger Elyse, that carefree girl, untouched by the world's weight.
The resemblance stabbed deeper.
"Your business?" Sylvia pressed, her patience thinning.
Zara's smile widened, her brown eyes narrowing with mischief. "Leroy said the lady could lend me jewelry for the gala tonight." She turned to Lorraine, her gaze gleaming. "I want to look good for my first gala with him."
Lorraine's hands clenched her skirt, hiding the tremor that betrayed her. Leroy. She called him by his name, his given name, without title or distance. Even Lorraine, his wife, hesitated to use it so freely, bound by respect and decorum.
The intimacy of it sliced through her, raw and merciless.
Sylvia signed Zara's words with cold precision, while Emma's face flushed with rage, her hand twitching as if to strike. She tried to stop Sylvia from signing, as she had forgotten that Lorraine would've already heard everything.
Sir Aldric's expression darkened, his fists tightening at his sides. Even Cedric bowed his head, as if bracing for the fallout.
Lorraine stood rooted, her world fracturing. This was how Leroy chose to wound her, in her own home, through a woman who mocked her station and flaunted her closeness to him.
Zara's voice, still light, cut through the silence. "Be merciful, Lady Silent Crown. Don't curse me or anything." She laughed, as if the notion were a jest.
The room stilled. Sir Aldric's knuckles whitened, and Emma's eyes blazed with fury. Sylvia's hands faltered mid-sign, her composure slipping.
Lorraine's heart shattered. Lady Silent Crown. A deliberate taunt, twisting the cruel nickname the court whispered behind her back. And Leroy had orchestrated this by sending Zara to strip her of pride, to remind her she was replaceable.
Her fingers tightened on her skirt, the fabric crumpling under her grip. She was broken, her dignity fraying at the edges. Yet beneath the pain, a flicker stirred, quiet and defiant.
She would not let this be the end. Not yet.