CHAPTER 115: BLAMELESS

Before Sylvia could even lunge forward, Aldric’s arm snaked around her waist, dragging her back with brutal efficiency. She tried to scream, but his hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound. Sylvia kicked and thrashed, but his grip only tightened, unyielding as iron.

Aldric’s gaze flicked to Elias. One glance was enough. Elias stepped forward, placing himself at Emma’s side like a silent wall, barring her from any rash movement. He knew. They both did. These two women might love their lady enough to throw themselves into the fire for her, but they were forgetting one truth: the prince was still master of this manor. What he decreed was law. And that order must be maintained.

Leroy walked past them, his golden mask hiding every trace of his face, his stride measured, deliberate. Zara’s hand reached toward him, trembling but triumphant, like a queen about to be crowned.

He stopped before her. In his palm lay a small vial of the antidote and a slip of parchment. He placed them in her hand. "Once you’re healed," his voice was low, distant, "you’ll leave this manor—with Cedric."

Cedric’s eyes widened. The prince was throwing them out? He snatched the antidote carefully from Zara’s weak fingers, afraid the vial might shatter. Deep in his heart, however, there was a small sprig of hope sprouting. Maybe... Zara would look at him now.

Sylvia stilled in Aldric’s grip. Even Emma froze, eyes darting between Cedric and Zara in disbelief. Only Aldric smirked as he slowly released Sylvia, victory glinting in his eyes.

Of course, Leroy would side with his wife, always.

"Leave? Me?" Zara’s voice cracked. She had been floating in a dream, certain she had won him back. Even the pain she endured meant nothing if she got Leroy for herself. But now... the ground vanished beneath her feet. "Why should I leave?"

Leroy said nothing. The mask hid his expression, but silence was sharper than any blade.

Zara swayed, reaching for him, tears streaking her face. Cedric caught her before she could fall, wrapping her in his arms. She clung to him for balance, yet her eyes never left Leroy. Cedric’s chest tightened. Even now, even here, she still reached for the man who cast her aside.

But her voice rose, desperate, defiant. "Will you throw her out too? She has confessed to poisoning me! If you punish me so cruelly, what punishment will you give her?"

For the first time, Leroy’s lips moved. Beneath the mask, they curled into a smirk.

"Tell me, then—why would my wife poison you?"

Zara froze. Her face twisted. Her eyes darted to the side, unable to hold his gaze. That flinch told him more than words ever could.

The maid had not lied. Zara had been slithering into Lorraine’s mind, whispering poison long before this vial ever touched her lips.

Lorraine was foolish to believe her, yes. But Leroy knew too well how cruel this kingdom was to its women. Lorraine had nothing legally. No land. No coin. Not even her name was hers, as it belonged to him. Born into abandonment, raised in oppression, she had always been powerless. So she clutched at confidence wherever she found it, even if it came from the venomous tongue of her rival.

He understood. That stupid little mouseling had believed Zara’s certainty because she had none of her own.

And yes, Lorraine had every right to kill Zara if the woman had hounded her with claims of being his mistress. By the gods, she should have poisoned him too, if she truly thought he was faithless. Adultery might not exist for men under Vaeloria’s laws, but Lorraine owed no allegiance to Vaeloria’s laws.

What he could not forgive, what still made his blood burn, was that she dared to think him capable of such betrayal. That she saw him as the kind of beast who would keep a mistress, discard her trust, and trample those loyal to her—all while demanding her devotion.

And worst of all... she trembled beneath his nearness, as though he were a threat. As though his hands—hands that had only ever reached for her—might strike her down.

He would never be that man. Yet she did not know it. Her not knowing it carved deeper into him than any blade could.

And though rage clawed at him, though hurt sat bitter in his chest, he would never blame her. Not once.

She was foolish. He was angry with her. But she was his little mouseling. He could never blame her for anything.

Emma noticed Zara go quiet, her tongue still at last. Relief brushed her, though faint and wary. Leroy wouldn’t take the princess’s side so quickly, would he? Or perhaps he would. Zara would be out of their lives soon enough. He wasn’t cruel enough. He should know the truth.

"She told her highness that she would kill her and take her bedchamber," Emma said carefully, her voice measured, her eyes on Leroy. She hoped, no, prayed, that he heard it this time.

Leroy’s body went rigid. His hand faltered for only a moment before he steadied it, but Emma saw the tension coil in him like a blade about to strike.

Zara... had said what?

She dared threaten Lorraine, his wife, under his roof? Of course, his wife was blameless, even though she doubted him.

"You wanted to be my woman," Leroy said at last, his voice low, almost wounded, "when I only took you in out of pity." His fingers closed over hers, not rough but firm, as though binding her to his words.

Zara’s tears spilled freely. To her, his grip felt tender, aching. A noble man—restrained, gentle even now, though his heart was pulled toward her. He was fighting for her. He must be. He only needed to see clearly. If she could explain, if she could peel the veil from his eyes, he would realize how wretched his wife was for him. What man would choose cold duty over a woman who loved him the most? What man wouldn’t crave the one who vowed to stand by him, whatever storm came?

"She’s not good for you, Leroy," Zara whispered, her voice trembling but sweet with conviction. "I want to protect you. To stand by your side. Listen to—"

Her words faltered. His hold on her fingers tightened, not tender now, but unyielding, as if her very bones were caught in his judgment. Zara lifted her gaze, seeking his eyes, desperate for reassurance.

"She’s not good for—"

The rest broke in a shriek.

A sound so raw, so piercing, it sent Sylvia clutching her skirts and Emma reeling back with a hand over her mouth. Even Cedric, holding Zara upright in her paralysis, flinched and nearly let her slip from his grasp.

Blood spattered the wooden floor, bright and terrible.