CHAPTER 127: ANYTHING FOR HER

"What did he say?" Gaston asked, his chest heaving so violently he could barely form the words.

Lucia only shook her head.

"I cannot... receive treatment?" His voice rasped out in a raw whisper. His eyes, glassy and ringed with purplish hollows, still clung stubbornly to life, burning with a desperate, fevered will.

Lucia’s jaw tightened. She had watched the wasting fever consume him overnight, his sheets drenched with sweat by dusk, violent chills by dawn, the hacking cough that painted his lips with flecks of red. His breath carried the sour tang of iron and rot.

The physician had been baffled. The illness should not have advanced so quickly. One day of weakness, and already it had ravaged his lungs. His body’s strength, once formidable, had simply crumbled. Perhaps it was the crowd he insisted on mingling with yesterday. Perhaps something far worse.

"You shouldn’t have done it, fool," she hissed between clenched teeth. "You shouldn’t have gone among them. And now..." Her voice faltered. "He most probably knows you tried to kill him and doesn’t want to help. You didn’t listen to me and have ruined everything."

Gaston closed his eyes, too weak to keep them open. The tremor in his chest made him look like a man already straddling the grave.

"Help me..." he whispered.

Lucia bent closer, forcing steadiness into her tone. "I’ve heard the sea air can heal such sickness. We’ll put you on a ship. You’ll live by the shore until you’re strong again."

Tears leaked from his eyes. He knew the truth: no crew would sail with a dying prince. The sea would not cure him—it would only offer him a place to wait for death.

"I wanted the throne... but now..." His voice cracked, breaking off into silence. His chest shuddered. "I don’t even have a son..."

Lucia’s eyes stung as she clasped his frail hand. "Stay strong, Brother. You’ll sit on the throne."

His breathing slowed. Sleep dragged him under.

Lucia watched him, her lips pressed thin. Poison—she could not shake the thought. No man so strong yesterday should collapse into ruin in a single night.

Her eyes hardened. If this was poison, then someone had already moved against them.

Hadrian.

The name rose unbidden, sharp as a blade. She had heard the whispers—every man involved in Gaston’s schemes was to be silenced. Hadrian was thorough, ruthless. Would he have gone further still, reaching for Gaston himself?

Fury swelled in her chest, though she forced it down. Fool. Why had Gaston ever trusted Hadrian, knowing full well the man loathed him? What madness had driven him to seek an ally in an enemy’s den? And now... now her brother lay broken, while the family bore the weight of his folly.

Lucia turned from the sickroom, her steps carrying her down the silent corridor until she found her mother weeping, face buried in trembling hands. Her father stood nearby, pale and rigid, a man hollowed by the fear of losing everything he ever valued.

For a moment, the sight cut through her fury. Then she straightened her back. Someone in this house had to remain unshaken.

If Gaston faltered, if their father crumbled, then it fell to her. She would hold the family together, no matter what it cost.

------

Leroy walked out, his heart weighed down by thoughts of his missing wife. Hours had passed since she vanished, and the questions gnawed at him. Was she eating? Had she slept at all last night? Was she safe?

That was when he felt the prickling heat of a gaze. He turned, his lips curling when he saw who it was.

Prince Damian.

What does he want now?

Leroy slipped into a narrow alley, seeking privacy. As much as pride recoiled at the thought of asking Damian about her, some raw and desperate part of him wondered if Damian knew where Lorraine was.

"So," Damian began lightly, "how did you like my gift this morning?"

"I know it was the Dowager, not you," Leroy scoffed. The Dowager’s motives were murky, but she had been the one to shield him from the Emperor’s wrath, not Damian.

Damian’s lips quirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You’re no fun."

"What do you want?" Leroy asked, his patience thinning. His wife was missing and he had no time for games.

Damian held out a folded parchment.

Leroy opened it. A map. A single location marked in ink.

"This is where Hadrian is keeping her," Damian said. "The woman she’s interested in."

Leroy’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know what this was. It hurt him that Damian knew more about his wife’s affairs than he ever did. He had a lot of questions. But he bit back the questions.

"Why give this to me?" he asked instead. Did Damian search for her himself and fail?

"I was going to find her," Damian said with a shrug, sunlight catching in his hazel eyes. "But I saw you first. So..."

For once, Damian looked almost sincere.

Leroy said nothing. He turned to go.

"I’m staying away from her, you know," Damian called after him, his tone light but his eyes shadowed. "I don’t want to confuse her heart. I’m doing you a favor."

Leroy glanced back, raising a brow. "As if," he muttered. Lorraine loved him. No one could sway her heart.

News soon reached him that Lysander had returned. As Leroy went to meet him, his mind spun.

Gaston was sick, deathly so, if Lucia’s panic was any measure. The "accident" yesterday... could it have been Gaston’s doing?

Was Lorraine caught in the backlash of her own retaliation?

But then, was Gaston clever enough to outwit her and her network of allies? Or had Hadrian’s hand already moved in the shadows?

Lysander brought Leroy into a private chamber, shutting the door behind them. He poured tea, set out a plate of snacks, and pushed it across the table. For a moment, Leroy looked almost startled. Even his own sister hadn’t offered him tea.

Leroy wasted no time. "What did you tell her yesterday?"

Lysander let out a weary sigh. "I thought you’d be asking about my father." His expression darkened. "And now Elyse is gone. Vanished from her chambers as if she dissolved into the air. No witnesses, no trace."

Leroy’s brows knitted.

"How is Lorraine?" Lysander asked carefully. The silence that followed told him enough. His eyes softened. "She tried to be brave, but I know it must have been unbearable. If someone is moving against our family..." He hesitated. "Keep her safe."

Leroy’s gaze sharpened. "What should have been hard on her?"

"She didn’t tell you?" Lysander rose to his feet.

Leroy caught his arm, grip iron-strong. "What did you tell her?" His voice was low, dangerous. On the night of the ball, Lysander had told him not to bully Lorraine—that she was not alone, that she had her brother. Now, something he said had sent her running. Leroy had to know.

Lysander studied him. "And if I do tell you? What then?"

"Anything," Leroy said without hesitation, his voice trembling. "I’ll do anything to heal her heart."

He just wanted her back.