CHAPTER 129: HER REVENGE

Lorraine sat in the chair, chin resting on her hand, watching her father being beaten to the ground with proper glee. Her men in black offered her fruit and water, but she was in no mood to eat. She drank his pain instead.

Of course, his screams grew hoarse, and when he fainted, it wasn’t fun anymore.

When Hadrian stirred awake, she leaned forward like a child awaiting her favorite puppet show.

"Do you see her? Your precious little jewel?" she asked.

Hadrian’s lips cracked as he forced out words. "Let her go..." His voice was nothing but sand and blood.

Lorraine shrugged, as if it were obvious. "Why? She’s the best part. Don’t you think? She entertains me."

"Why are you doing this?" He had asked a hundred times. At first, he spat curses, then threats, then bargains. Now, all that remained was begging.

When she was little, when he broke her again and again, she had learned not to beg too soon. She had clenched her teeth and swallowed the screams until they rotted in her chest. This man, however, had no such strength.

He deserved to be broken.

"I’m teaching Elyse strength. Teaching her the fortitude you never gave her. Don’t you want her to learn to face adversaries and rise above?" Lazira’s voice purred like venom. "You should be thanking me. Thank me, Hadrian. Don’t just cry like a scared little boy..."

"No!" Hadrian sobbed.

At her signal, the whip cracked again across Elyse’s back. The woman’s voice tore through the dungeon.

A noose dangled in the corner of her cell. The ropes swayed slowly, taunting. She wasn’t tied anymore.

"Elyse, darling..." Lorraine’s voice curled, sugar-coated poison. "You can be free if you want to. Just climb up and end it. Simple."

"Don’t!" Hadrian gasped. He sobbed so hard his body shook against the chains. "Don’t do this. Please..." he cried. "She has two young sons. She’s all they have left. Don’t do this..."

Lorraine’s eyes hardened. Was this the same man who made plans to kill the wife who shared his bed along with his daughter? Didn’t she have a young son who was still nursing when he killed her? It was fine to kill his wife, but his favorite daughter couldn’t be killed because she was a mother to "young" sons?

"I’ll give you anything you want," Hadrian said. "Ask me... ask me anything..."

Lorraine smirked behind the mask. "You can never give me what I want."

He could never return the childhood he shattered. Never give her back her ability to trust. And more than anything... he could never breathe life into the mother he took from her.

Her gaze cut to Elyse, writhing, pitiful as ever. Memories surfaced sharp as glass.

That one time, Elyse stood weeping on the stairs with fabricated tears, whispering to their Father that it was Lorraine who had broken the vase but the governess had punished her instead, asking her to read ten entire pages out of a book. Lorraine was beaten until her hands blistered.

Another time, Elyse "accidentally" wandered into Lorraine’s chamber and stole the bracelet their mother left her. Lorraine tried to get it back, but Elyse then cried to their father that Lorraine had struck her when she wanted to look at it. Again, more punishments.

There were many such incidents. Another time, Elyse feigned innocence when their Father punished Lorraine for sneaking sweets from the kitchen, when it had been Elyse’s sticky fingers. Lorraine was never allowed into the kitchen, and her father knew it. But still he punished her to console Elyse.

And worst of all... Elyse had stolen what was dearest. The one gentle thing Lorraine thought she might claim for herself. Leroy.

Her husband. Her first and only love.

With her lies, Elyse had stolen the heart of the man Lorraine had been forced to marry. She could never forgive her for that.

-----

Another night bled into morning, and still Lorraine was nowhere to be found.

Leroy moved like a shadow through the city, his hair damp with mist, his boots heavy with dust. His map was torn at the edges, blackened with inked circles and crossed-out streets, each one a dead end, each one a reminder of failure. His jaw clenched tighter with every mark.

Aldric found him hunched over the desk, his eyes fever-bright, tracing and retracing lines like a commander charting a hopeless war.

"Take a bath. Eat something," Aldric urged quietly. "You won’t find her if you collapse first."

But Leroy didn’t lift his head. Didn’t blink. The quill snapped in his fingers, and still he scribbled with the broken nib until the paper tore. Then his gaze froze. A sharp breath escaped him. He pressed his palm flat against one spot on the map, as if claiming it by force. His eyes widened, and his fever turned to fire. Without a word, he shoved the chair back and vanished into the tunnels like a man possessed.

Aldric’s shoulders sagged. He followed into the hall, only to be stopped by Sylvia. She, too, bore the same shadows under her eyes; the same desperation. Her skirts were dirt-stained from running through the tunnels, her hair clinging to her face.

Without a word, she turned, leading him to their secret corner beneath the stairs. The shadows there swallowed them whole, safe from wandering eyes.

When Aldric reached her, he didn’t hesitate. His hand gripped her waist, pulling her close, pressing her against the warm wood panel. His lips hovered near hers, hungry for relief from the storm raging around them.

But Sylvia’s hand rose firmly to his chest, halting him. Her breath was unsteady, her eyes sharp. She held him back with just her palm, the weight of her silence heavier than the stone pressing against their backs.

For a long moment, Aldric stayed there, his chest heaving beneath her hand, his disappointment carved in his furrowed brow. And then, quietly, almost fearfully, Sylvia’s lips parted as if to finally confront him.

"What is it?" he asked, his smile boyish, almost teasing.

"You’re the Dowager’s puppet, aren’t you?" Sylvia’s words cut sharper than she intended.

Aldric’s smile faltered. He tilted his head, studying her, searching. Sylvia didn’t falter. She stacked her questions.

"How much does she know? Does the Dowager know who she is? Does she know the princess is missing? And you... How do you know who the Princess is and what she does? Were you following her? Was it on the dowager’s orders? What’s your agenda? Answer me."

Her voice trembled with urgency, but her gaze didn’t waver.