CHAPTER 247: HIS PEACE

Lorraine’s lips curved into a half-smile, half-secret. "Same place I found the gold," she said, her tone playful, but her eyes watched him carefully.

He blinked. "You... you really found the gold in the tunnels?" Until now, he had thought her claim was little more than a fable.

She shrugged with a faint smirk. "There’s still some left. What you’ve seen in this house is not all the gold we have... and have you secured all the gold?" she asked. That one was pretty important.

For a moment, silence. Then Leroy laughed softly under his breath, though his eyes still searched hers for the truth beneath her teasing tone.

She hadn’t told him everything, of course. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to guilt him about his lineage and what was expected of him, when he wanted to leave.

She did not want to talk about how the path to those tunnels opened only for her and that the ancient traps and doors, sealed for two centuries, seemed to recognize her.

And he didn’t know that he, too, had walked through a door no one else had seen. The way he’d reached her in the dungeons that night was not through any known path. The earth itself had shifted for him.

Those tunnels... they were older than the empire. Older than any crown or prophecy. They pulsed with something alive, something waiting. Perhaps it was connected to the blood that ran through him, the blood of dragons long thought dead.

"It’s safe," Lorraine said softly, watching his expression ease just a little.

He looked at her—his wife, his anchor, his world—and he knew she was lying about at least half of it. But he let her.

Because in her lie, there was love.

And love, to him, was reason enough.

He didn’t want to know. Not about the tunnels, nor the gold, nor the ash that still whispered of dragons. Not about the lineage that haunted his blood. Because deep down, beneath all his denial, he knew.

He was one of them.

And that truth, whatever power or curse it held, terrified him.

He didn’t care who he was. Not the blood he hailed from, not the crown that was stolen from his ancestors, not the destiny others would force upon his shoulders. He truly didn’t care.

His only focus was her.

His love.

The woman who stayed beside him through every storm, every humiliation, the one who looked at him not as a broken prince or a symbol of a fallen house, but simply as Leroy. The one who loved him no matter what.

The rest...be damned.

Lorraine placed the small pouch in his hand, her fingers brushing his as she passed it. For a brief second, it felt like she was handing him something alive. He looked down, curious despite himself. The ash inside shimmered faintly under the morning light, dull gray flecks breathing like the slow beat of a sleeping heart.

He opened the pouch and peered closer. The ash felt heavier than its size should allow, dense as if it carried the weight of centuries. When he touched it, a pulse ran through his fingertips—a throb, faint but deliberate, like the echo of something that remembered being alive.

He drew back slightly, a chill crawling up his arm. That wasn’t just dust. There was something in it.

Something that knew.

A part of him wanted to drop it then and there. Another part, something old and buried, stirred. It felt like standing at the edge of a memory not his own, where a great fire once breathed and wings split the sky. He could almost hear it: a heartbeat beneath the earth, ancient and waiting.

He shut the pouch. Tight. He didn’t want to deal with it. Not now. Not ever.

All he wanted was her. The one person who made sense in a world that never did.

He wanted to take her and go somewhere far away... somewhere quiet, somewhere no one would find them. A place where he could build his own destiny, brick by brick, with his own hands. Where he could protect her, keep her safe in his arms, where no god, no prophecy, no dragon could reach them.

The kingdom be damned. The crowns, the wars, the endless whispers of bloodlines and destinies... be damned.

He didn’t care about the throne or the name history would carve into stone. He cared only for the woman in front of him, the one who smiled at him like he was something worth trusting.

He brushed his thumb over the pouch once more before giving it back to her, as though by returning it, he could silence the ancient truth sleeping within.

As for the thing growing in her belly... he glanced briefly at her, his chest tightening with something fierce and unspoken. That too, he would handle when the time came.

For now, she was here, warm and alive in his arms. And that was all that mattered.

Because if the world burned tomorrow, he would hold her amid the ashes and still call it peace.

-----

The emperor sat upon his gilded throne, bathed in the pale morning light that filtered through the great stained windows of the hall. The golden lions carved into the armrests gleamed like molten fire, mirroring the quiet satisfaction in his eyes. Today was the day. Today, he would end his greatest enemy — once and for all.

Lord Morrathen stood there, with a smile on his foxy face. The courtiers who filled the chamber felt it too: the air thrummed with expectation, with the promise of finality.

He could already taste victory, sweet as old wine. His advisors stood poised, documents and seals ready, waiting for his command to begin the session. The great doors were about to open, the morning agenda to be presented... when suddenly, the hush of the ceremony was shattered.

A breathless messenger stumbled into the hall, his cloak heavy with travel dust, his boots still wet from the road. All eyes turned as he sank to one knee before the throne.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice trembling, "a letter from Kaltharion."

The emperor’s smile faltered. Kaltharion? At this hour?

The messenger rose and extended the sealed parchment with both hands. It was marked not with the bear of Kaltharion.

The hall fell silent. The emperor took the letter, the seal cold beneath his thumb.

For the first time that morning, the fire in his chest dimmed, replaced by a slow, creeping unease.

What was in this letter?