CHAPTER 266: FOR HER...

Aldric’s heart fell. He knew this question would come. He had rehearsed a hundred ways to answer it, but now, standing before Lorraine, no words would come out.

When the emperor’s elite soldiers crashed through the stained glass outside the princess’s room, Aldric had felt that gut-wrenching pull in his chest. His sword clashed, his body fought, but his heart was elsewhere. With her. With Sylvia.

"Stay with Sylvia."

Lorraine’s command echoed in his ears.

But he hadn’t.

He was sworn to protect the Oracle. He had promised, on his ancestors’ graves, that her safety would come before all else. He had told himself he was doing the right thing by standing guard where duty demanded him. Even as half his soul was running down the corridors toward the woman he loved.

He had fought. He had won. But the victory had felt hollow. And then—something struck him.

Lorraine could see the future. She knew. If she had insisted he stay with Sylvia... there had been a reason.

He froze mid-swing. The realization hit like a blade through the ribs.

Then he ran. This time, his guilt and his need to fufil his duty all vanished. After all, he was obeying the oracle.

He ran through the smoke and bloodied corridors, down the marble stairs, out into the messy garden. He found one of Sylvia’s shoes first, half-buried in the gravel. His heart lurched. Then, a few paces ahead... the scarf she had worn earlier to cover her hair, torn and stained.

And in the distance, beneath the old cedar tree... He found her. She lay curled on the ground, a soldier’s sword raised above her.

He didn’t remember moving. Only the soldier’s body falling and his sword swinging down, pulling his arm with its weight.

And then...silence.

Sylvia lay there, still and small, in a pool of her own blood. The wound in her abdomen was deep—too deep. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as if she’d been about to call his name.

The world tilted. His knees gave out. His vision blurred.

He should check. He should kneel. He should do something.

But he couldn’t.

His body refused. His mind screamed. His heart shattered and froze all at once. What if she was already gone? What if the moment he touched her, the world would confirm what his soul already knew?

He stood there like a broken statue, staring, hoping the sight alone would change the truth.

Sylvia... his beloved. His almost-wife. The woman who laughed at his temper and saw through his silences. The one who made the weight of life bearable.

Had he lost her?

Because he chose duty over love? Because he didn’t listen?

His throat closed, a soundless sob caught behind his teeth. The evening roared around him with flames, screams, and the distant clash of steel. But he heard none of it.

He wished the world would still with her. That his breath would stop if hers already had.

Because what meaning did living hold... when she no longer breathed?

Until... there was a slight movement.

"Syl..."

Like someone had released him from invisible chains, Aldric could move again. The sight of her stirring, of her living

, snapped him back to life. He dropped to his knees beside her as she blinked her eyes open, the motion slow, labored, but real.

"Syl..." he breathed, pressing his palm over the wound on her abdomen. It was deep, but the placement... thank the gods... had spared the vital organs. She would need care, rest, and a miracle to avoid infection... but she would survive.

She could survive.

The air that had been trapped in his lungs burst out in a broken exhale. His tears followed, unbidden.

And what did his remarkable woman ask first, with her lips barely moving?

"Is the Princess safe?"

He laughed—half a sob, half a disbelieving joy—and gathered her against his chest. "Even now, you worry about her?"

This was her. The woman he loved. The one who could face death and still think of others first.

Sylvia glanced down at her wound, assessing it with the same composure she had when reading a report. "Go check on her, Al," she whispered.

He didn’t move. He didn’t want to move. But she cupped his cheek with her trembling hand, soaked in her own blood, and smiled faintly.

"I’ll be fine. I promise. Bring me good news about the Princess," she said. "I’ll wait right here..."

She tried to make the last words sound teasing, but her voice was weak. He knew she couldn’t move. And yet, he saw the same spark in her eyes, the stubbornness he’d fallen for.

Then, a strange sound filled the air as the soldiers screamed. The flames that had devoured the mansion were vanishing, snuffed out as though by an unseen force. The night turned eerily quiet.

Sylvia squeezed his hand again. "Go," she murmured. "Go now."

And so he did. He ran.

By the time Aldric reached the entrance, the world had changed. The inferno was gone. The soldiers who had sworn to burn them all had fled in terror, as though retreating before a god.

"Whose blood is that, Aldric?" Lorraine’s voice cut through his thoughts.

He blinked, breath still uneven. "It’s... I was fighting. There were many of them."

Lorraine’s eyes narrowed. She saw through him easily.

"Sylvia is slightly injured," he said quickly, his voice low.

"Injured?" Her tone sharpened. "Where is she?"

"Slightly. Nothing serious," he lied, the words burning his tongue. "I’ll handle it."

Lorraine studied him, doubt clouding her expression. She could sense something off, something he wasn’t telling her, but she couldn’t read what it was. Still, hearing that Sylvia was alive, she let out a slow breath.

"Is she fine?" she asked again, softly this time.

Aldric nodded.

Lorraine sighed, relief melting through her rage. "Good. Thank the gods."

Then she spotted Emma and Elias in the distance and hurried to them, her gown still dusted with ash. The two had saved dozens of lives tonight by ringing the warning bell.

As Lorraine left, Leroy’s gaze followed her for a moment before turning to Aldric. The flicker of blue firelight caught in his eyes as he spoke, calm but edged with steel.

"How bad is it?"

Aldric looked away. His hands were still streaked with dried blood, not his own, and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t answer. Lorraine might not have pressed further, but Leroy knew that expression. Aldric was many things: calculating, precise, unflappable, but never wordless.

"It’s bad, isn’t it?" Leroy said quietly.

Aldric exhaled, long and weary. "An abdominal wound," he murmured, voice low. "Too close to the gut. If infection sets in..." He swallowed, the words rasping against his throat. "Sepsis might take her life."

For a moment, silence hung between them; thick, heavy, and full of all the things neither man could say aloud.

Leroy’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak comfort; Aldric wasn’t the kind of man who wanted it. Instead, he said, "I’ll get you some medicines. The best ones."

Aldric shook his head. "I have access," he said, his tone clipped but steady. "The best healers, the best supplies... That’s not what I lack."

Leroy studied him. "Then what do you need?"

Aldric’s lips twitched, the faintest, most broken shadow of a smile. "Luck," he said simply.

It was a word that didn’t belong to soldiers like them, men who had always lived by their own strength, their own skill. But tonight, even strength felt fragile.

Leroy nodded once, slow and solemn. "Then we’ll pray for it," he said. "For her."

Aldric didn’t reply. He only looked toward the darkened courtyard, where the scent of smoke still clung to the night, and murmured under his breath, as if to the stars themselves.

"For her, I’d believe in anything."