CHAPTER 47: A POINT OF NO RETURN

Lorraine sat at her desk, pressing two fingers to her brow, her temples pulsing beneath the fog of too much wine and too little sleep. She had indulged herself tonight, lavishly and stupidly, thinking she could rest. The wine had started to soothe her nerves when the reports arrived. Of course they did.

Trouble in the red-light district.

Normally, she would’ve passed the matter to someone else. Delegated and filed it under someone else’s problem.

But tonight, the name written in the report wasn’t just anyone. It was Prince Damian.

Sylvia stood beside her, hands folded in front, her face pale with unease.

Lorraine exhaled through her nose, slow and irritated. "He sure wants to get me."

It was a game now. Obvious. Crude.

Prince Damian, with all his smug smiles and veiled words, was forcing her hand. He wanted to meet Lazira again, to confirm his suspicions. He might have thought himself clever.

But Lorraine? She’d played this game long enough. Her back-up plans had back-up plans. If he thought he could force her to crawl into the light, he was going to be very disappointed.

"Let’s clear his doubt," she murmured. "Send a decoy."

Sylvia nodded once. She already understood. It was time to cycle through the girls. One of them would inherit the mantle of Lazira when Lorraine disappeared for good. The district must run like clockwork, even if the woman behind it vanished.

Lazira couldn’t die with Lorraine. Too many threads were tangled together and too many eyes watching. Lorraine couldn’t make it obvious that she was Lazira.

She watched Sylvia leave to carry out her orders, and wobbling only slightly, Lorraine returned to the table. She poured herself another half-glass of wine, sipping from the edge like it might soften the jagged thoughts in her mind.

Peace. She had almost made peace with her life. Almost. But peace was impossible when your husband returned from war, dragging his mistress in tow, when her father wanted him to marry her sister.

And now... Prince Damian. As if the gods weren’t done laughing.

With a sigh, she wandered to the window by habit. But this time, she caught herself. She remembered last time, when she nearly fell. Drunk. Vulnerable. So foolishly close to death. She stepped away, snuffing out the nearest candle.

One by one, she blew them out until one was left, until the room was dim. Hollow. Quiet.

And then...

A shadow moved beneath her door.

She froze.

She knew that shape. That presence.

Now she understood how Leroy got her hanging outside his room that night. The light from the hallway bled into her room. He stood there, waiting, and she didn’t notice it until her room was dark. Not until it was too late.

Something fragile and awful twisted in her chest. A slow, deep ache. She tried to walk away, but her legs faltered under the weight of it.

Earlier, when she had been unraveling at the seams, his presence, however brief, however unintentional, had steadied her. It had warmed something inside her that had been cold for far too long. And now, her heart, traitorous thing that it was, ached for more of that warmth. More of him.

Even when she didn’t want to, even when she told herself not to, especially when she told herself not to, she kept thinking of him.

It hurt.

It hurt so badly.

To long for the touch of a man who had made her feel so small. Who had called her a mistake . Who had looked at her like her feelings didn’t matter.

She had given him everything. Her loyalty, her strength, her silence, her years. She had done all she could to prove she wasn’t the useless, silent crown they’d said she was.

But it hadn’t been enough.

It would never be enough. Not for him.

She would never have what she wanted. Not his heart. Not his love. Not the quiet, ordinary things she had once dared to dream of. She would never be his first choice. His first love.

He could force himself to accept her down the line for one reason or another. But he wouldn’t be able to give her what she deserved. He could never give her back what she had given him through the years.

It had all passed the point of no return.

Just then...

A knock.

So soft, it could have been imagined. But it wasn’t.

Her breath caught. Her eyes stung. She stood still, wine-sweet and dizzy, as if the knock itself had pierced straight through her skin.

Her feet moved. She didn’t mean for them to, but they did. Just like she whispered those promises years ago... Just like she tried to hold on to it all the while... She couldn’t stop. She didn’t know how to stop.

How could she stop loving him?

She stepped toward the door, toward the shadow of him. Toward the man who had taught her to live without wanting... only to make her want again.

Her fingers hovered over the latch.

But no.

She stopped.

She closed her eyes, drawing a long, shuddering breath. Then she turned, slowly and deliberately, and walked toward her bed.

Why was he even knocking?

Had he forgotten?

That she was deaf. That she was useless. That she was, in his eyes, nothing more than a mistake.

What did he want from her now?

------

Royal Garden, Midnight

Moonlight stretched long shadows across the trimmed hedges and ancient stones. The scent of jasmine hung in the air like a ghost of sweeter times.

The Grand Duke walked alone, each step deliberate. His cloak dragged behind him like a shadow that refused to detach. There, beneath the old magnolia tree—half-dead now, like so many things that had once bloomed in this cursed palace—stood the woman he’d once called an ally.

Now, she was nothing but a problem dressed in silk.

He clenched his fists as he approached. If it were up to him, he would have burned her to the ground years ago. But the past was a twisted web, and she still held one of the threads he couldn’t afford to lose.

She turned as he drew near, slow and regal despite the years. In the moonlight, her once-petaled beauty had withered into hard lines and hollow eyes. But the cunning—oh, the cunning still glittered there, like broken glass at the bottom of a well.

"Your Grace," she said softly. Her voice was warm. Too warm.

"Out here alone, are we?" he murmured, circling her like a predator testing the perimeter of its prey. "How brave. Or foolish."

A tight smile curved her lips. "I find the moonlight honest. Less crowded with politics than the court."

"Don’t pretend you’ve ever had trouble navigating a crowd. You built this court. You taught it how to lie."

She raised an eyebrow. "And yet you’ve always played the better liar, my dear Duke. It was your tongue that made the Lion roar. Your hand that placed him on the throne. He who wears the crown, wears it beneath the Arvand wings."

He didn’t smile. "Yes. My family’s wings have helped the Lion soar, but it was your whisper that taught him which heads to cut off."

She gave a small, humorless laugh. "We were younger then. Drunk on ambition. But I’ve retired from such games."

"Oh?" He leaned in slightly. "Then why do your fingerprints appear on every piece of this new mess? The broken alliances. The sudden deaths. The poison crawling through my house."

The dowager’s expression remained poised, but her silence spoke too clearly.

He took another step. "I know your touch when I feel it. Don’t insult me by pretending your hands are clean."

"I assure you," she said, coolly, "I have no stake in your current misfortunes."

"Liar." The word slipped from his mouth like a blade drawn in the dark. "You’re always watching. Always waiting. But don’t forget—some things buried aren’t dead."

Her gaze faltered.

His voice dropped, a velvet and venomous tone. "You remember that night, don’t you? What we buried together? What we swore never to speak of again?"

She stiffened. The façade cracked.

Chapter 48