CHAPTER 62: THE CAT AND MOUSE GAME

Lorraine fixed her veil one last time, adjusting it so the folds danced with shadow. She stood exactly where she knew her reflections would multiply on the mirror-like tiles, between tall, beveled glass panels angled just so. Her silhouette shimmered like a specter in a prism, fractured and multiplied, unreachable.

She patted her cloak gently. Inside the seams, stitched with precision only years of necessity could teach, nestled her hidden weapons: powdered toxins, sleep draughts, contact poisons sweet as perfume and twice as deadly.

Was it reckless to meet her husband like this? Yes.

But curiosity had always been her most dangerous trait. Why had he come searching for the Swan Divina?

And besides, they were just going to talk.

This tower was a fortress in disguise. Every floor had a trap. Every corridor had a misdirection. A single whispered word from her could end a man before he reached the second stair. And if not, her poisons were always within reach.

If things turned ugly, the escape tunnel behind the silk screen would take her straight to Sylvia.

Still... she wasn’t foolish.

Leroy was not an ordinary man. He could shatter bone with one swing. He could snap her neck before she’d draw a second breath.

But not here.

Here, she had the upper hand.

And yet, her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped animal. Her palms felt clammy, her breath too shallow.

Why?

She’d faced monsters in this chamber. Smiling men who dealt in blood. Women who lied with tears and kissed with knives. But this... this felt different.

He won’t recognize you, she reminded herself.

The lights had been dimmed, just as planned. Only a single low brazier burned, casting flickering gold against the black silk that draped the walls. The air was thick with incense—sweet, calming, dosed ever so slightly with muscle relaxants. It slowed the limbs. Dulled the fight.

He’d drunk the tea. She was sure of it. That, too, would be working its way through his blood by now. Just enough to make him slower. Softer. Easier to... reason with.

And if not?

Well, she had choices. She’d never been more prepared.

But still... still...

Her chest tightened.

This would be the first time he heard her voice again.

That night. Thirteen years ago. A single meeting, long buried in memory. Did he remember? Could he recall her voice after all these years?

Surely, it had changed. It had to have.

He won’t know it’s you, she told herself again. He can’t.

But the fear was there. So was the hope. And that was far more dangerous. Expectations twisted with anxiety, and she hated herself for feeling both. But there was no time to fall apart now.

Because...

She saw him.

His silhouette ducked beneath the arched doorway, broad shoulders stooping to fit, shadows trailing him like a second cloak. The golden mask flashed briefly in the dimness before disappearing into the room.

She held her breath. But like always, her heart slipped free, wild, and reckless, as if cornered by something too familiar. She had to face this. This man.

This is the man she had once loved. The same man who had looked at her like a misstep. A mistake. Someone useless. Something inconvenient in his carefully measured world.

This man, who had protected her from certain death. Twice.

Perhaps this time, a conversation would hurt less than silence.

"What brings the brave son of the Bear," she purred, her voice a veil of silk in the darkness, echoing softly around the pearl-domed chamber, "to such a humble little sanctuary as mine?"

She watched his half-shadowed, statuesque figure, his head tilting ever so slightly as he scanned the room, searching for her source.

She knew he wouldn’t find it. This chamber was built for illusions. For whispered truths that could never be traced.

"I expected a sanctum bathed in divine light," he said finally, voice low and regal, the curl of contempt unmistakable. "Instead, I find a rat’s den."

Ah. Pride. Still sheathed on his tongue like a polished sword.

Lorraine’s lips curved. A Prince, indeed!

"Forgive me, Son of Bear," she replied lightly. "Light is reserved for those who seek me with an honest heart. Not those who arrive with teeth bared like a beast at the door."

"An honest heart?" he scoffed. His footsteps moved with quiet precision. Still circling. Still hunting. The glint of his eyes was still visible in the dim light. "Did the lioness who came before me have such a heart?"

So he knew she was here. The Dowager. He was angry at her. She hadn’t expected that. He had never raised his voice to the dowager before. Never spoken a word out of place.

And yet here he was... venom blooming beneath his calm like blood in water.

So this is the Leroy the world sees, she thought. The one he hides from me.

"Even the cruel need a confidante now and then," Lorraine said gently, stepping closer without thinking.

Why was she moving toward him?

She didn’t know. She just wanted to be near him.

The urge wasn’t new. It had always lived somewhere beneath her skin. But here, in her domain, where shadows obeyed her and the air bent to her will, her courage had teeth.

He turned sharply. His head whipped in her direction. She froze, breath caught in her throat.

His eyes narrowed. Then shifted. He resumed his slow, restless prowl. One hand slid along the mirrored panel beside him, his fingertips tracing its surface like a blind man reading prophecy in the glass.

Did no one tell him not to look for the Divina? Lorraine sighed inwardly. Let him look.

The cat-and-mouse game was far more enticing.

"What does the son of the Bear seek?" she asked, circling to his left, her voice a warm exhale in the cool air.

"What did the old lioness want?" he countered, sharp.

Normally, she wouldn’t answer questions like that. Especially not about others. But this wasn’t a stranger. This was her husband.

If the world had spun differently, maybe they would have been talking like this in their bedchamber, whispering beneath silk sheets, laughing over wine.

But they weren’t lucky.

"Our conversations wouldn’t interest a warrior such as yourself," Lorraine said, her laughter ringing softly around them, like wind chimes in a forgotten temple. "We spoke of heroes kneeling for foolish things... for the women they loved... the kind of love only poets still believe in."

Predictably, he scoffed.

Yes. He would know about love. He had preserved his for years. Tucked it away like a relic. Love for Elyse.

"Kneeling?" he murmured, halting before the water basin shaped like an open lily. He stared into it. The floating petals rippled faintly, disturbed by the heat of his presence. "Is that why you helped me?"

Her breath hitched.

So he had found out.

So that was why he had come.

Lorraine smirked, her veil whispering against her cheek as she circled him like a question.

"I only did what the divine will mandated," she said coolly, stopping just beyond the halo of light cast by the lily basin.

She didn’t need to see his expression to feel the curl of his mouth.

He snorted. A low, derisive sound. "And what does the divine will want in return?"

His voice reached her like smoke—deep, warm, curling under her skin and winding through her bones. It filled the room the same way hers had, with no direction, no source, only presence. Only weight.

She had always known his voice was beautiful, but here, in the silence of incense and shadow, it wrapped around her like velvet, and somewhere deep in her core, warmth bloomed.

So... how should she answer him?

Her lips parted, slow and deliberate. "A cleansing," she said. "Freedom from your mistake. That useless bride of yours."

The words slipped from her tongue like poison. Sweet and lethal.

*Flash*

Lorraine barely registered the movement.

One blink, and his head snapped toward her like a predator catching scent.

The next, his hand closed around her throat.