Chapter 232: The Right Thing
Lorraine lay on Leroy’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. His fingers traced idle patterns along her back, kneading just enough to ease the tension but not enough to let her fully relax. She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of him, the way his scent clung to her hair, the leather, cedar, and the faint trace of him that always made her chest tighten.
"Aralyn asked me if she could join Emma with the preparations for the Ball..." Lorraine murmured, her voice soft, almost swallowed by the hush of the night. Her words brushed against his chest like a secret only the two of them shared. "I let her do what she wanted to do. Occupying her mind with something might help her heal."
Leroy hummed against her temple, his jaw brushing the crown of her head. The motion made a shiver crawl along her spine.
"Elias is doing well now," she continued, her breath warm on his chest. "Sylvia is aware something was going on, but she still hasn’t guessed what it was yet. I wonder if Aldric could keep it a secret until the Ball..."
Leroy scoffed lightly, a small, amused sound that pressed against the warmth of her ear. "That man can keep a secret if he wants to," he said, the muscles in his chest and shoulders relaxing against her.
Lorraine’s lips curved in a faint smile. She could feel the subtle tension of him beneath her, and though she wanted to focus on the plans, her awareness of him made it impossible to ignore the way his presence grounded her, tethered her in the safest corner of the world.
But... earlier today, she’d caught Leroy and Aldric in a serious conversation. The moment she entered, both men stopped talking.
She’d pretended not to notice. But she had.
She wanted to trust that it was nothing more than Aldric’s way of telling her to rest, especially now. But a small, sharp part of her bristled at being kept in the dark. Aldric respected her deeply, he always had. He wouldn’t suddenly dismiss her just because she was pregnant. No. This was something else.
She thought Leroy might talk to her about it, but he hadn’t opened up yet. Even if Leroy wouldn’t tell her, she’d simply keep him informed of her moves.
"I should go to the tower tomorrow..." she said, tilting her head slightly so her cheek brushed his collarbone. Even as she spoke of her scheming, she felt the heat of him through his shirt, the way he exhaled in sync with her movements.
Even if he was not talking about his plans, she needed to talk about hers.
"Tomorrow?" His hand paused mid-stroke, the subtle tension in his fingers betraying him.
"I have already laid the groundwork to let it settle in the hearts of the noble ladies that the Dowager is someone who cannot be trusted. She has been silenced in the court today. Now, I need to nail the final nail in the coffin and ensure the Dowager doesn’t involve herself in politics anymore. I need to ensure the courtiers force the Emperor’s hand to keep her away."
Lorraine’s words fell between them like a knife—sharp, measured, deadly precise. Yet, the gentle press of Leroy’s hand along her spine reminded her that no matter the weight of their world, they were here, together.
Leroy’s thumb grazed the curve of her shoulder blade, subtle but deliberate. "She will not stay away from politics just by keeping her away from the court," he said softly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. Lorraine’s eyes caught his briefly, and for a heartbeat, the political strategist vanished, leaving only the man beneath her, aware of her closeness, aware of the friction of skin against skin.
She remained silent. That was given.
"What kind of fate do you have in mind for the Dowager?" he asked, letting his hand wander slightly lower, brushing along the side of her waist. His voice was calm, but she could hear the curiosity beneath it. He remembered all too well the merciless end she had orchestrated for her own father—precise, poetic, and devastating. Whatever she planned for the Dowager, it would not be ordinary.
The political weight of his words was tempered by the heat that built quietly between them.
"To send her off to the monastery up in the mountains," Lorraine said. "If I push enough, the Emperor would send her there, to protect her life."
His chest shifted as he exhaled against her hair. "I don’t believe that would stop her," he said.
"Oh, but she will kill herself before being forced to leave the capital," Lorraine said.
Leroy chuckled lowly. Of course, she was not planning on leaving the dowager alive. But then his voice turned low and serious. "What if you don’t do anything for now?"
Lorraine’s eyes snapped open, incredulous. "Explain."
"Her uncle spoke to her," Leroy said, fingers now tracing lazy, deliberate patterns along her ribcage under the thin fabric of her gown. "She might change her mind and do the right thing."
Lorraine’s breath hitched. "The right thing?" she repeated, tilting her head so their eyes met. Her pulse beat faster, not from fear, but from the intimacy of proximity, the subtle pressure of his body against hers.
Leroy let out a long sigh, nudging her slightly so she rested her head fully on his chest again.
"If you think that woman will change her mind and install you in your rightful place, on the throne of Vaeloria, you’re the most naïve person in this whole world," she murmured, her lips brushing his chest.
Her chest rose and fell beneath his hand, the rise of her breasts pressing lightly against his chest. "Rain has a better chance of flowing backward and reaching the sky than the Dowager changing her mind," she muttered, but her voice was softer now, intimate. "What are you thinking?"
"What if the right thing is not the Emperor abdicating, but... leaving us alone?" His words pressed along her collarbone like a caress, slow and teasing, but weighted with meaning.
"Are you serious?" she asked, her hand finding the curve of his bicep, feeling the taut strength beneath. She could sense the tension in his entire frame, the restraint in his tone, and the deliberate calm that underlined his words.
"You don’t want the throne?" Lorraine asked, tilting her head so her lips hovered near his neck, almost brushing the pulse there.
This was not the first time he had made such an implication, but she found it hard to believe.