The Silent Crown

Rain fell over Vaeloria's capital like a curse. On the palace balcony, Lorraine stood alone, waiting for her husband. The emerald of her gown clung wet against her frame. Her gloved hands gripped the stone railing.

Below, the crowd stirred. The noblewomen hovered behind her, whispering like snakes.

"She brings misfortune," one hissed.

"She's cursed," another muttered.

"Stay back. The Silent Crown dooms us all."

Lorraine recognized their voices but didn't flinch. Lady Mirene and her friends found joy muttering about her. The nickname they gave her had served her well.

The Silent Crown. The curse.

For Lorraine, a curse was better than pity. They feared her now, after years of mocking her, pinning her down, driving pins into her spine. Yes, that was Lady Mirene who plunged her hairpin into her back.

And now… Lorraine's lips curved to a smirk. Let them tremble.

She turned slightly, catching Lady Mirene's eye. The woman paled. Lorraine didn't blink. Lady Mirene caved first and hid behind her maid.

They thought she was deaf and dumb after the accident that took her mother's life. They were wrong on both counts.

At twelve, her hearing returned. No one knew. Not her father. Not the court. Not even her husband. She kept the truth locked behind still lips. She let them conspire… and listened.

Her fingers tightened as she felt the air shifting. The city roared.

He was coming.

Leroy. Crown Prince of Kaltharion. Her husband. Her… stranger.

Ten years married, and yet their marriage was unconsummated. They were together for the first year, and then he was sent to the front lines. He returned five years ago, just for a week only to leave again. She didn't know him, not really.

A shadow moved beside her. The Dowager Empress walked closer to her, her silver-hair gleaming in the cloudy day. Her eyes were cold and watching.

"You stand alone, child," she murmured. Her gloved hand touched Lorraine's arm. Lorraine signed a silent thanks.

Kindness from the Dowager was rare; one she would have believed in if she had been naïve. But she was not. She could see the layers of calculations behind that rare kindness. But she could very well pretend to enjoy her kindness, and that she did.

A deeper rumble echoed. The parade had reached the gates. Banners flared red in the rain. Knights thundered in. People threw paper confetti and flowers for the heroes returning from war.

 She looked for Leroy. Her hero. But he was not there, on the frontlines as he was expected to be on the battlefield.

The Emperor had pushed him to the back again. He could bleed on the front lines for Vaeloria, but he didn't deserve glory and cheers.

"Kaltharion's dog returns."

"A hero, but never ours."

The lords whispered in mockery.

Finally, Lorraine saw him.

Striding on a black stallion, in his rain-slick armor with a steel mask veiling his face, Leroy rode like thunder trailing fire, tall and unyielding. Lorraine's breath caught.

The mask was new. He never covered his entire face before. And… what if he rode last? He still looked like the majestic leader he was.

As she admired her husband, she noticed her… a woman riding next to Leroy.

Not behind. Not among the knights.

Beside him.

Armored. Confident. Auburn hair loose under her helmet. Her hand brushed his bridle. Her face bright with a blooming smile.

Lorraine froze. The smile on her face vanished.

The rumors she heard about the mistress were true. In vain had she held on to hope, thinking that her husband wouldn't be like other men.

Her fingers slipped from the railing. Her heart raced out of shame, out of betrayal.

After everything… After everything she had endured in his absence… After all the work, she had put all these years into being a dutiful wife… After building wealth for him, after gaining power second to the emperor… After everything…

This is what I get in return?

The nobles behind her gasped, delighted. After all, he was the only one who was not caught in such rumors in the past. And now, he has proved himself to be just another noble man.

"His little whore rides proud."

"Can you blame him?"

"She speaks. His wife doesn't."

The nobles and the ladies were loud this time, not minding the "curse" anymore.

"Enough," the Dowager snapped at the other ladies.

But Lorraine barely heard her. She still couldn't believe it all.

Across the square, the woman looked up. Their eyes met.

Rain streaked her helmet. Her eyes, sharp and unafraid, found Lorraine through the mist and distance.

A smirk formed on her face, not a mocking smirk, not a kind one either. It was Confident. Possessive.

As if she were saying: He is mine now.