Crushed Heart

Leroy's blade met Zara's with a metallic clang, his laughter ringing through the garden as he parried her strike. His black leather mask gleamed, reflecting the fading sun like polished obsidian, concealing his face but not his vigor. His dark tunic hugged his lean frame, sleeves rolled high to reveal sinewy forearms, veins pulsing like rivers under sunlit skin, a captivating sight that stirred the air with unspoken allure.

"You've killed more flowers than you've brought me!" he teased, his back to Lorraine. Even without seeing his face, she could hear the joy in his voice that had a warmth she'd never heard from him.

Zara huffed, her lips curling into a playful pout, and raised her sword with a dramatic flourish. Lorraine sensed Zara's fleeting glance in her direction, but the woman feigned ignorance, swinging her blade again. Leroy blocked it with ease, and another hydrangea crumpled, its petals scattering like confetti across the trampled earth.

"You're a terrible sparring partner, Zara," Leroy chuckled, his laughter rich and unrestrained, a sound Lorraine had never heard from him in all their years together. "You're only good with a bow on the battlefield."

"Only the battlefield?" Zara leaned in, her towering frame striking. She was taller than Lorraine, her head grazing just above Leroy's shoulder. She was likely the tallest woman in Vaeloria, her presence impossible to ignore. Not just tall, but… Lorraine's eyes lingered on her chest. She was… well-built, to say the least, considering her age.

Leroy tapped Zara's forehead with his sword's hilt in a playful rebuke and laughed with a deep, heartfelt sound that seemed to pour from his soul.

Lorraine's heart twisted, a sharp pang slicing through her. She'd never heard him laugh so freely, and so alive. With her, there was only silence, a heavy, oppressive void. Others mocked her to her face, assuming she was deaf as well as mute, but her husband… he offered nothing. Well, almost nothing. Alone, he'd called her useless, a mistake—the only words he'd ever spared her in private.

Her beloved hydrangeas lay crushed beneath their careless boots, just as her heart was trampled by their easy intimacy. Other men had the tact to hide their mistresses, sparing their wives' dignity. But Leroy? He didn't care enough to shield her from this. To him, she was a mistake, nothing more.

Could she even blame him? Zara was everything Lorraine wasn't—a fierce warrior, a commanding figure, a shadow of his first love, Elyse. How could she compete?

Leaving was her only salvation, her path to peace.

Lorraine turned to go, eyes stinging with unshed tears, but Sir Aldric stepped into her path, his gaze soft with empathy. He nodded at the bag of roasted nuts in Emma's hands, understanding Lorraine's intent to linger in her garden refuge. "I told him to use the training ground," he signed, frustration flickering in his gestures. "But he insisted on sparring here."

Lorraine nodded, her hands steady as she signed back, "It's fine." She knew Aldric supported her, but against the manor's lord, his sway was limited.

She couldn't stand there any longer, watching her treasured flowers die. Tears welled, but she told herself it was just the hydrangeas.

Nothing else mattered now. She was leaving. Soon.

She was leaving. That resolve was her anchor, her escape from this agony.

"Your wife's here," Zara said, noticing her leaving, her voice lilting with mockery, each syllable of " your wife" a dagger twisted in Lorraine's chest, echoing the uselessness Leroy saw in her.

Lorraine kept walking, her steps quickening, as she hid her pain. "She is?" Leroy turned swiftly, his masked face unreadable, the warmth in his tone fading as she retreated.

"So, how useful would your wife be on the battlefield?" Zara asked, her words sharp with jealousy and spite.

Lorraine slowed down, catching the venom in Zara's tone. Every "your wife" dripped with malice, a jealous, insecure taunt. In a way, Lorraine pitied Zara. Zara was under the impression that she held Leroy's favor, blind to the truth that she was just a stand-in for Elyse, his only love.

Would Leroy answer Zara's question, though, Lorraine wondered. She'd be useless in open combat, likely the first to fall. But in shadows, she was lethal. With her experience as the Madame and her expertise in poisons, she could infiltrate enemy lines, steal secrets, poison a warlord's wine, or, if the mood struck, manipulate others to do her bidding, turning friends to enemies—a far more elegant ruin.

"Stop her!" Leroy shouted, dodging Zara's question.

Lorraine rolled her eyes. Of course, he wouldn't respond. He deemed her worthless, but that no longer stung. She knew her value, her strength in the dark. She longed only for peace, far from battlefields and this life.

She strode away, refusing to face him, but Aldric blocked her again, guiding her back to the ruined hydrangea patch.

"Is everything ready for tomorrow's ball?" Leroy asked, his voice firm.

Lorraine glanced at Aldric as he signed the question. She could pretend to lip-read, but she didn't want to stare at his face. Also, it wouldn't be easy to do it with that black leather mask concealing Leroy's face. That was a new mask. He preferred concealing his whole face these days for reasons she didn't know. In the past, at home, he often shed it, his reddish birthmark exposed, even with Aldric. Why hide now? She couldn't tell.

She signed swiftly, listing the tailored clothes and polished gifts she'd prepared on his behalf, her hands steady despite the storm within.

"Are you ready?" Leroy asked, his tone unyielding, aimed at her.

Lorraine avoided his gaze, but the question pierced her. Aldric's face softened with apology as he signed, "He wants you to attend the ball with him."

Her jaw clenched, hands trembling as she signed, "I don't want to go."

She'd fight this. She was done caring. That mansion was her torment—her father's cruelty, Elyse's reign of terror, Leroy's enduring love for her half-sister. She wouldn't return.

With Leroy's return, she knew what her father's next plan would be. She wouldn't be there to witness it.

"I'm not going," she signed, sharp and insistent, eyes reddening, breath ragged. No, she would not go.

"She doesn't want to go," Aldric said aloud, his voice gentle but resolute.

"She has to," Leroy replied, cold and unyielding.

Her hands shook as she signed again and again, "I'm not going." Her chest heaved, tears brimming but unspilled. The mansion loomed in her mind. All the scorn, shame, betrayal… She refused to go through it again.

Emma edged closer, offering comfort, seeing her distress. Aldric's expression darkened with concern, and he looked at Leroy.

"Your wife wouldn't listen to you?" Zara included herself in the conversation.