Stretching Silence, Growing Rift

"Your wife won't listen to you?" Zara's voice sliced through the quiet garden. She stepped forward, inserting herself between Leroy and Lorraine with a mocking edge.

Lorraine blocked out the sound. She had no desire to attend her father's ball. Her hands moved quickly, signing her refusal. "I am not going there. No." Her gestures were sharp, her decision firm.

Zara slid between them, sensing Lorraine's distress and pouncing on it. "Shouldn't you listen to your husband?" she asked, resting a hand on Lorraine's shoulder.

The touch felt heavy, patronizing. Lorraine shook it off and stepped back, her eyes hard. Zara smirked, undeterred, and turned to Leroy. She looped her arm through his, her voice turning low and sultry. "Take me with you!" she said, leaning closer.

At those words, Lorraine's panic softened. Her father, Duke Arvand, loathed her, but his pride wouldn't let a woman from a lesser kingdom overshadow his daughter. If Leroy took Zara, her father might lash out—banish her, disgrace her, or worse. The thought of Zara crumbling under his wrath sparked a flicker of curiosity. Wouldn't that be satisfying to see? For a moment, she wondered if the ball might be worth it. But the idea faded fast. Zara was nothing. The real threat was Elyse, her father's favored child.

Lorraine's resolve hardened. "No," she signed again, this time to Aldric, her hands steady.

Leroy moved then, gently nudging Zara back with a protective motion. Before she could protest, his squire Cedric appeared, tugging her away with a firm grip. Lorraine hadn't even noticed Cedric nearby, but his timing was perfect, shielding Zara from whatever Leroy might do. Through the corner of her eye, she caught Leroy slipping off his mask. The reddish birthmark on his face glowed faintly in the dimming light.

Lorraine almost laughed. Leroy guarded his mistress fiercely, even when Zara was blind to the danger. She didn't know Duke Arvand's temper, but Leroy did. He wouldn't let her stumble into that trap.

She turned to leave, eager to escape, when a sudden warmth brushed her cheek. Leroy had caught a loose curl by her ear, his fingers grazing her skin. A jolt ran through her. She pulled back, her breath catching, and met his gaze.

His green eyes, usually piercing, softened in a way that unsettled her. He peeled off his leather gloves, revealing bare hands that cupped her cheeks. The warmth startled her. She stepped back, ready to bolt, but he held her gently, his touch light, his eyes searching hers.

"You're going with me," he said, his voice steady, like a quiet vow.

He leaned closer, his face inches from hers, his breath carrying the faint scent of leather and earth. His gaze drifted to her lips, then back to her eyes. With a careful touch, he brushed away a tear she hadn't felt fall.

"You are going with me," he said again, softer now, almost begging.

Lorraine swallowed, her throat tight. She tried to look away, but he guided her face back, his hands warm against her skin. For a few seconds, time stopped. The breeze carried the sweet scent of hydrangeas, wrapping them in a fragile bubble. His touch, always gentle despite his silence, stirred old memories—her father's house, a place that scarred them both.

She nodded, her heart overriding her mind. Before she could stop herself, she'd agreed.

She grabbed his wrists, pulling free from his hold. Confusion churned inside her. His actions didn't make sense. She couldn't stay near him. She turned and ran, vanishing into the garden's green depths.

Leroy watched her go, his voice a low murmur. "She always runs away. I just wanted to go on a walk with her."

Sir Aldric rolled his eyes, his patience fraying. "To see what? The flowers you crushed?" He knew Lorraine mourned her ruined blooms, and Leroy's push to attend the ball only hurt her more. The man couldn't read a woman's heart.

Leroy adjusted his mask, his eyes falling to his boots. Crushed hydrangeas stuck to the leather, their petals mashed and stubborn. He shook his foot, but they clung. "Who knew flowers would stick like blood?" he said, sadness in his tone.

Aldric understood. Leroy had lived on battlefields, soaked in blood and mud. He'd never paused to notice flowers, never learned their delicacy. He didn't care about the garden itself—he wanted time with Lorraine. But how could she know? Ten years married, and they were still strangers. She'd survived without him, built her own world. How could she guess what he wanted?

Their silence stretched between them, a growing rift of unspoken things. Aldric ached for Leroy, the boy he'd raised like a son, to find peace. These two were good at heart, but they couldn't even face each other.

"She grew these flowers herself," Aldric said, his voice gentle but pointed. "Planted them with her own hands, raised them like children."

"Children?" Leroy repeated, his masked face hiding his expression. But his voice carried a quiet sorrow. His gaze drifted toward where Lorraine had fled, and he sighed. "I did it again," he muttered, too low for Aldric to catch.

"What was that?" Aldric asked, leaning closer.

Leroy blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "She… what does this mean?" He fumbled with his hands, trying to mimic a sign he'd seen her use. The gestures were clumsy, half-remembered.

Aldric frowned, unsure. Was it about a mistake? He didn't want to guess wrong and widen their gap. "It's not hard to learn sign language, Leroy," he said, a hint of frustration breaking through. Why was he so stubborn?

Leroy stared at him, saying nothing. Aldric sighed, holding back more words. But then Leroy looked away, his green eyes downcast with sorrow. Leroy's sadness stopped Aldric from speaking further.

What was it about Lorraine that weighed on him so much? She was the best match for him, if only he'd see it.

"This is impressive…" Aldric murmured as he reached out to touch Leroy's braid.

He remembered the timid boy who once asked him for sword lessons, eyes wide with uncertainty, startled by the rustling of leaves at night. As a Kaltharion royal, Leroy had received three braids on his seventeenth birthday, a privilege others had to earn through battle.

Now, that fearful boy had grown into someone unshakable. His braid now reached below his shoulder, all earned by him.

Aldric felt a quiet pride rise in his chest.

But Leroy pulled back with a playful grin, shielding his braid with one hand.

Aldric laughed and gave his shoulder a firm pat. Leroy had never let anyone touch his hair, not even him. He had allowed only a rare few to see his unmasked face, but his hair remained something sacred.

And as their laughter faded, the silence that settled between them spoke volumes. In that quiet moment, their bond, which was closer to father and son rather than mentor and student, said more than words ever could.

"Can't you ask her to be kinder to Zara?" Leroy asked after a while, his voice small.

Aldric bit back a groan. Maybe they weren't meant to bridge this divide. Maybe distance was safer.