Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 272: Her Mistrust, His Guilt

"Leroy..." she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

He didn’t respond. His face was calm, eyes shut, his breath steady. Was he asleep, or pretending? She couldn’t tell. His hand still rested against her abdomen, heavy and unmoving, as though protecting something... or restraining it.

Lorraine gently touched his wrist. His grip didn’t ease.

Her pulse quickened. The remnants of her dream still clung to her, the echo of that baby’s cry, faint yet piercing, as if from somewhere deep inside her chest. She couldn’t tell where the dream ended and reality began.

For a moment, for a single excruciatingly painful and weak moment, she thought maybe her husband was trying to squeeze the life out of their baby’s life.

No!

She didn’t want to believe that. She refused to think that. It would be impossible for Leroy to hurt her this way. And what reason would he have to not want his own offspring, the symbol of their love, a part of him and her? There was just no way.

"Leroy," she tried again, softer this time.

His lashes fluttered. Only when she tensed beneath him did his fingers twitch; a subtle, instinctive movement, as if realizing what he was doing.

"Did I hurt you?" His voice came low, hoarse with sleep.

Lorraine didn’t answer immediately. She stared at his hand, still resting over her stomach. The touch wasn’t possessive, nor tender, but searching. Searching if he had hurt her somehow. A silent question. A plea. Her chest tightened.

"Just a bit," she whispered. "It felt... strange."

He blinked, gaze darkening, before slowly withdrawing his hand. Steam from the spring drifted between them, pale and ghostlike.

"Strange," he murmured, his tone unreadable. "Forgive me. I didn’t... mean to."

Lorraine nodded, forcing a small smile, trying to shake off the unease. But when she leaned back again, her heart refused to settle. The baby’s cry still echoed faintly in her mind.

Leroy looked away, his hands trembling in the mist.

He hadn’t meant to press that hard. Gods, no. Yet deep inside, a truth he could never voice twisted like a blade: he didn’t want the child.

Not if it meant losing her.

The thought sickened him, yet it was real. The darkest part of him whispered that the life inside her was stealing hers away. His blood, his heir... and still, he wished it gone. How could something of his, something born from love, turn against him so cruelly?

But the rational part of him knew that to harm what grew inside her would only harm her. There was no way out now. Unless fate intervened, unless some miracle took it from them... he was trapped in this fear.

He swallowed hard, staring at his hands.

To think that even in sleep, his body, his subconscious would act on that forbidden wish. The thought made his stomach churn. If she had noticed, if she suspected... she would pull away. And he couldn’t survive that.

No.

He had to master himself, his mind, and his heart, before either betrayed him again.

Leroy stepped out of the spring and dressed in silence. Water still clung to his skin, sliding down his back in slow rivulets before disappearing beneath the fabric.

Lorraine lingered in the water, watching the steam curl and dissolve into the morning air. Her heart fluttered; not in the way it once did around him, but in that uneasy, trembling way that comes before fear.

The feeling his touch had left behind was new. Wrong.

There had been times in the past when she’d doubted his love. She had thought he hated her, or perhaps wished she’d stayed away. She thought that he thought of her as a mistake and useless. She thought he wanted her not to exist. But even then, his touch had never frightened her. Not once.

Yet this time... it felt dangerous.

A cold thought took root in her mind, sharp and poisonous. Was it truly him who had done it? Or something else... something that had taken hold of him?

If it was the latter, she could find a way. She always did.

But if it was the former...

She shut her eyes, refusing to follow that thought to its end. No. This was Leroy. Leroy, her husband, her impossible, stubborn love. He would never hurt her. Never hurt their child.

Her gaze drifted to him again. He had his back turned to her as he pulled on his shirt. That alone made her chest ache. Leroy never hid from her; he’d always worn his body like armor and art, always teasing her blushes and stealing her laughter, knowing how much she loved his body.

But now... his shoulders slouched, his movements trembled. The proud man she knew looked smaller, dimmer somehow.

Lorraine exhaled softly. He was hurting too. Regretting, perhaps.

And yet, anger prickled beneath her skin: quiet, sharp, unrelenting. She turned away, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Something fragile cracked inside her... a hairline fracture of trust, small but deep. She hated that it was there. Hated that she could no longer silence the voice whispering that her husband had meant to hurt what was growing within her.

Her hand drifted to her stomach. She rubbed the spot where his palm had pressed, slow and harsh.

I’ll protect you, she thought, her lips trembling as she whispered it into the mist. Don’t you worry.

When she was done, Leroy approached her with a towel. She took it without a word, turning her back to him.

It wasn’t defiance. It was instinct; the quiet recoil of someone whose heart hadn’t decided whether to forgive or to fear.

She didn’t hate him. Not yet.

Leroy reached for her hair, strands still dripping down her shoulder. His fingers trembled as he brushed them back.

She flinched.

That single, small movement shattered him. He knew then that she understood. She knew what he had meant to do.

And how could he blame her?

He pressed his lips to her damp hair, his breath catching as he held her shoulders.

She didn’t pull away. And that alone kept him breathing.

"Lorraine..." he whispered, her name breaking somewhere between apology and prayer.

She heard the tremor in his voice, and her chest tightened. This was her husband, the man who had crossed fire and ruin for her. The one who had endured humiliation for years for her. The same man who now sounded as if he feared himself.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

"I won’t let you go where I can’t reach you..." His words were barely more than a breath against her skin. He would follow her anywhere; through storm, through earth, even through death if he had to. But if she left this world entirely... what then?

His voice was muffled in her hair, his pain a whisper against her ear. "What did you say?" she turned toward him.

Her eyes widened. His were red — strained, rimmed with exhaustion and something deeper. Fear.

"Leroy..." she murmured, cupping his face. She couldn’t bear to see him like this.

"I love you, Lorraine. So much..." he said, voice raw.

"I know..." she whispered, pulling him into her arms. "I love you too."

She exhaled slowly, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest. She could never hate him. Not even if she tried.