Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 281: Falling In Love, All Over Again

Elias left the burnt mansion with a grin he couldn’t quite suppress. He didn’t try to, either.

Did he just... get married to Emma?

Yes. Yes, he did.

The thought echoed in his head, unreal and dizzying. Every step he took down the quiet road made it feel more real, and somehow even more absurd. He’d always known Emma was his family in his heart, but to have someone witness it, to say the words aloud... it felt solid now. Beautifully, terrifyingly solid.

But then...like a brick dropped from the heavens, it hit him.

He got married. Alone.

Shouldn’t Emma have been there? Shouldn’t they have shared that moment together? What would she think of him deciding something so important by himself? No betrothal gift, no ceremony, no question... just a man blurting out a vow in a burnt mansion, in front of one witness, like a fool in love.

He stopped dead in the middle of the road. Someone behind him cursed, another bumped into his shoulder, but Elias didn’t hear a word. He just crouched down, rubbing his hair in pure despair.

"What have I done?" he muttered.

After a long groan, he got up and kept walking, slower this time. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flower girl by the roadside. Her basket brimmed with bright blooms.

It had been a while since he’d given Emma flowers. Her face always lit up when he did. Maybe... maybe this would soften her before she yelled at him.

He bought every flower she had. The girl beamed, grateful for the sale. Elias walked away carrying a massive bouquet, and the nervous hope that maybe, just maybe... his bride wouldn’t kill him the moment he told her they were married.

Elias walked out of the bustling city market, past the noise and the shouting merchants, until the streets narrowed into a quiet, cobbled alleyway tucked deep into the city’s heart. The air here was still, faintly scented with bread and smoke. The houses were small, so small they looked fit for sparrows rather than people, but this was their home now.

He stopped in front of one of them. The plastered walls were cracked, the door crooked, yet to Elias, it looked warm. Lived in. Real. He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Who is it?" came Emma’s voice from inside. Her voice was gentle, familiar, and tinged with fatigue. She hadn’t been herself lately. The others said she was the one who gave the final order to have Cedric executed. Cedric had betrayed them, yes, but he had once been her friend. Grief lingered in her eyes like a ghost. Elias wanted to see her smile again.

"It’s me," he said.

After a pause, the latch clicked, and the door opened. Emma stood there, flour dusting her fingers and apron, a scarf tied loosely over her dark hair; the same scarf he’d given her. A small curl had escaped, brushing her cheek.

"You’re back," she said softly, tucking the curl away as she stepped aside to let him in. Her eyes lifted, finally meeting his. That’s when she noticed the grin on his face, the kind that didn’t belong to the stoic Elias she knew.

"What is it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, amused. Then she blinked. "Wait... is that a dimple?"

Elias froze mid-step.

Emma gasped dramatically. "It is a dimple! You’re smiling! Properly smiling!"

He looked away, suddenly shy.

Emma’s laughter filled the little house like sunlight. She’d never seen him like this, his face open, the faint dimples softening his usually severe features. He looked so breathtakingly alive, so heartbreakingly human.

And for the first time, she thought, with a dizzy little flutter in her chest... How did I ever manage to make this man fall for me?

Elias didn’t understand the deep blush blooming on Emma’s face, that it was her falling in love with him all over again, though she herself might not have realized it. He only knew that she was staring at him oddly, so he quickly turned his hand forward, revealing the bouquet he’d been hiding behind his back.

"Flowers for my dearest Emma," he said proudly, almost shyly.

She blinked. Only then did she notice the armful of blooms, though her eyes still lingered on him.

"How much did you spend on that?" she asked, pulling him inside before anyone could see. Her Elias, the stoic, brooding soldier known across the district, was smiling. Smiling!

And she’d be damned if other women caught a glimpse of that dimple. She shut the door firmly, exhaled, and only then looked at him again.

"Do you not like the flowers?" Elias asked, a faint crease forming between his brows. He had no clue why she talked about money. He had enough saved. He could afford buying his wife some flowers when he felt like it. All he wanted was to see her smile.

Emma saw the flicker of uncertainty on his face and softened. "I love them," she said quickly, taking the bouquet and lifting it to her nose. "They’re beautiful. Just... a lot." She smiled. "You didn’t have to buy this many."

To her, one flower had always been enough.

Elias said nothing, only watched her fuss over finding a vase, her hands moving with quiet grace. The little room around them was poor but warm; Emma had made it a home.

Then, with a sudden spark of decision, he took her hand. "Come with me," he said, gently pulling her hand. "We’re going shopping."

"What’s with you today?" Emma asked, glancing at the dough she’d just started kneading. The flour needed to be set for the baker soon, and dinner had yet to be prepared. Elias was never one to interrupt her work. He was acting strange, too restless, and too intent.

"Go, wash up. We’re going out," he insisted.

"Elias—" she began, but he wasn’t listening. His tone left no room for argument.

In the end, she gave up with a small sigh. He wasn’t an impulsive man, and that was exactly what unsettled her. Something had changed in him today... and though she didn’t understand it, she found herself wanting to follow wherever he led.

-----

The sun had settled softly over the cobbled streets, its light painting the city in gold and rose. The market was alive with chatter, with merchants calling, children darting between stalls, and women haggling over silks and spices. Elias walked beside Emma, his large hand protectively hovering near her back as if the bustle itself might bruise her.

Emma, for her part, was too busy counting coins.

Elias could only sigh.