Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 296: The Vision Comes True

A tremor rippled through Lorraine’s chest. Her gaze swept over the river, the silver bend of its current, the glint of sunlight trembling across the rocks, the soft hiss of water against the banks.

And then her breath caught.

This place... She knew it.

The realization struck her like a blade drawn too sharp, cold, sudden, and undeniable.

It was the river from her vision. The one where the waters had run red, curling around her legs like living veins of blood.

Her hand slipped from her stomach as she froze, every muscle locking in place. The same river. The same shape of the rocks. Only now, blanketed in the fragile beauty of melting snow. Spring had returned, and with it, the vision she had tried so hard to forget had come alive again, clearer than ever.

Lorraine pressed a trembling hand to her belly, instinctively guarding what lay within. Her other hand fumbled for the weapon Leroy had given her, the small crossbow, its bolts filled with poison. The weight of it steadied her, a cold reminder of the world she lived in.

At least Leroy knew where she was. She told him this morning that she would be taking a walk along the river and not go to the village. And Leroy had always boasted about finding her when she needed it. That much, at least, gave her breath.

And then, there was clarity.

The fragments of that haunting dream she once dismissed began to fall into place. The echo of her own voice calling out his name, Leroy, had once felt like madness. She thought how she would call his name when she was about to leave him, and when he didn’t even know that she could talk.

But now... she understood. She called his name in that dream because things had changed between them. Because she trusted him now. Trusted that he was here. He was near.

Her pulse quickened. She rose slowly, her feet sinking into the icy shallows, fingers tightening around the crossbow.

Then came the sound.

Steel clashing against steel. It rang faintly from upstream — the sharp, echoing rhythm of battle.

The trees across the river swayed in the wind, their dense shadows hiding what her eyes could not reach. The mountains loomed behind them, jagged and white-crowned, exactly as she had seen in her vision.

Her throat went dry. "Leroy!" she called, her voice trembling through the wind. Fear twisted through her chest, cold and heavy. She held her belly with one hand, the crossbow steady in the other, eyes scouring the water for movement.

She tried to take a step... and froze.

Just as in the vision, her legs refused to move. The cold bit into her skin. She looked down and saw it... the water coiling around her ankles, slick and strong as if alive, as if the river itself had decided to claim her.

The clashing grew louder, nearer.

Lorraine’s breath came short. She clutched her stomach again, and felt it. A faint, insistent movement beneath her palm.

Her child.

"It’s all right, baby," she whispered, her voice breaking. "We’ll be fine. Your father will protect us."

The baby stirred beneath her palm, a sudden, insistent movement, almost deliberate.

It wasn’t random. It was as if he were pointing.

Lorraine followed the direction of that subtle motion, her gaze lifting toward the distant peak that rose beyond the river. The summit gleamed pale beneath the sunlight, sharp against the spring haze. There was nowhere to hide there. There was no thicket, no shadow deep enough to shelter her. Just open ground and the feeling of being seen.

Why would my baby want me to go there?

Lorraine was confused. Her heart beat faster. And then, gradually, the movement within her stilled, as if her baby was giving up.

So did the sound of steel.

The clashing that had been echoing through the valley only moments ago faded into silence, leaving behind a hush so complete that it pressed against her ears, a silence heavy enough to feel like a warning.

And then... there was silence.

The baby stilled. The sounds of clashing steel faded, swallowed by the wind. Even the river seemed to pause.

Lorraine’s pulse roared in her ears. And then, warmth.

A slow, creeping warmth spread through the water around her legs, and the metallic tang of blood filled the air.

Her heart lurched. She looked down. Veins of crimson unfurled in the river, curling and twisting around her like the threads of her nightmare.

Her knees buckled. She clutched her belly, breath trembling.

This—this was it.

Her vision. Come to life.

Am I... losing my baby?

Just as she stood there — frozen, breath caught between disbelief and dread — the river stirred before her. A disturbance rippled through the surface, slow at first, then violent, churning. The water darkened.

Blood.

It spread in tendrils, curling and twisting through the current, staining the once-clear stream a deep, sickening red. The color moved with the rhythm of the river, glinting under the sunlight like molten copper.

Lorraine narrowed her eyes against the glare, heart hammering. The current carried something ... dark shapes drifting along the crimson tide.

Bodies.

She gasped. The breath tore through her throat as she watched them float downstream, limbs limp, armor glinting beneath the bloodied water. The river was too fast for them to reach the shore; it simply bore them away, one after another, silent as fallen leaves.

And then... amid the chaos of drifting corpses, she saw movement.

Someone was swimming, fighting against the current.

Lorraine raised the crossbow, her hands trembling but steady enough to aim. Her legs were still locked in place, cold and heavy as stone. The child within her lay still now, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Her pulse thudded violently in her ears, louder than the river.

Who is that? Is he coming to kill me?

Then, from the swirling red, a head broke the surface.

The river parted around him in angry waves, flecks of blood and foam glistening in the sunlight. For one breathless moment, Lorraine thought the river itself had birthed a phantom... until the shape solidified, every line of him carved in defiance.

Water and blood streamed down the hard planes of his face, tracing the sharp cut of his jaw as his birthmark gleamed in the sunlight, the water sliding along the curve of his lips. He blinked against the sting, pushing his drenched hair back with one hand, that familiar, unhurried gesture that belonged only to him, calm even when the world burned around him.

His other hand did not let go of the sword. The blade glimmered under the light, streaked in red, a living proof that he had fought his way through hell. Muscles strained beneath the soaked linen clinging to his chest, every movement slow, deliberate, as if the river itself bowed to let him pass.

He drew in a ragged breath, eyes lifting... and found her.

Lorraine’s heart stopped. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if the trembling in her legs was from fear or something far deeper. He looked otherworldly, rising from a river of blood like a vision.

The air between them tightened, full of disbelief, relief, and the silent, searing recognition of two souls who had nearly lost each other.

And though the river roared and the wind bit cold against her cheeks, Lorraine could hear only one thing... the sound of his breath, alive and uneven, proof that he had come back to her.

"Leroy..." she breathed.

He waded toward her, the current dragging at him, his shirt torn open and clinging to his body. Blood and water gleamed across his skin, tracing every line of his chest and abdomen. Each step he took seemed carved from will alone, and though he looked half-drowned, there was something unyielding in his eyes; a fire that would not let go.

Lorraine’s fingers loosened on the crossbow. Her vision swam with tears and riverlight.

He had come for her.

"Leroy!"

The word tore from her throat, shattering the air. Whatever unseen force had been binding her released all at once, like a thread snapping under strain. She stumbled forward, splashing through the crimson water, her skirts heavy and clinging. The current fought her every step, but she didn’t care. She ran.

Her foot slipped on the slick stone, and she would have fallen if not for the arm that caught her.

Strong. Familiar. Warm even through the cold.

Leroy’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him with a force that made the world stop for a single heartbeat.

He carried her through the shallows to the riverbank, his breath coming in sharp bursts, water streaming down his jaw and collarbone. When he set her down, his voice was steady but low, edged with urgency.

"Wear your shoes, Lorraine. There are more."

There was no time for questions. Lorraine obeyed, fumbling to pull on her boots, her trembling fingers barely working. When she finally looked up...

Her blood turned to ice.

Across the river, through the thinning mist, shapes moved. Dozens, no, hundreds, emerging from the trees like a tide of shadows. Horses snorted, their armor gleaming. Archers drew their bows. Foot soldiers advanced in perfect rhythm. An entire army.

Her heart stuttered. An army. Against him.