Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 318: To Claim His Thone In Kaltharion

Along with the thunderous roar of the resurrected Serathil and the swelling cheers of the people who lined the riverbanks, Leroy and Lorraine reached the capital city of Kaltharion astride Vaeronyx. Dawn had fully broken by then, casting molten gold along the rooftops, and the dragon, ever dramatic, ever ancient, made a deliberate, slow circle around the city.

His vast shadow swept over the tall stone buildings, across the morning markets bursting into life, and over every startled face that turned skyward. Merchants froze mid-call; baker boys dropped baskets of fresh loaves; children pointed with shrieks of awe. Even the horses in the stables reared and snorted, startled by the enormous silhouette crossing the sun.

Up on the fortress walls, the guards were much less poetic about it.

Weapons were raised. Bows drew back. Orders were shouted.

Vaeronyx did not ascend to avoid the danger, if anything, he dipped lower, so close Lorraine could see the whites of the soldiers’ eyes. And though she had commanded assassins and outwitted nobles, she had never been this close to warfare, never even stood in front of a charging horse before, let alone sat behind the skull of a fire-breathing demigod while arrows were aimed at her unborn child.

Her breath hitched, her hands curling instinctively over her belly.

Before fear could root deeper, Leroy’s arm wrapped around her waist—firm, protective, grounding. He pulled her close, covering her with the quiet certainty that had steadied her far more than any flame or fury of dragons ever could.

She trusted him. More than fire. More than fate.

The first volley of arrows sprang into the sky like a cloud of deadly black needles.

Vaeronyx merely snorted.

With one mighty flutter of his wings...just one, the gust tore through the air. The arrows spun harmlessly away, scattering like brittle twigs caught in a storm. Gasps erupted from the guards; some stumbled, others simply froze in place.

"It’s Prince Leroy!" a soldier cried at last, voice cracking with disbelief.

And in an instant, recognition dawned.

Eighty percent of the armed men dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. They were the men who had once sworn their swords to him, who had watched him grow, who still saw him, no matter the years, no matter the humiliation Vaeloria had forced upon him, as their rightful Crown Prince.

The remaining soldiers hovered awkwardly between duty and awe, unsure whether to kneel or faint.

"Serathil returns!" someone shouted.

"Prince Leroy returned Serathil!"

The news spread like wildfire through the capital, racing ahead of the dragon. By the time Vaeronyx circled once more and descended toward the palace, the shouts had reached the inner courtyards.

On the balcony, Princess Lucia stood frozen, her hand clutching the rail. Beside her, the King and Queen of Kaltharion stared with expressions so mixed .

Vaeronyx attempted to land in the palace clearing.

Attempted.

His massive form clipped three elegant cypress trees, toppled a stone statue of a saint, and crushed the royal herb garden beneath one enormous foot. A decorative fountain exploded under the weight of his tail.

He did not care. He was ancient royalty. Landscaping was not his concern.

Leroy and Lorraine remained seated upon his back, looking down at the stunned royal trio. The king’s lips parted. Lucia looked as if she had forgotten how to breathe. The queen pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

Surely, none of them had expected Leroy to return.

And certainly not like this...

On the back of a dragon.... With the river that couldn’t be retuned by diplomacy and bowing down, returned by a force bigger than all of them... With his queen at his side... With an heir in her belly... With a kingdom rising behind him.

Leroy exhaled once, slow and steady.

"It’s time," he murmured, tightening his hold on Lorraine’s hand before helping her down.

It was the beginning of the rewriting of history itself.

They walked the alabaster corridors toward the throne room, their footsteps echoing like a slow drumroll announcing the inevitable. The guards lining the walls stiffened as they passed, some in reverence, others in fear, but none dared speak.

Lorraine stole a glance at Leroy.

His amber eyes, that were once gentle, hesitant, questioning, were now narrowed forward, steady as carved gold. He no longer looked like the man who once brought her to a rundown tavern with confusion in his stride and doubt in his heart. That man, the uncertain hostage prince with the clipped wings, was gone.

In his place stood the rightful heir of Kaltharion. A man who had returned the river, flown with a dragon, reclaimed a kingdom, and accepted what destiny demanded of him.

Her lips curved. She remembered that night—when he defied her father for her sake, that first spark of defiance flickering inside him. She had whispered then that a man burdened with chains could still choose to stand. That ember she saw in him had grown into a pillar of fire that now illuminated the whole kingdom.

This...this was the version of her husband she loved above all.

They entered the grand hall. Leroy walked with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other entwined with hers. Her free hand rested protectively on her round belly. The tension rippled through the hall like a blade drawn from a sheath.

A few soldiers made the mistake of unsheathing their weapons.

Before their blades were even fully out, a massive shadow darkened the vaulted arches behind the couple.

Vaeronyx lowered his enormous head into the hall, jaws parting slowly—very slowly—revealing rows of glowing teeth and a faint, ominous spark flaring deep in his throat. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

That was enough.

Every soldier dropped to their knees at once, armor clattering. They didn’t know much about dragons... but even idiots understood when a creature capable of turning them into roasted crumbs was watching.

On the throne, the King attempted to sit comfortably, though the tremor in his fingers betrayed him. The Queen clung to his arm, pale. Princess Lucia stood beneath the dais beside her young daughter, stiff as a spear.

The moment Lucia saw her brother, her expression softened into a broad smile. She hurried to him.

"Brother, we’ve been waiting for you—"

But Leroy did not stop. Did not smile. Did not even blink in her direction.

"Get down," he commanded, voice resonant, cold, unrecognizable from the gentle brother she adored.

The king stiffened.

Leroy’s gaze locked on him. "Kneel."

The entire hall gasped. Lucia’s face blanched. The Queen clutched her pearls dramatically.

"How dare you speak so to your father?" she cried, advancing a step.

Leroy didn’t look at her. He merely said, calmly: "Lorraine. Slap him."

Lorraine blinked. Ah. Now she understood—payback. The king had once ordered his men to slap her. At the time, Leroy had been powerless to protect her and yet he did.

She stepped forward... when Lucia struck.

A dagger flashed from Lucia’s sleeve, her face twisted with desperation as she lunged straight for Lorraine’s belly.

Lorraine gasped, but her gasp didn’t even finish.

Leroy was already there.

His hand clamped around Lucia’s throat, lifting her off her feet with terrifying ease. His other hand wrenched the dagger from her grip. In a single, swift motion.

*slash*

A thin line opened across Lucia’s throat; not deep enough to kill instantly, but enough to sentence her to a slow, bleeding downfall unless saved.

The King bolted upright.

Leroy dropped Lucia to the floor like a discarded cloth. "I said," he told Lorraine, as if nothing had happened. "Go. Slap him."

Lorraine lifted her hands, then paused with a small, charming sigh. "My hands are not very strong, Your Majesty," she said sweetly, deliberately using the title.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

That one phrase—Your Majesty—had just declared a new king. A usurpation. A coronation. A rebellion.

No one spoke. No one dared.

Leroy laughed softly, pride gleaming in his eyes. "My Queen is indeed intelligent," he murmured, kissing her temple.

Then, without even glancing at his dying sister or his crying niece, he strode toward the dais. His boots clicked against the marble like war drums.

He reached the throne.

He lifted his hand.

And with the force of a thunderclap—slap—his palm struck the King’s jaw so hard it dislocated audibly.

"KNEEL," Leroy roared.

This time, king and queen collapsed together.

The ministers followed, trembling like reeds.

Leroy stood tall at the top of the dais, back straight, amber eyes blazing with sovereign fire. He extended his hand toward Lorraine—inviting, commanding, welcoming.

She walked forward with the serene elegance of a swan, her steps steady, her smile radiant.

He had asked her to stand by his side.

And she did—here, now, forever—ascending the dais as the Queen of Kaltharion, with the dragon’s shadow behind her and her husband’s fire beside her.

The kingdom finally saw them as they were meant to be.

"Help your sister," the former queen pleaded, her voice trembling. "Your sister loved you..."

Leroy’s glare struck like a blade. "Is that why she sent an army to kill my wife and my unborn child?"

His voice did not rise. It sharpened—cold, final, the kind of voice a man uses when he has become something more than a prince and far more dangerous than a king.

He knew the truth. The army on the borders had only been a distraction. The true target had always been Lorraine. The child growing beneath her heart.