Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 323: Nearing End

And then, the vision dissipated. Her heart was racing and through the haze of pain in her belly, she heard it—distant at first, then swelling into deafening certainty.

The roar of triumph.

The clash of steel fading.

The unmistakable cry spreading across the plains like wildfire.

The war was over.

They had won.

And then she heard it... Leroy’s horse, the familiar rhythm of hooves striking the earth with the certainty of a man returning victorious. Lorraine forced herself to stand, pretending her legs weren’t trembling, pretending her breath wasn’t hitching in uneven gasps, pretending the fire curling through her abdomen wasn’t the first whisper of death tightening its fingers around her.

Her hands shook, not only from the building contractions but from the memory of the vision—the lake cracking open, the Swan Divina’s tomb rising from the depths like a terrible truth made stone.

She knew it. Deep in her bones, deep in the marrow where prophecy lived, whether she wished for it or not.

Today was the day she would die.

Leroy’s stress had been a shadow clinging to him for months. Every time he looked at her belly, every time the baby shifted beneath her skin, his face wavered between awe and fear and the unbearable grief of a man who already knew the ending.

She remembered the night he had woken half-conscious and, in a haze of terror, tried to still the child inside her before catching himself and collapsing against her stomach. It was then she had understood that he knew she would die giving birth, and he had been grasping for any impossible thread that might change fate.

Her hand curled protectively around her belly. Be safe, little one... I’ll make sure you come into this world safe and sound, even if I cannot stay.

Victory should have tasted like triumph, but Lorraine could not feel anything except the way her insides twisted with the promise of another wave. Aldric stood at her side, worry deepening the line between his brows.

"Are you unwell?" he asked.

Lorraine drew a controlled breath, painting a smile across her lips with the quiet skill of a woman who had lied for survival long before she lied for comfort. "I’m fine. Go greet Leroy," she murmured.

She turned to Sylvia the moment Aldric stepped away. Sylvia rushed forward instantly, hands already reaching to steady her.

"Sylvia... it’s time," Lorraine whispered.

Sylvia’s eyes widened, panic rushing in. "Now? Your Majesty, it’s too early."

Lorraine only nodded, pressing a hand to her belly as another contraction rippled through her. She knew she should lie down. She knew she should be preparing. But she also knew there was one moment she needed to witness before she died... the sight of her husband returning as a victor, a king in all but name.

When Leroy appeared, sunlight cut around him like a coronation, and behind his horse walked the chained man who dared call himself Emperor of Vaeloria. Lorraine’s lips curled, satisfaction flickering like a dying flame. She had lived long enough to see this day.

Aldric saw the pain tighten her features and the panic trembling in Sylvia’s hands; he understood what Lorraine wanted and did not argue. He fetched a chair for her and helped her sit where she could see everything.

Leroy ascended the temporary platform, sitting upon the high chair with a gravity that settled over the entire battlefield like destiny. He searched the crowd for Lorraine, and when he found her, he gestured her forward.

She rose, because how could she not? This was the last thing she could give him before she left this world. She wanted him to remember her seated beside him as his queen, not hidden in a tent as a dying woman.

The nine kings formed a circle, their presence heavy with the authority of the nations they represented. Today was not merely punishment; it was judgment. And despite the dragon’s shadow lingering over the war, this reckoning was handed to mortal men.

Leroy was the one they all turned to.

Lorraine watched him, her heart swelling and breaking in the same breath. The man who once knelt before this vain emperor now sat above him, throne or no throne, while the emperor knelt where he belonged.

Aralyn came forward first, voice steady as she testified to the murder of his own mother. Then the kings and princes followed, each recounting the destruction and tyranny the emperor had unleashed on their lands.

Prince Damian recounted the emperor destroying the knowledge Lystheria had saved for centuries. King of Corvalith blamed the emperor for killing his dear wife. Each had a story to tell.

And when all voices had spoken, Leroy rose, his every movement slow, deliberate, and weighted with the authority of the rightful heir.

His judgment was final.

Leroy’s fingers tightened as he spoke, each word resonating with solemn weight.

"Let it be written, and let it be known across all borders: the Emperor of Vaeloria and his entire bloodline are hereby condemned to public execution."

He paused, letting the verdict settle like a closing tomb.

"For the nations you bled dry, for the innocents you took, justice will be done in the eyes of all." 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

There were cheers all around, waves of triumph rolling through the camp as men shouted Leroy’s name, but Lorraine could barely hear any of it over the tight, crushing pain blooming across her waist. The contractions were close now, too close, and every breath tasted like the echo of the vision she had just escaped.

She looked around the crowd with urgency burning through her veins, searching for him—Vaeronyx—because even now, at the edge of her own unraveling, one thought consumed her: she needed to entrust her husband to someone capable of guiding him when she no longer could. Someone powerful. Someone who could steady the world around him once she was gone.

She had believed she had more time. She had believed she would see her child grow, or at least witness Leroy’s coronation in peace. But fate had moved faster, crueler. Since it was like this, she would force herself to prepare. The conspirator, the strategist in her, the very core of who Lorraine had always been, stirred awake, razor-sharp even in agony. She would not leave Leroy unprotected.

Yet, Vaeronyx was nowhere near. The platform, the clearing, the sky above the victorious army... empty of him. Until, in the far distance, she saw a single long wing stretch across the sky, slicing through the sun like a blade of light.

Where is he going?

Why would he leave now, when she needed him most?

Another flash tore through her skull—a vision so violent she nearly cried out. She saw them, the souls of all the Oracles before her, drifting in a circle of light. Watching. Waiting. Calling. Hovering around the grave of the Swan Oracle—her grave, as if waiting for her to join them.

Her knees buckled. She could no longer hold herself upright.

Sylvia and the midwives rushed to her, quickly ushering her toward the tent. The cheers of victory faded behind her, swallowed by the dim, enclosed space as the tent flaps closed and the midwives began to prepare. Warm water. Cloth. Herbs for the pain. Hands steady from years of delivering children.

Lorraine lay back, panting, but her eyes kept drifting toward the entrance, toward the world outside the tent, toward where he should have been.

She was waiting for him. Waiting for Leroy.

Yes, it was against custom for a husband to be present during childbirth. They said it was unlucky. They said a man witnessing the pain of birth drew misfortune into the home. They said it made the gods look away.

But Leroy had never cared for customs that kept him from her. He had let her touch him freely when tradition demanded distance. He had held her even when she was bleeding, smiling as if her most natural state could never be an omen. He had let her desire him, let her lead him, let her be both softness and fire without once asking her to shrink.

And yet... he was not here.

The panic clawed at her chest.

"Leroy..." She clutched Sylvia’s wrist with trembling fingers, the pain rising like a storm tide. "I want him... I need him..."