Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 278: A Cozy Night

Leroy stepped back, wary but amused. Lorraine tied her hair with a ribbon, sleeves rolled up as if she’d done this a hundred times before. Confidence radiated from her like sunlight. Her confidence was misplaced, but dazzling.

She inspected the shelves, humming softly, and Leroy couldn’t help but watch. She opened the spice box, frowned, sniffed it suspiciously, and sneezed. "Spicy," she muttered to herself.

Then she picked up a knife. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Leroy’s breath caught. "Careful—"

She waved him off. "I’ve seen people handle blades sharper than this."

Which was true, but apparently, kitchen knives were a different species, and watching was no closer to having hands-on experience. The onion rolled away, she chased it, slipped a little, and muttered something so unladylike that Leroy nearly choked trying not to laugh.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, trying to look stern. She noticed him and glared. "Don’t just stand there, Commander. I’m cooking for you."

He smirked. "That’s what I’m afraid of."

Steam began to rise, though from where, he wasn’t sure. Something sizzled, something hissed, and a faintly alarming smell filled the kitchen.

Lorraine looked utterly unbothered, stirring with regal pride. "See? Told you. Cooking’s simple."

Leroy watched her, laughter tugging at his lips. He had survived wars, betrayals, and assassins, but watching his wife cook might very well be the most dangerous thing he’d ever endured.

Lorraine stood by the counter with the solemnity of a priestess about to summon fire. She furrowed her brows at the pot as if it had personally offended her, then glanced at the bundles of herbs and jars she’d lined up like soldiers awaiting command.

"I’m making stew," she’d declared earlier, as if announcing a royal decree. So, dutifully, he had brought the meat, though he half-expected her to start a small explosion instead of dinner.

Yet, against all odds, a few minutes later, the cottage was filled with the warm, rich aroma of something edible. A faint sweetness of carrots and onions mingled with the earthy scent of simmering broth. Lorraine had added a handful of "spices" (which she chose purely based on color, he suspected), but somehow... it worked.

The room smelled like home.

When the stew finally thickened, she had no idea how to put out the fire, fanning it in panic before he gently stepped in, chuckling, to settle it himself.

Soon after, they sat at the small table; a simple thing, worn but sturdy, meant only for two. It wasn’t like the grand oak tables in their mansion, where distance always stretched between them. Here, the space was close, intimate, and impossibly quiet except for the soft clink of spoons.

Leroy took the first bite.

Heaven.

It was warm and rich and imperfect in all the right ways. Potatoes and carrots, tender meat, a hint of herbs; it was comfort in a bowl. He had eaten countless stews on battlefields, but none had ever tasted like this.

Lorraine watched him, anxious and radiant all at once. When he smiled and rubbed his stomach with a dramatic sigh, her entire face lit up.

"Do you like it?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his.

"I love it," he said, truthfully.

Only then did she begin to eat.

They talked, lightly, lazily, about nothing and everything, while the sun sank behind the mountains, leaving the little house bathed in golden quiet.

When it was time for bed, Lorraine’s eyes lit up like a child seeing the first snow. The sight of the bed, simple, sturdy, draped in a soft quilt, filled her with unexplainable delight.

It was nothing compared to the one they had back at their mansion, the one she had once chosen herself, a grand thing with carved posts, embroidered silks, and a mattress soft as a cloud. This one was far humbler, barely wide enough for two. But it was warm, and clean, and in that moment, it looked like the most inviting place in the world.

Leroy stood behind her, his lips curving faintly as he watched her eyes soften. He had chosen that small bed years ago, when he knew nothing about her, her habits, her moods, and her restless nights. Back then, he had only thought it might be easier to hold her close in something so small. And now, knowing her as he did, he realized the size didn’t matter. His wife had always preferred to fall asleep on him anyway.

Of course, the task of fetching hot water fell to him. Lorraine inspected the bathing corner next and seemed pleased by the sight of the copper tub. Then, wandering into the adjoining room, she opened the small dresser. Her breath caught in surprise.

"You have clothes for me!" she gasped, turning toward him with wide, delighted eyes.

He only smiled. She had expected to manage somehow, to improvise as she thought that it was what she would have to do, but Leroy had quietly thought of everything.

Lorraine crossed the room in a heartbeat and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. He smelled faintly of smoke and pine, warmth and safety. For a fleeting moment, she let herself sink into that feeling...the simple, precious joy of being cherished by her husband.

They didn’t have much. But everything they had, he had made for her. And that was enough to fill her heart completely.

With a single candle flickering in the corner, the room glowed in amber light—soft, trembling, intimate. Lorraine lay nestled against Leroy’s chest, her breath rising and falling in rhythm with his. His scent... woodsmoke, pine, and something unmistakably him, wrapped around her like a second blanket. For the first time in what felt like forever, her heart felt quiet.

"This is not too bad, Leroy..." she murmured, her voice drowsy, almost smiling.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, saying nothing. Words felt unnecessary. The silence between them was gentle for once, not heavy with the ghosts of what they’d done or lost.

Her eyelids fluttered shut. The warmth of his arms, the faint creak of the cabin settling, the low crackle of dying embers, all of it blurred into a lullaby.

But sometime later, the world shifted.

A sound—she couldn’t tell if it was real or from a dream—made her eyes snap open. The candle had burned low, shadows crawling across the walls. Her heartbeat quickened. Leroy’s arm was still draped across her, his breathing steady, but something felt... wrong.