Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 317: Their Beginning

Damian was still holding the portrait reverently when Vaeronyx cleared his throat—a deep, ancient rumble that suggested he was about to say something important.

Or disastrous.

"Since you are choosing a mate," the Dragon King began with great solemnity, "it is only right that I, the eldest among you, impart the wisdom of my era."

Leroy immediately stiffened.

Lorraine immediately panicked.

Damian immediately looked too eager.

Vaeronyx lifted his chin, proud and catastrophic. "In my youth, when a male desired a female, he would make his claim known by descending upon her village in full draconic form, burning a perfect circle around her home to signify devotion."

Everyone stared.

"...What," Damian whispered, horrified yet taking notes. He cannot take a draconian form, but he could probably make a perfect circle with fire.

Lorraine slapped a hand over her face. "He CANNOT do that."

Vaeronyx continued, undeterred. "If she accepted your suit, she would emerge from her home while the circle was still smoking and offer you a bone from her family’s ancestral remains. A gesture of trust."

Damian blinked. Twice. "...I don’t think Lady Aelindra has ancestral bones lying around."

"She should," Vaeronyx muttered. "Humans these days are terribly unprepared."

Leroy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please stop talking."

But Vaeronyx was just warming up.

"And if she refused," he said thoughtfully, "the tradition was to carry her away until she saw reason."

Lorraine choked.

Damian looked like he was having heart palpitations.

Leroy actually stepped between Lorraine and the Dragon King as if Vaeronyx’s bad advice was a physical threat.

"NO ONE," Lorraine said sharply, "is abducting anyone."

Vaeronyx looked personally offended. "It worked perfectly well for several millennia."

"Your wife was a demigod who could predict the future," Leroy snapped. "You KNELT in front of her. She LET you take her."

The Dragon King paused.

"...She did," he admitted slowly, nostalgia softening his massive, terrifying features. "She always did. She wanted to kill me, instead..."

Damian softened too; even he couldn’t resist that flicker of ancient tenderness. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

But Vaeronyx ruined it instantly. "Still, the burning-circle method is highly effective. Women appreciate clarity."

Lorraine threw her hands up. "NO. No burning circles, no ancestral bones, no dragon kidnappings. Damian, you will court her like a normal person."

Damian sighed dramatically.

"Fine. I won’t burn a circle. But it did sound... symbolically elegant."

"NO."

Vaeronyx muttered under his breath, "Mortals have grown dreadfully boring."

And somewhere far behind them, a tree spontaneously caught fire, probably out of pure cosmic exasperation.

That evening, the world finally exhaled.

Lorraine, exhausted from excitement and scheming and bossing demigods around, curled against Leroy’s chest like it was the most natural place in the world. One moment she was mumbling something indignant about Vaeronyx’s "prehistoric courting rituals," and the next—soft breaths, lashes fluttering, utterly asleep.

Leroy eased his coat over her shoulders, his hand instinctively finding the curve of her back, thumb rubbing small circles without thinking. He lowered his chin to the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and wildflowers that clung to her hair. A soft smile touched his lips—the kind a man makes only when the person he loves most is finally safe in his arms.

A few paces away, Vaeronyx had curled himself into a vaguely circular shape, tail tucked, wings folded. The ancient dragon looked almost... domesticated. His head rested on his forearms, ember-glow eyes half-closed, like a camp guardian who could destroy cities but was settling for keeping watch over three mortals.

Damian approached silently.

And then he saw her.

Lorraine, this terrifying, brilliant, venom-laced general of a woman, sleeping like a kitten, tucked under Leroy’s chin. No steel in her posture, no sharpness in her voice, no calculating glimmer in her gaze.

Damian felt something warm twist in his chest.

He had seen her stride through dark corridors like a storm, had watched her manipulate arrogant lords with a single sentence, had once seen her take down a man twice her size with one poisoned flick of her glove.

And yet here she was... small, peaceful, trusting.

She trusts him this much, Damian thought.

He wasn’t sure if he was jealous... or just in awe.

A soft sigh escaped him before he could help it. Funny. There was a time he had believed Leroy was too cold, too aloof, too unpolished for her. But now... seeing her like this... Damian understood.

Leroy didn’t just protect her. He unburdened her.

Leroy must have felt Damian’s presence, because he murmured, low enough not to disturb the sleeping woman in his arms:

"Marriage is good, if the one you choose is good for you."

Leroy rarely offered wisdom. Especially not unprompted. But this was spoken as one hostage prince to another, a quiet truth carved out of shared scars.

Damian swallowed.

"I hope so," he said softly.

Almost without thinking, his hand brushed over the inside of his coat. The small, stiff edge of the portrait pressed against his fingertips—right there, next to his ever-present fan.

Lady Aelindra.

Her eyes, her poise, the trace of sorrow hidden in her smile.

A woman who might understand what it meant to be passed around courts like a decorative hostage. A woman who might see him—not the prince, not the pawn, not the ornament—but him.

He pressed his fingers more firmly over the portrait, as if grounding himself.

"I truly hope," Damian whispered, "that I can find happiness too."

Vaeronyx snorted in his sleep, a puff of smoke curling into the air—ancient, knowing, mildly judgmental.

Leroy only shifted his hold on Lorraine and whispered back:

"You will."

And Damian the hostage prince, reluctant flirt, and dramatic survivor... let himself believe it, just a little.

-----

The next morning, long before the sun had even considered rising, Lorraine stood in the dim hush of dawn, dressed in her finest silks. The fabric shimmered faintly in the pale blue light, as if it remembered fire. She reached for Leroy’s coat—deep royal silk, soft beneath her fingertips—and began smoothing the folds with a meticulous tenderness that betrayed her nerves.

Her fingers lingered on the braid that hung from his shoulder, twisting it lightly, as though memorizing it again before the whole world claimed him.

She stepped back, one hand slipping instinctively to her round belly, her eyes warm and unbearably soft.

"I really want to watch you..." she whispered, the longing in her voice almost shy for once.

Leroy cupped her cheek briefly, his expression firm yet aching. "You’re going to stand by my side."

Lorraine let out a sigh that fluttered between defiance and reluctant agreement. But then a flicker of memory crossed her features... a memory sharp enough to make her wince.

"...Is this about what I said back then? In the tower?" she asked quietly.

The night she had been cruel on purpose. The night she had weaponized her words just to hurt him before she left him forever. I don’t want to stand by your side. A lie she had thrown at him like a blade.

"I didn’t mean it then," she said, her voice cracking like thin glass.

Leroy closed the distance and pressed his lips to her forehead—a kiss of forgiveness, of truth, of promises that never broke.

"You are standing by my side, my Queen."

And in that moment, with the first line of sunlight beginning to streak the horizon, the last of Lorraine’s defenses melted. She slipped her hand into his, and he held it as if anchoring himself.

Then... the roar.

The dragon’s fire cracked across the dawn like a divine command.

From the mountains, Vaeronyx unleashed a column of golden flame that struck the ancient dam. The stone groaned, splintered, then shattered with a thunderous cry. For a heartbeat, the world paused...

...then the water surged forward.

Leroy pulled Lorraine tightly against his chest as the dragon rose into the air with a mighty sweep of his wings. Her hair whipped around her face, her silks fluttered like banners, but she could not tear her eyes from below.

The Serathil, that was parched, stolen, silenced for decades, burst free like a creature waking from death. It crashed over the broken dam in white thunder, then rushed along its old path with a force that felt almost joyful, as if the river itself remembered its purpose and raced to reclaim it.

Lorraine gasped, awe widening her eyes. "It’s like it knows where it belongs..."

The dragon followed the water’s course, flying low enough that the spray misted against Lorraine’s cheeks. Along the valley, villagers and farmers ran from their homes, pointing upward, shielding their eyes from the sun’s glow and the dragon’s shadow.

Some fell to their knees.

Some shouted blessings.

Some wept.

Most simply stared... at the resurrected river, at the returning heir, at the woman in his arms, and at the new life she carried.

"That’s Prince Leroy!" voices rang from below.

"Is that his wife?"

"She’s pregnant—look!"

"The True Heir has returned!"

"The Serathil flows again! The curse is broken!"

Cheering roared along the riverbanks, wave after wave of jubilation traveling with them as Vaeronyx flew above the restored waters, carrying not just a prince—but a king reborn.

Leroy tightened his hold around Lorraine, his cheek brushing her temple, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he felt.

"This is our beginning."

Below them, Kaltharion and Vaeloria rose to greet their rightful king, his queen, and the heir growing beneath her heart.