Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 271: A Baby’s Cry

Leroy’s proud grin only widened as he stood at the edge of the steaming cave pool, a faint mist curling around his shoulders like a crown of triumph. He’d done it.

Against all odds, and after muttering every name in the book at his impossible wife, he had found her a bath.

"Enjoy, Mouseling," he said, holding out his hand. "Your bath awaits."

The cave was veiled in ribbons of steam, the air warm and humming with the soft drip of water from the rocks. Lorraine’s lips parted slightly, her eyes lighting with genuine wonder as she took in the sight. It looked almost enchanted, like a secret refuge carved by fate itself.

When she turned back to him, that wonder curved into mischief. He’d seen that look before. It was the same one that preceded her troublemaking ideas, the same one that made his blood stir even before she spoke.

"Well?" she said, her tone sweet and challenging. "Aren’t you going to turn around? I’m going to undress."

He tilted his head. "After three days of you stealing all my warmth, my patience, and my sanity? No, my sweetest porcupine. I’ll risk the view."

Lorraine’s cheeks reddened. They’d just done it, but still, each time he looked at her like that... something in her stirred.

She met his eyes and slowly undressed, without breaking eye contact. She could see his throat bobbing, his cheek flushing, and him stiffening. And she knew what it meant. He felt the same as her.

She laughed with a soft, melodic, and wickedly knowing sound and stepped toward the mist, her fingers brushing against his arm as she passed. Her movement was unhurried, teasing. She was perfectly aware of his gaze, of the way it lingered. The cave light painted her silhouette in golden warmth and silver shade, blurring where skin met steam.

By the time she slipped into the water, ripples shimmered outward, the steam rising around her like a veil. She tilted her head back, letting out a sigh that sent a fresh wave of heat through his chest.

"Are you going to stand there all day, Your Majesty?" she said, eyes half-lidded, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he set his sword aside and stepped closer to the pool. "I should’ve left you with the porcupines," he muttered, though his voice was already gentler, his smile stubbornly unwilling to fade.

"Porcupines?" Lorraine stiffened, glancing around the cave. "There are porcupines here?" Her hands flew instinctively to her hair as she looked toward the shadowed rocks. "Leroy, if one pricks me—"

He bit his lip, failing to hide a laugh. "You’re impossible," he said, kneeling beside the pool. His eyes turned dangerously possessive. "You really thought I’d let a porcupine near you?"

Her frown softened, and she turned away, feigning dignity. "You have a cruel sense of humor, my lord."

"And you," he said, loosening his collar as he met her gaze, "have a dangerous way of making me forget I’m supposed to be serious."

The steam curled lazily around him as he stepped into the pool, and she watched the water ripple out from where he moved, breaking against her skin like a whisper. For a brief moment, she forgot her annoyance, forgot everything except the way his amber eyes softened when they found hers.

The world outside was cold and cruel. But here, in this hidden cave of warmth and water, it almost felt like they’d stolen a piece of peace for themselves.

Lorraine turned her head, trying to look unimpressed, but her smile betrayed her. "Porcupines," she murmured again, shaking her head. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," he said, voice low and amused, "you keep me close."

He leaned in, teeth grazing the air near her cheek as if daring to bite. Lorraine pressed her palm against the firm plane of his chest and stopped him, not out of modesty, but sheer mischief. Then she leaned back, sinking into the steaming water with a sigh of satisfaction.

Leroy watched her. The way her golden locks curled damply against her flushed cheeks, how the strands floated languidly in the pool... how her skin glowed beneath the heat, and her lips curved in a small, pleased smile; utterly content, utterly his.

Anything for her. Worth it.

He reached out, fingertips gliding over her shoulder, rubbing gently to wash the weariness away. Her skin was silk beneath his touch, marred only by the faint reddish marks he’d left earlier, a quiet claim that made his lips curl with satisfaction.

"Ah... I could live here forever," she murmured dreamily.

Leroy smiled, leaning closer. "I thought you loved cold baths," he whispered against her cheek, his breath teasing her skin. "You said they calm your nerves, remember?"

He brushed the tip of his nose against her earlobe; a touch that made her eyes flutter open.

"When did I—" she started, blinking sleepily, before realization dawned. The day he returned from war. She had almost been caught, and to mask her panic, she’d leapt into the cold water in the tub, pretending she’d been there all along.

She turned to him, eyes narrowing with disbelief. "You knew?" She thought he found out later. But did he know even then?

He didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, he caught her chin between his fingers and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. When he drew back, his thumb traced the damp line of her cheek.

"I always know where you are," he murmured. "Always."

It wasn’t boastful; it was something deeper. An instinct. He had found her when her father locked her away, when she fled, even days ago, when she vanished without warning. Somehow, his heart had always led him to her.

"My heart always leads to you," he said softly.

Lorraine’s breath hitched. Those amber eyes, those warm, fierce, unguarded eyes, held her like she was something rare and sacred.

Her lips curved in a tender smile. Words failed her, and all that spilled out was the truth.

"My Leroy..." she whispered, gently poking his cheek with her fingertip, voice trembling with affection. "I love you."

She leaned into his chest, her head resting above his heart. Its steady rhythm lulled her, each beat grounding her in the warmth of his arms, the scent of soap and smoke and him. Her lashes fluttered, her lips curved faintly... and then sleep claimed her.

The forest quieted. Only the soft gurgle of the spring echoed around them, and the faint rustle of leaves outside.

In her dreams, something shifted.

A soft cry... distant at first, like an echo from another world.

A child’s cry.

Lorraine turned, searching through the mist of her dream. The sound grew sharper, more desperate, a baby wailing somewhere unseen. Her chest ached with a sudden, unexplainable pain.

She tried to move, but the mist thickened.

Then...

She woke with a sharp breath.

The warmth that had once comforted her now felt heavy. Leroy’s arm was draped over her waist, his hand pressed hard, too hard, against her abdomen. She winced, a sharp sting rippling through her stomach.

What is he doing?