Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 304: Angering The Demigod

Lorraine knew the truth now. The river had to be returned to Kaltharion, or the devastation that lurked at the edge of war would spill into reality and drown them all. It was only fair. Only just.

And the only being powerful enough to right that ancient wrong stood before her was angry and grieving, but not yet lost to the abyss of his own sorrow.

Not yet.

And if she had to walk straight into a god’s wrath to give Leroy the justice he deserved... then so be it.

"Are you aware that the river pact is broken?" Lorraine asked, keeping her voice steady.

She needed to see it, to measure how far Vaeronyx had drifted from the kingdom he once created, shaped, and worked for.

"River pact?" His massive head tilted, pupils narrowing like molten slits. A scoff rolled from his chest, and a spark leapt from his fangs. "What do you think that is, mortal?"

"The agreement Dravenholt and Regis made," Lorraine replied. "That when they split the kingdom, they would share the Serathil river. That was the pact."

That was her understanding of the River Pact. The version that was written in their textbooks. The version she had grown up believing.

Vaeronyx laughed.

This time, it wasn’t amused; it was cutting. Mocking. But beneath that razor edge, Lorraine sensed something else. Something old and wounded. The laugh of someone who had watched centuries crumble into falsehood.

"Is that what they’ve rewritten it as?" he asked.

Lorraine opened her mouth, then closed it. A quiet, tense breath left her.

Truth had a habit of hiding, buried under victories, twisted by pride, polished into something convenient. History was written by those who survived long enough to claim it. And those same victors shaped it to serve their narrative.

So of course the truth bent. Of course it shifted. Of course, it got broken, shaved down, and reshaped until it suited the hands that claimed "victory."

Which meant the history they had been taught... might not have been the truth at all.

Perhaps it wasn’t even close.

"There was a River Pact?" Lorraine asked.

Maybe she needed to start at the beginning.

Was there truly a pact... or had even that been a beautifully wrapped lie?

"Oh, there was..." Vaeronyx rumbled.

The words vibrated through the cave walls like distant thunder.

"What’s the truth?" she asked softly.

"Truth?" His massive head lowered, flaming eyes drawing closer until they filled her entire world. His breath that was scalding, ancient, tinged with smoke, washed over her skin, prickling it with heat.

Lorraine’s heart fell as she clutched her abdomen. She thought she was immune to fire. Turned out, she was not. Not if it was the fire of the Dragon King.

He didn’t need a human form for her to feel the depth of his emotion. The betrayal. The fury... The centuries of disappointment that were carved into every scale.

Lorraine’s back instinctively pressed against the cold stone of the cave, her heart racing. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

And then...

A tiny flutter inside her abdomen.

Her baby moved inside her. It was a quiet reminder for her that she could not afford to falter now. And a quiet reminder for the angry demigod in front of her, to be gentle with her.

Vaeronyx noticed. Even through rage, he noticed. His head drew back slightly, the inferno behind his eyes dimming just enough to show he hadn’t meant to frighten her.

"You want the truth?" he said, voice dropping to a guttural growl that echoed like shifting mountains. "I’ll tell you the truth."

Vaeronyx inhaled again—slow, ancient, as though gathering centuries of sorrow into his lungs.

Then he exhaled.

Flame unfurled through the cave, blooming like molten silk. It curled along the stone and lifted into the air, taking shape. Figures sculpted in gold and crimson danced in the darkness, and this time, not him, but another dragon emerged from the blaze.

A younger dragon. Smaller. Proud. Radiant.

"My descendant," Vaeronyx said quietly, almost reverently. "My blood."

Lorraine’s heart tightened.

The flaming dragon on the wall perched on a glittering throne, crowned in serpentine fire, the image of a king born of the Aurelthar line.

"And the Lion and Bear," Vaeronyx growled, "saw him not as a ruler, but as a threat."

The flame shifted again.

Two figures appeared, one with the Lion sigil blazing across his chest, the other with the Bear crest burning like a brand at his heart. They bowed before the young dragon-king, pretending allegiance, their fiery silhouettes dripping with false loyalty.

"They asked him to meet at River Serathil," Vaeronyx continued. "Claiming they sought his wisdom... claiming they wished to strengthen the kingdom."

The fire-dragon, trusting, flew down to the fiery river. The scene glowed with warmth. Peace.

Then... there was violence.

The Lion raised a sword of blinding fire. The Bear swung a great axe cut from shadow and gold.

Together, they struck the young dragon down.

Lorraine inhaled sharply as the flaming figure staggered, wings folding, crown tumbling into the river of molten light. And she saw how the dragon cursed the lion, leaving the mark on his descendants.

Vaeronyx’s voice trembled, not with fear, but with the kind of grief so old it had turned into scarred fury.

"They murdered him," he said, "not merely to take the throne, but to wipe out my line. To erase every trace of Aurelthar... so the world would forget a dragon ever ruled it."

The fiery Lion and Bear seized the dragon-king’s crown and crushed it under their heels.

Light scattered—broken. Books were burned. Tapestries were rewritten. The river turned red with flame.

The cave dimmed as the fire-story collapsed into embers.

Lorraine felt her pulse hammering, the echo of centuries shuddering in her bones. Her eyes filled with tears.

Vaeronyx leaned down, lowering his massive head until his hot breath skimmed her face. The cave trembled under his weight.

His voice was a low, lethal whisper:

"The River Pact was not a promise of unity..." His eyes glowed like dying stars. "It was a pact of betrayal—the Lion and Bear’s covenant to kill my descendant and tear House Aurelthar from its throne."

Smoke coiled from his nostrils, sharp as sorrow.

"And when they finally toppled the Aurelthar Throne from its perch," he said, "that ancient oath of blood and treachery was fulfilled."

His gaze locked with hers.

"But it was never forgotten."

Lorraine’s chest heaved, taking in all the images. It was one thing to hear and read about it, but it was another thing to watch it happen, even when it was just imagery with people replaced by animal symbolism. Still...

Was it her pregnancy? Or her connecting the ones involved as Leroy’s ancestors? Was it the pain in Vaeronyx’s voice?

Maybe it was everything.

Lorraine took her time and long, deliberate breaths that trembled as she dragged them into her lungs. Her vision still shimmered with leftover tears, and the echo of flames on the stone walls seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. When she finally lifted her head, she met Vaeronyx’s gaze without flinching.

"And where were you," she asked, voice steady but raw, "when your descendant was butchered?"

The cave fell into a deep, vibrating silence.

Lorraine felt the weight of her own audacity—questioning a demigod who could swallow her whole without effort—but the question clawed at her. This creature, who commanded storms and mountains, who could scorch worlds with his fire, had simply... slept through the murder of his own bloodline?

He laughed.

A sharp, curling, merciless sound that scraped against the stone.

"You mortals are always lacking in understanding," he said, each syllable crackling with heat. "A demigod cannot involve himself in the affairs of mortals."

Lorraine blinked, her mouth parting in disbelief. That was it? That was the grand explanation? A rule? A cosmic regulation? A divine policy?

"So you watched your descendant die because... you’re a god?" she said, incredulity thickening her voice.

Shouldn’t it be the opposite? Shouldn’t godhood enable one to protect, rather than confine one to observe?

"I’m a mortal," she continued, her voice trembling with a fierceness she didn’t attempt to hide, "and even I know—if my child were in danger, I would burn the world if I had to. I would drag heaven down by its throat. And you, the great Dragon King, the all-powerful protector of this kingdom... simply watched?"

The words tore out of her, hot and jagged. She couldn’t understand it. How anyone, let alone a being with wings that could blot out the sun, could stand by and let their child burn.

Vaeronyx didn’t answer.

Instead, he moved.

Slowly. Deliberately.

His massive form twisted, coils of shimmering scales catching the faint firelight as he rose higher and higher. Lorraine had thought him majestic before, but now he was colossal—an ancient force that filled the entire cavern, brushing the ceiling, blotting out everything else.

Her words had landed.

They had sunk deep.

She felt the shift in him like a storm turning its eye toward her.

"You think yourself righteous, mortal?" he asked, his voice a low, vibrating sneer that made her bones thrum.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Her baby twisted sharply inside her, as if sensing the change, as if instinctively reaching toward the bloodline before them.

Vaeronyx noticed the flicker of life inside her...but this time, the rage didn’t cool. It grew hotter, sharper, expanding like molten metal seeking a shape.

In that moment, Lorraine saw not the ancient king, but the embodiment of divine retribution towering over her.