Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride-Chapter 316: Hope For The Future

Leroy stared. Lorraine stared. Even Vaeronyx paused mid-breath.

Damian lifted his chin, trying to look regal.He had come all this way prepared to secure political alliances for the war he planned to wage at Leroy’s side against the Emperor of Vaeloria...

But then, inconveniently, he discovered they had a dragon.

Which complicated matters.

"Let me get this straight," Leroy said slowly. "You wanted to find my wife... so she could find you a wife?"

How does that make sense?

Damian shrugged. "Well... I trust her judgement. She’s better at it."

Leroy arched a brow. "Are you even interested in women?"

Damian scoffed, offended. "Are you warming up to me, Leroy?" he blinked his eyes coquettishly. "I can be your mistress if you want." With a smirk, he flicked imaginary dust from Leroy’s sleeve. "I don’t mind."

Leroy opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again—nothing came out. I fell right into that trap, didn’t I?

Lorraine, however, did not hesitate. "I mind. My husband is not having any mistresses. Certainly not a prince."

She snatched the portraits from Damian’s hand. "Lights," she commanded.

Leroy looked at Vaeronyx.

Vaeronyx exhaled, the deep, grudging sigh of a mighty ancient creature who once ruled nations and now...somehow, served as a lantern for a bold mortal woman he could neither intimidate nor dislike.

Firelight bathed the clearing, warm and flickering, gilding Lorraine’s determined face as she examined the portraits with the seriousness of a queen making a state decision.

Leroy watched her, his fierce, focused, beautiful woman, knowing without doubt that whatever she decided tonight, it would reshape yet another corner of their world.

Lorraine placed her hands on her hips, surveying the hallway of portraits like a merchant inspecting questionable produce. "Right," she declared. "Let’s begin."

Damian already looked doomed.

The first portrait showed a noblewoman with perfect posture and the emotional warmth of a polished gemstone.

Lorraine tilted her head. "Absolutely not. She looks like she’d file a complaint if your smile wasn’t symmetrical."

Damian recoiled. "I—I do smile symmetrically."

"No, you don’t," Leroy muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.

Damian gasped, mortally wounded. "I do too!"

Vaeronyx rolled his eyes so hard the air shifted. "Mortal unions used to be decided by feats of strength, not... chin symmetry."

Lorraine moved on before Damian could defend his chin.

The next portrait revealed a noblewoman with a sharp jaw, elegant attire, and eyes that held a calculating chill. A Vaelorian through and through.

Lorraine’s expression darkened, just slightly.

Damian stiffened. He didn’t need to say it aloud: nobles like this were the ones he’d been "gifted" to, passed between hands with polite smiles and unspeakable implications.

Leroy saw the tension in the prince’s shoulders and felt something hot and protective coil under his ribs.

Lorraine exhaled slowly. "No," she said, voice softer. "Not her. She’d never treat you as more than an ornament."

Damian swallowed, throat tight. "...Yeah."

Vaeronyx snorted. "In my era, ornaments were carved from jade. Mortals were not traded like jewelry."

Leroy did not correct him; this wasn’t the moment.

The next portrait was of a warrior woman with impressive arms, a deadly spear, and an eyebrow scar that practically screamed I can and will throw my husband across a courtyard.

Lorraine tapped her chin thoughtfully. "...Interesting."

Damian and Leroy... froze.

"Lorraine," Damian whispered urgently, "she could break me."

"Some men like that," Lorraine said, entirely too thoughtfully.

"I don’t!"

Vaeronyx muttered, "In my court, that would simply be foreplay."

Damian made a strangled noise. Leroy choked on air.

Lorraine waved them off and approached the next painting. This one held a gentle-faced scholar—soft eyes, ink-stained fingers, someone who looked like she’d apologize before even thinking of offending anyone.

Leroy stiffened. Something about the woman irritated him. Maybe it was the serene smile. Or the fact that Damian leaned forward just a bit as if intrigued.

Lorraine hummed. "She seems... nice."

Damian brightened. "She does look kind. And he teaches poetry—"

"No." Lorraine said it instantly.

Damian deflated. "Why not?!" She’s be the life of the party in Lystheria.

"She’d write a tragic ballad every time you argued. Imagine the royal records..." Lorraine said with a shiver.

Damian paused. "...Okay, you’re right. Next."

Vaeronyx made a low rumble of ancient disapproval. "Mortals now fear poetry? The world has declined."

Finally, Lorraine stopped at a portrait almost hidden behind, like a curtain. It portrayed a woman with a warm, steady gaze—someone neither beautiful nor fierce nor aristocratically perfect.

But there was something unmistakably safe in her painted expression. A groundedness. A kindness that did not demand or devour.

Lorraine’s heart eased, just a fraction. Someone like this would understand Damian’s fractures... and wouldn’t use them. She would stand by his side, no matter what and return his kindness tenfold.

She smiled—soft, decisive. "This one."

Damian blinked. "...Really?"

"Yes. She looks like someone who’d hold your heart carefully, not squeeze it for sport."

Damian looked at the portrait again, eyes turning glossy with something fragile. Something hopeful. "...I—I think I like her."

Vaeronyx crossed his arms. "At least the mortal doesn’t look like she’ll die within a season. Acceptable."

Damian finally exhaled, almost laughing with relief. "Lorraine... thank you." He truly was thankful. The one Lorraine chose... he wouldn’t have chosen such a simple-looking woman. But the more he looked, the more he understood why Lorraine chose her.

She nudged him lightly. "You deserve someone good, Damian. Someone who sees all of you—and still stays."

Damian ducked his head, voice teasing but trembling at the edges. "You’re going to make me cry in front of the god-dragon."

Vaeronyx sniffed. "I have witnessed mortals weep for centuries. I am immune."

Damian wiped the corner of his eye. "I’ll need your blessings." 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"Be blessed. And treat her well," Vaeronyx said, sounding—for once—like a creature who remembered what love looked like instead of loss.

Lorraine grinned, triumphant. "So it’s decided."

And for the first time in a long, long time, Damian looked like someone imagining a future instead of bracing for the next wound.

He drew a careful breath, the hope in his chest rising like something that had been suffocating for years.

His gaze drifted to Lorraine and Leroy.

They were standing close... closer than they ever realized, bathed in the amber glow of the dragon’s light. Lorraine’s smile was soft, proud. Leroy’s eyes were warm, lingering on her with a gentleness Damian had always envied, always admired, always feared he’d never have for himself.

A quiet, aching warmth spread through Damian’s ribs.

One day... one day he wanted this too. Not borrowed comfort. Not conditional affection. Not hands that claimed him because they could.

But something real. Something his.

His fingers curled around the portrait of the painted woman with steady eyes and a calm smile.

Lady Aelindra. Her name settled in his mind like a whispered promise.

Damian’s smile widened, not the flattering, trained one he offered the court, but something tender, unguarded, almost boyish.

I’ll love you with all my heart for the rest of my life, he vowed silently, clutching her image to his chest.

Not because he was desperate to be loved... but because he wanted to build something like what he saw before him...

Lorraine’s quiet radiance, Leroy’s steady devotion, and that unspoken thread tying them together even when they pretended not to see it.

Damian let out a soft breath, one hand brushing the frame as though it were already precious.

Hope that was gentle, frightening, and unbelievable, finally unfurled in him.

And for the first time, he felt like the future might hold a place where he was wanted too.