Silent Crown: The Masked Prince's Bride

Chapter 292: A Perfect Signal

Lorraine knew that shape, the way he held the sword slightly lower, the quiet steadiness in his movements. And how he was taller than everyone else. He was the calm amidst the chaos.Her breath caught.

So, this was the "hunting" he went on every day.

Her husband, the dethroned prince, the man the Empire branded as unworthy, the true heir as known to some, had been raiding the Emperor’s own tax collectors.

Lorraine pressed her hand over her mouth as the realization settled like a weight in her chest. She could almost hear his voice in her head and that smile when she confronted him about this: "I am learning from you... I’m even wearing a mask!"

The snow kept falling, quietly, almost innocently, as if the heavens wanted to hide the blood soaking into the ground.

Calder’s scream cut through the air. A blade was pressed to his throat, not to kill, but to humiliate. The masked rider leaned down and said something too low to hear, before driving his sword into the wooden post beside the lord’s head. Then, just as swiftly as they had come, the riders mounted their horses again.

And then, the riders turned to leave. No plunder. No boasting. Just shadows dissolving into the storm.

That was when Lorraine stepped out.

The women gasped, some crying for her to come back. But she moved forward, her boots crunching in the snow, her cloak billowing against the wind. Her voice, sharp and commanding, rang through the quiet aftermath.

"Cowards!" she called out, her words slicing through the wind. "You think this redeems them? You terrify the people, spill blood, and leave before the consequences fall! What good are you, masked men, if you won’t finish what you started?"

The villagers froze. Even Calder, still trembling, gawked at her as though she’d lost her mind.

The riders halted.

The leader...him... Leroy... turned his horse around. Snow slid down from the edge of his hood, revealing the hard line of his jaw beneath the mask.

Lorraine stood her ground, though one of the women grabbed her sleeve, whispering frantically for her to hide. But she didn’t move. She was in the safest place in the world. She was within the line of her husband’s gaze.he faint sound of crows echoing over the frozen fields.

When she stepped into the cluster of cottages, conversation stopped. The women, those same kind souls who had once shared their bread and broth with her, stood rooted in place, eyes wide. One of them, Mira, pressed a hand to her chest.

"Milady... you came back?" she whispered, disbelief lacing her voice.

(They called her "Milady" even when Lorraine asked them to call her by her name. Those women adamantly refused. ’We sense nobility in you. Whateever reason brought you here doesn’t matter. We will give you the respect you deserve’

was what they all said. Lorraine had stopped trying.)

Lorraine blinked, glancing around at the wary faces. "Of course," she said softly. "Did you think I’d abandon you?"

The women exchanged looks. "We thought that... that masked hooligan took you," another said. "He rode off with you before our eyes. We feared..." She trailed off, cheeks burning in shame.

Lorraine’s expression softened, and she reached out to take the woman’s cold, trembling hands. "He didn’t harm me," she said, her voice gentle but sure. "He only brought me home safely." Then, with a faint smile, she added, "You’ll find the world less cruel than it pretends to be...sometimes."

That broke the tension. The women looked at one another, relief melting into awkward laughter. One of them invited her to join them in their work by the hearth, where a dozen hands were busy carding and spinning wool, the winter chore that filled their days.

Lorraine sat among them, taking the spindle awkwardly at first. The wool was soft and warm beneath her fingers, smelling faintly of lanolin and smoke. As they worked, the women told stories of children born during storms, of husbands lost to war, of the last spring that hadn’t come soon enough.

She listened more than she spoke, the rhythmic turn of the wheel blending with the soft murmur of their voices. Outside, the snow fell heavier, pressing its silence against the windows.

For the first time, Lorraine felt she was seeing her kingdom not through the lens of politics or power, but through the simple, enduring strength of its women.

And beneath that warmth, her resolve only deepened. These were the lives worth saving.

It was nearly noon when the door opened, and a sudden hush fell over the room.

Calder’s wife stood in the doorway.

Lady Elarene Merrowen—tall, powdered, draped in fur-lined velvet, looked painfully out of place among the soot-stained hearth and spinning wheels. Even her gloves gleamed with pearls at the cuff. The women froze mid-motion, the soft whir of the spindles dying into silence. No one dared meet her gaze.

"I thought I’d see what occupies the women of the village," she said with a smile too sweet to be sincere. Her tone carried the faint, cruel melody of superiority, one that expected curtsies and lowered heads.

The others shifted uneasily. No one moved to make space. The tension was sharp enough to be heard in the crackle of the fire.

Lorraine, however, met Elarene’s eyes and smiled calmly. "You’re welcome to join us, my lady," she said, gesturing to an empty stool beside her.

Elarene blinked, clearly not expecting the invitation. "Oh, I wouldn’t want to dirty my gown—"

"Then you can watch," Lorraine replied, her tone so even it left no room for refusal.

Reluctantly, Elarene sat. The women exchanged wary glances, uncertain whether to laugh or bow their heads.

After a moment, Lorraine picked up a tuft of wool and placed it in Elarene’s hands. "It’s lighter than it looks," she said softly.

Elarene hesitated, then began to twist the fibers between her jeweled fingers. For the first time, her polished smile faltered. The wool left faint grease marks on her palms.

Meanwhile, Lorraine smirked seeing ELarene’s dirtied hand. With a smile, she closed the flap of her glove and removed it and placed it to the side.

Now, she had found the perfect way to send signal to Sylvia, to reveal where she was.