Chapter 102: Luncheon and Lingering Shadows
Chapter 101: Luncheon and Lingering Shadows
Lyria’s POV
The next morning found me hidden in the upper gallery of one of the smaller receiving buildings adjacent to the formal gardens. From this vantage point, screened by heavy draperies and a lattice of carved wood, I could observe without being seen, as usual.
Below, in a sunlit alcove prepared for privacy, Jacinta sat across from Lucian at an elegantly laid table. Lucian had suggested they take luncheon together rather than a more formal promenade, and Jacinta had obliged with evident pleasure. Servants moved with quiet efficiency, placing silver covers and pouring tea with grace.
One would think they were born to be servants, with the way they attended to their duties with utmost care and attention.
Jacinta lifted her teacup with delicate fingers, her golden curls arranged to perfection beneath a light bonnet. Her voice carried upward on the still air, sweet and measured, as befitted a lady of her station.
"I am so very happy you are among the suitor candidates, Your Grace," she said. "At the very least," she continued, "it is comforting to know that you stand on my side."
Lucian paused, considering her words.
"Is there any suitor candidate not on your side, Your Highness?"
Jacinta gave a small, dismissive laugh.
"I could not say for certain," she replied. "Though I would not be surprised."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"That girl," she added, with a faint curl of distaste at her lips, "seems quite determined to ingratiate herself with every man in this palace."
Lucian sighed, the sound soft but audible even from my hidden position. He set his own teacup down with deliberate care.
"Your Highness," he said after a moment, his tone still courteous, still measured, "I wonder if it is not... time to reconsider that approach."
Jacinta stilled.
The teacup paused halfway to her lips.
Slowly, she lowered it.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Her voice had not risen.
But something within it had cooled.
Lucian met her gaze evenly.
"I mean only this," he said, "that to hold a daughter accountable for the supposed sins of her mother—particularly when those sins remain... questionable—is a rather unsettling practice."
There was silence after his words. Jacinta just stared at him.
Jacinta’s eyes narrowed.
I felt it even from where I stood—the shift in the air, the tightening of something unseen but no less real.
"Unsettling?" she repeated softly.
Lucian inclined his head slightly.
"I speak only as an observer," he replied. "Nothing more."
Jacinta’s eyes flashed with disbelief.
"Has she gotten into your head too?" she demanded, her tone sharpening despite the attempt at composure. "Has Lyria somehow made you believe she is innocent in all this?"
Lucian shook his head, his reply calm and deliberate.
"Lyria has said nothing to me on the matter, Your Highness. And you will recall that I, for one, do not particularly like her."
Jacinta tilted her head, studying him for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"That is true," she conceded. "You did pick on her rather mercilessly when you were little."
From my concealed vantage, I watched every exchange with a tight knot in my chest. The previous day, while sharing cherry pie with Lucian in my chambers, he had quietly told me he would try to convince Jacinta to stop her constant harassment. I had ignored the offer then, choosing silence because I knew it was futile. Jacinta would never stop. Her hatred for me ran too deep and too personal. She would see any defence of me as betrayal.
I could see Lucian was trying—carefully, without revealing too much—but if he continued pressing, Jacinta would grow suspicious. I almost wished he would say nothing at all. Yet years of knowing him had taught me one truth: once Lucian set his mind to something, he rarely backed away.
Jacinta sighed, a delicate sound that masked deeper irritation.
"Honestly, I grow tired of disciplining her myself," she admitted, lifting her teacup once more.
My jaw tightened at her words. That was the most blatant lie I had ever heard in my life.
"But what is one to do," she added with a sigh, "when the girl insists upon provoking me?"
Lucian did not respond.
"She has no sense of her place," Jacinta went on. "Why, just yesterday..."
She paused, taking a sip of her tea. Perhaps she did it for more effect; I was not very certain.
"...she attempted to seduce Baron Redwick. That is simply wrong."
My breath caught.
For a moment, I could not even think.
The accusation was so absurd—so entirely removed from truth—that it might have been laughable, had it not been so dangerous.
Lucian’s expression did not change, at least not visibly.
But I saw it.
The slight tightening at the corner of his eyes. The faint stillness in his hand.
"Is that so?" he said.
Jacinta nodded.
"Quite so," she replied. "Shameless behaviour."
I nearly scoffed aloud. The shameless one was her, not me.
Lucian seemed to realise that further argument would achieve little. He nodded once, accepting her words, and reached for a macaron from the tiered stand.
"The chefs are still as good as I remember them being," he remarked as he bit into it.
Jacinta laughed, a bright, tinkling sound that echoed across the alcove.
"That is because I made sure of it," she said proudly. "The chefs you knew as a boy are no longer here. These are all new. The royal family deserves only the best, after all. The previous ones were mediocre at best."
I rolled my eyes from my hidden spot, unable to help the small gesture of disbelief. The old chefs had been dismissed not for mediocrity, but because Jacinta had grown annoyed when they failed to prepare an entirely new dish she suddenly demanded—within thirty minutes—while supper was already underway. The requested meal required at least an hour. The chefs could not keep up. In her frustration, she had insisted her parents fire them all.
The conversation continued in that vein, Jacinta preening over her control of the household, Lucian responding with the courteous nods and mild comments expected of a gentleman. I remained hidden, watching, my back still aching faintly beneath the bandages, my thoughts turning over the strange persistence of Lucian’s attempts to defend me.
He was trying. But Jacinta’s hatred was a wall that had stood for years, and no single luncheon conversation would breach it.
