Chapter 113: The Game They Refuse to Pause
Chapter 112: The Game They Refuse to Pause
Lyria’s POV
I locked eyes with Duke Thorncrest.
The words lingered in the air long after he had spoken them.
And for reasons I could not quite explain, my gaze remained fixed on him.
And his remained on me.
The silence in the Grand Hall was quite deafening. As though the entire hall had been suspended in a moment that refused to move forward.
The King stared directly at the duke, his expression grave. The Queen’s face was scrunched in distaste—quite an ugly look on her, though no one would dare say it aloud.
Meanwhile, I just wanted this to be over so I could leave.
I had been a spectacle for far too long already.
No one said anything, and I thought we were going to be locked in the suspense and the silence for quite a while, but then, suddenly, someone yawned.
All eyes, including mine, turned to Duke Valenridge, who had one hand lifted as he rubbed lightly at his eye, the other resting lazily at his side as though he had not just disrupted a royal court.
"I must confess," he said, his voice easy and unbothered, "I am rather tired."
He paused before he continued.
"And this headache is quite unfortunate."
I blinked, shock clouding my features. I blinked slowly, because surely he was not—
"This... spectacle," he continued, gesturing vaguely around the hall, "has gone on for far too long."
The King looked irritated. He leveled the duke with a glare, but the duke didn’t care.
In fact, he looked bored.
"As it stands," he went on, "everyone here is now aware that the lady—" he paused, then corrected lightly, "—Princess Lyria—is of royal blood."
"And as such," he continued, "she is now part of this competition."
A murmur stirred faintly.
He did not acknowledge it.
"Additionally," he said, "it has been made quite clear that the prophecy does not specify which princess is to be the Moon of the Empire."
He paused, just enough to let it settle.
"Which means," he added, "that it could be either one of them."
"And so," he concluded, "we now find ourselves with two princesses... and thirteen suitor candidates."
He tilted his head lightly as he leveled the King with a look.
"Did I miss anything, Your Majesty?" he asked politely.
But there was nothing polite about the way it was asked.
The King’s eye twitched in obvious annoyance and perhaps disgust, just slightly. It was so small that most would not notice. But given the fact that I was accustomed to reading even the minute expressions on others, I noticed.
Duke Valenridge held the King’s stare. Unlike Duke Thorncrest, who appeared to be enjoying what was going on, he looked bored, which was a contrast to the look he had at the beginning of all this.
I took in the expressions of the five suitor candidates who had spoken freely—and also of Corvin... mistakenly.
Duke Thorncrest had an amused look on his face. Baron Redwick had an unreadable expression. Duke Valenridge looked bored and unimpressed. Lucian looked like he was anticipating something and, dare I say, he looked a bit excited—but if one did not look very well, they would not notice. And then there was Earl Hawthorne, who just looked genuinely confused and out of place.
And Corvin...
Well, he looked like himself, annoyed that I was even given the opportunity to stand on the dais.
The King cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"You are... quite right," he said to Duke Valenridge.
The words came easily.
As though conceding this much cost him nothing.
But I knew better, and I suspected the duke did too.
Duke Valenridge inclined his head slightly.
"Then," he said, "since that has been established..." he gestured lazily toward the hall, "perhaps it would be best to allow everyone to retire."
"But then again," he added, "I imagine the royal family will need to... reconvene."
His gaze flickered—briefly—toward the Queen.
Then back to the King.
"To determine how the competition is to proceed."
There was a subtle shift in the air at his words and what he was insinuating.
"And given that Princess Lyria was not part of the competition from the beginning," he continued, "it would only be fair..."
He tilted his head.
"That it be restarted."
The King’s jaw tightened, and he clenched and unclenched his fist.
"No—" he began.
But Duke Valenridge did not allow him to finish.
"Unless," he said smoothly, "Your Majesty does not intend for Princess Lyria to participate?"
There was silence again. It seemed it was becoming a trait of the Grand Hall—or perhaps an attribute.
The King shook his head slightly.
As though already rejecting the notion—but Duke Valenridge spoke again.
"Good," he said, almost lightly. "Then it is settled."
The audacity of it—
The sheer, effortless audacity—
"Princess Lyria is part of the competition."
He straightened slightly.
"And now," he added, "if you would be so kind as to bring this... farce to an end."
His tone remained polite.
Perfectly so.
And yet, there was something beneath it.
"I would very much like to rest," he finished, "before this headache worsens."
The Queen smiled, though it was not a pleasant smile.
"Your Grace," she said smoothly, "you would do well to remember who you are addressing."
Duke Valenridge chuckled softly.
He dipped into a shallow bow, exaggerated just enough to be insulting.
"My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty," he said, his tone carrying no real remorse. "I would not wish to offend."
He straightened again.
"But as I have said," he continued, "my head does ache."
He paused before he continued.
"And it would be most unfortunate if a man of my standing were to collapse... simply because His Majesty is still deliberating whether or not to allow his second daughter to participate in a competition she is, by all accounts, already part of."
The words were polite.
Every single one of them.
And yet they cut cleanly, hitting their mark.
