Chapter 117: The Toast They Dare to Make
Chapter 116: The Toast They Dare to Make
Laughter still echoed through the Tallow and Tide when the first voice rose above the rest.
"Aye, the lass ain’t wrong," one of the patrons said, wiping at his eyes as though the laughter had near brought him to tears. "Marquess Hale really is an ugly one. Nose too wide for his own face, I’d say."
That only set them off again.
Another man, already halfway through his drink, let out a bark of amusement.
"Should’ve spent less time chasin’ crowns and more time mindin’ his territory," he said. "Might’ve done him some good."
"Aye!" someone else chimed in. "Instead o’ standin’ there lookin’ like he swallowed somethin’ sour."
The laughter rolled again, louder this time, freer.
It spread easily, catching from one person to the next until the tavern felt full to bursting with it.
Olly leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as he looked at Brianna.
"Well now," he said, his grin wide and unabashed, "ye’ve got an eye for these things, don’t ye?"
Brianna beamed at him, entirely pleased with herself.
Helen, however, did not look nearly as amused.
"Don’t encourage her," she said sharply, though there was no real heat behind it—only caution. "If soldiers hear ye lot talkin’ like this, they won’t find it half so funny."
Jacob waved a dismissive hand.
"Soldiers?" he scoffed. "They’ve got bigger things to worry about tonight."
Helen’s gaze flicked to him.
"And what makes ye so certain of that?" she asked.
Jacob leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to give the impression of secrecy, though everyone nearby could still hear.
"After what happened in that hall?" he said. "After what was shown to everyone?"
He shook his head.
"They won’t be wastin’ time chasin’ tavern talk."
There were murmurs of agreement.
"Aye," Olly said. "He’s right."
He turned back to Helen.
"Go on," he added, nodding toward Brianna. "Give the girl somethin’ to drink."
Helen arched a brow.
"Somethin’ to drink?" she repeated.
Olly grinned.
"Fruit juice," he said. "Let her join us proper."
Brianna’s eyes lit up instantly.
"Mama—" she began eagerly.
Helen sighed, though there was a hint of resignation in it rather than refusal.
"Fine," she muttered. "But just a little."
She moved behind the bar, reaching for a small cup and pouring a modest amount before setting it down in front of Brianna.
"There," she said. "Don’t go spillin’ it."
Brianna nodded quickly, already climbing onto a chair with far more enthusiasm than grace.
Olly watched her with clear amusement.
"Now then," he said, lifting his mug. "That one’s for us."
He gestured toward the rest of the tavern.
"And this one—" he added, nodding toward Brianna, "is for her."
Brianna sat up straighter, her small hands wrapped carefully around the cup.
She looked around at all of them—the men, the laughter, the warmth of the room—and then lifted her drink as high as she could manage.
"I toast—" she began, her voice bright and clear.
The tavern quieted just enough to hear her.
"To handsome men!" she declared.
That earned an immediate cheer.
"And—" she added quickly, "to Lyria!"
For a heartbeat, there was silence, and then the tavern erupted in cheers and laughter, louder than before.
The sharp clatter of mugs being lifted high.
"To Brianna!" Olly shouted.
"To the lass!" Jacob added.
"To Lyria!" someone else called.
"To our princess!"
Mugs collided in rough, uncoordinated toasts, liquid sloshing over edges and onto the worn wooden floor.
Brianna laughed, delighted, her earlier fear entirely forgotten in the face of it all.
Helen watched her for a moment.
Then, despite herself, she smiled.
And in that moment, the tavern felt whole again.
—
Far from Mercer’s Row, far from the warmth and noise of the tavern, the palace stood in stark contrast.
It was cold and silent.
The King’s chambers were dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn tightly across the tall windows, shutting out the night beyond.
Inside, the air felt thick.
Jacinta paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth again.
Her steps were sharp against the polished floor, each turn more abrupt than the last, her skirts swaying with the force of her movement.
"I cannot allow this," she said, her voice tight with barely restrained emotion. "I will not allow this."
The King sat in his chair, unmoving.
The Queen, seated beside him, observed with a quiet stillness that was far more unsettling than any outburst.
"Lyria cannot be a Moon candidate," Jacinta continued, her voice rising. "She cannot."
She stopped abruptly, turning toward them.
"I am the Moon," she said, as though stating something that should have been obvious to all present. "I am the one chosen."
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"She was never meant to be anything more than a shadow."
The King’s expression darkened.
"Enough."
Jacinta stilled.
Slowly, she turned toward him.
"Father..." she began, disbelief creeping into her tone.
"I said enough," the King repeated, his voice colder now.
Jacinta stared at him.
Shock spread across her features, her mouth parting slightly as though she could not quite comprehend what she was hearing.
The King leaned forward slightly.
"Do you know why we are in this position?" he asked.
She said nothing.
Her silence was answer enough.
"It is because of you," he said.
Jacinta’s eyes widened.
"That is not—"
"It is," he interrupted sharply. "Your doing."
She shook her head, stepping back slightly.
"No," she said. "No, that is not true."
The King’s gaze did not waver.
"You insisted," he continued. "You demanded that she remain at your side. That she be your shadow."
His voice carried a quiet fury now, controlled but unmistakable.
"And because of that," he went on, "she was present."
Jacinta’s breath hitched.
"If she had remained in her chambers," he said, "none of this would have occurred. She would not have been seen. Not by the court. Not by the kingdom."
Jacinta shook her head again, more desperately this time.
"It was not supposed to happen like that," she said. "She was supposed to remain unnoticed—"
"And yet she did not," the King cut in.
"The ball was being broadcast," he said. "Every eye in the kingdom was upon that hall, and now they have seen her because of your childish insistence that she be your shadow."
The Queen, who had remained silent throughout it all, chuckled darkly at that point.
