Chapter 158: What Is Spoken Without Embellishment
Chapter 157: What Is Spoken Without Embellishment
Lyria’s POV
Duke Valenridge did not answer immediately.
For a moment, he remained seated as he was, his posture unchanged, his expression composed in that same manner he had carried throughout his interview, as though silence, to him, was not something to be filled, but something to be used.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"I do not consider myself particularly interesting," he said.
There was no attempt to soften the statement, nor to dress it in modesty. It was spoken plainly, in the same manner he had spoken everything else.
"And that is the simple truth," he said.
There was a faint shift in the room, though no one spoke.
"I prefer challenges," he went on. "Things that require attention. Things that do not allow for complacency."
His tone remained even.
"Things that keep one... engaged."
He paused briefly before continuing, as though moving from one thought to the next without any need to hurry.
"I am not particularly skilled at painting," he added, and there was the faintest trace of something almost resembling dry acknowledgment in his voice. "I believe that has already been made evident."
A few subtle reactions passed through the hall at that, though none were voiced.
"I have an older sister," he said next.
There was a slight change in his expression then, though it was not immediately obvious unless one was paying attention.
"That is not a secret either. For all my mysteriousness, as you all claim, a lot is known about me."
A small smile followed.
"My sister is quite ugly," he said, as though stating something entirely ordinary, "but her daughter is rather cute."
The way he spoke made it clear there was no insult meant in it.
If anything, there was familiarity.
Affection, even, though he did not state it.
"She is ten years older than I am," he added, as though that, too, required no further attention.
Then he moved on.
"I do not care particularly for food," he said. "As long as it suits my palate, it is acceptable."
There was a brief pause.
"I dislike discomfort."
That, at least, was said with certainty.
"And I dislike it when people do not understand their place."
The words settled more firmly than the others.
But he did not leave them as they were.
"That is not meant in the simplest sense," he continued. "It is not merely a matter of rank or position."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"There are individuals who do not know when to advance," he said, "and when to retreat."
The distinction was clear and intentional.
Then, after a moment, he leaned forward enough to alter the way his words carried.
"And I particularly dislike," he said, "when information is not conveyed properly."
There was a shift in the air then.
"This interview serves as a suitable example," he continued.
"My people were not informed of its location," he said. "They were required to search the palace in order to find it."
His voice did not rise.
"And I," he added, "was made aware of it through the scrying veil at the same moment it was announced publicly."
There was a slight pause.
"While others," he finished, "were aware of it well in advance."
I frowned. So some others had been told about this privately? I had been in the library with Duke Thorncrest and Baron Redwick, and we were not made aware of the interview until the queen had announced it, but Duke Valenridge was insinuating that some were told before the interview.
Just as easily as he had introduced the tension, he allowed it to dissolve.
He leaned back once more, his posture relaxing as though nothing of consequence had just been said.
"But," he added lightly, "all is well that ends well, is it not?"
That same ease returned to his tone, as though the moment before had not existed.
From where I sat, I noticed Duke Thorncrest very clearly restraining a laugh, his shoulders shifting ever so slightly as he fought it.
Earl Hawthorne, on the other hand, looked as though he might intervene in a situation that did not require intervention at all, his concern evident despite his attempt to remain composed.
Baron Redwick exhaled quietly, the sound barely audible, and Lucian—Lucian simply covered his face with his hand as though appealing for patience.
I did not know what to make of it.
Whether to be shocked.
Or impressed.
Perhaps both.
Duke Valenridge rose from his seat then, the movement smooth and unhurried.
"That will be all," he said.
Then, after a brief pause, as though recalling something of little importance, he added,
"I neglected to mention—my preferred colour is amber."
And just like that, he stepped away.
I watched him as he returned to his place, my gaze lingering longer than it should have.
Amber.
The word settled in my thoughts before I could stop it.
My eyes were that colour.
The observation came unbidden, and with it, a thought that I dismissed almost as quickly as it formed.
It meant nothing.
It could mean nothing.
There were countless shades, countless preferences, and it would be foolish—entirely foolish—to assume any meaning in it.
I looked away.
Because there was no reason to think further on it.
No reason at all.
Before I could allow the thought to linger, a guard approached me.
"Your Highness, it is your turn," she said quietly.
She guided me forward, her movements efficient, her expression unchanged.
And before I could think too deeply about anything at all, I found myself standing where all the others had stood.
The seat was before me, and I took it.
My hands shook nervously at the thought of being watched by others—by the whole kingdom. Then I took a deep breath and made sure my expression was neutral.
Lady Mirelle looked at me, her expression composed once more, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred moments before.
"State your name and title for the record," she said.
"I am Lyria..."
I paused just enough to ensure the next words would come without error.
"Princess Lyria."
