Chapter 159: The Questions That Do Not Wait for Breath
Chapter 158: The Questions That Do Not Wait for Breath
Lyria’s POV
Lady Mirelle’s gaze remained steady upon me.
It was neither sharp nor cruel, but rather... present.
Her attention did not allow escape, even if there was no hostility involved.
She drew in a slow breath.
Then spoke.
"Your Highness," she said gently, "what are your intentions in presenting yourself as a Moon candidate?"
For a brief moment, I felt the old instinct rise—the one that wanted to explain too much, to soften every edge of my thoughts until nothing remained sharp enough to be judged.
But then I remembered Baron Redwick’s voice.
And Duke Thorncrest’s quieter warning.
Do not tell them what to think. Let them arrive there themselves.
So I did not rush.
I did not fill the silence.
I allowed it to exist beside me like a second presence.
When I finally spoke, my voice was calm and formal—one would think I had taken lessons from a young age to become a proper princess. Though it did come out slower, because I was trying not to stutter.
"My intentions," I said softly, "are no different from what has already been written."
A faint shift in Lady Mirelle’s expression—interest, perhaps.
I continued.
"In both the widely known prophecy," I said, "and in its fuller interpretation, the role of the Moon is not a matter of desire, but of function."
My hands remained still on my lap.
"The Moon stands not for the individual," I added, "but for what the position is meant to uphold."
I paused briefly.
"Prosperity," I continued, "balance... and the preservation of the kingdom’s stability."
My gaze did not lower, but I softened my tone just enough that it did not sound like an argument.
"In that sense," I said, "my intentions do not depart from the role itself. To protect the people first and foremost."
A slight breath moved through the room—quiet, almost imperceptible.
I had done as the Duke and the Baron suggested, and I hoped the first words I said were enough to hint that there was more to the prophecy than was known.
Lady Mirelle blinked once after my answer had settled.
Then, unexpectedly softly, a small smile touched the corner of her mouth.
She gave a single nod.
"I see," she murmured.
But she did not linger there.
Her next question came gently—but it carried weight all the same.
"Then tell me," she said, "why did you choose not to participate in the selection prior to now?"
The word why always felt heavier than the others.
It did not ask for truth alone.
It asked for permission to judge it.
And perhaps because I had also answered this question, I was not surprised. I also had an answer for it too, and when this was done, I was going to have to thank the Duke and the Baron for their help. But for now... I must answer.
So I began not with explanation, but with acknowledgement.
"It is... known to all within the kingdom now," I said carefully.
I paused for a while and then continued.
"When I was younger," I said, "I did not find myself comfortable in courtly settings."
My voice remained steady.
"I was not... accustomed to attention," I continued. "Nor to the expectations that came with it."
I let that stand for a breath.
Then I added, slightly softer, choosing to put on the act like the Duke and Baron had suggested.
"In those years, it was easier to remain out of sight. As I grew older," I said, my voice softening, "that discomfort lessened."
"But by then," I added, "I had already become used to remaining in the background."
The silence shifted slightly.
"And..." I hesitated only briefly, "there was hesitation in stepping forward."
"And I was aware," I said quietly, "that once I was seen, I could not easily return to being unseen again."
A faint breath passed through me.
I did not look away.
"I was afraid," I admitted, "that I would not meet the expectations placed upon me."
I made sure tears gathered in my eyes as I spoke. I knew the Duke said I should be neutral, but he also said I should put on an act. Surely this was enough for me to do so, right? This way it would be more memorable, and perhaps I could gather sympathy from people as to how I felt about disappointing the royal family.
"That I would disappoint those I was meant to serve," I continued, my voice almost breaking as I spoke.
I had no idea I was this good an actress, though.
My voice lowered slightly.
"The King and Queen," I said, "had already shaped a certain understanding of me."
I did not accuse them, but the implication sat beneath the words like something unspoken but present.
"And I..." I continued, "did not know whether stepping forward would confirm or contradict that understanding in a way I could not correct."
I took a deep breath.
"So I remained where I believed I would cause the least disruption."
"It was simpler," I added softly, "to be a shadow than to risk becoming a disappointment in full view of the court."
I sniffled and then used a handkerchief to wipe my tears... fake tears.
"I’m sorry," I added. "It’s just... I get quite emotional when I think about it."
Lady Mirelle did not speak immediately.
Her gaze lingered on me.
A pause stretched between us, and I could feel the shape of her consideration forming in it.
Then she gave a slow nod again.
The faint smile had not left her entirely. And that smile on her face increased just a little.
"I understand," she said at last.
Her voice remained composed, but the next question carried a different kind of weight.
"Tell me, Your Highness," Lady Mirelle said, "are you aware of your status as an illegitimate child of the King?"
And once more, I was not taken aback by the words, because I had been rather prepared for it too.
