Chapter 161: The Street That Listened
Chapter 160: The Street That Listened
Mercer’s Row did not fall silent all at once.
It never did anything all at once.
But as the broadcast from the scrying veil shimmered high above the capital—hovering like a second sky made of light and intention—the noise of the street began to thin in uneven waves, as though the city itself were learning when to breathe and when to hold its breath.
Outside the Tallow and Tide, where the tavern spilled warmly into the street, Helen had arranged benches dragged out from inside, mismatched chairs borrowed from whoever had been willing to lend them, and barrels turned upside down to serve as makeshift tables.
It was not elegant.
It was not meant to be.
It was lived-in, practical, and unapologetically theirs.
Mugs were passed along wooden surfaces, ale catching lamplight in amber ripples. The smell of malt and smoke curled into the cool night air, blending with the distant scent of baked bread from a nearby stall that had long since closed its shutters.
And above them all, the interview played.
Mercer’s Row watched; they paid attention to the competition now after what had happened during the ball.
At first, the street had been quieter than usual. Princess Jacinta’s voice had a way of doing that. Even here, even among people who spoke freely and loudly and without care for palace etiquette, there was something about her tone that pressed sound down into itself.
When she spoke, even the street seemed to remember its place.
A child nearby tugged at Helen’s apron as she moved between patrons, her trays full and steady despite the uneven ground.
"Mama," Brianna asked, eyes fixed upward, "why is she talkin’ like that?"
Helen did not look up immediately. She handed a mug to Jacob first, then another to Olly, who took it with a distracted grunt.
"Like what?" Helen asked finally.
"Like... like she’s already decided everything," Brianna said.
Helen exhaled through her nose.
"That’s probably because she has," she said simply.
Brianna frowned at that but did not question further.
Above them, Princess Jacinta’s image shifted slightly as the interview moved on.
And then it was Duke Aurelgrave’s turn, and when he spoke, he demanded attention.
Those who had not been paying attention turned and fixed their gaze on the veil.
A few voices softened instinctively.
It was not what he said, but rather how he said it. Calm and controlled. The kind of voice that suggested he was not interested in being misunderstood because he assumed he would be heard correctly the first time.
Olly tilted his head slightly.
"Well now," he muttered, taking a slow drink, "that one speaks like a man who knows his own kitchen."
Jacob snorted.
"Aye. Or knows exactly where the knives are kept."
Brianna looked between them.
"Is he important?" she asked.
Olly shrugged.
"Everyone up there’s important, lass," he said. "Question is what they do with it."
But Brianna wasn’t listening anymore.
Her attention had shifted entirely.
Duke Aurelgrave continued speaking, measured and precise, and something in the crowd shifted with him—attention tightening, interest sharpening.
And then Brianna sighed.
A long, dramatic sound that did not belong to an eight-year-old child but somehow lived comfortably in her anyway.
"He’s handsome," she declared.
Helen paused mid-step.
Olly barked a laugh so sudden it startled the man beside him.
"Aye, that he is," Olly said, shaking his head. "Didn’t think we’d be discussin’ looks tonight, but here we are."
Jacob leaned back in his chair, amused.
"Careful, Brianna," he said. "That’s how trouble starts."
Brianna ignored him completely.
She was already watching the veil again like it had personally offended her for not being closer.
Then Duke Thorncrest appeared in the flow of the broadcast.
The change in atmosphere was immediate.
It was not what he said either—it was the way he entered the conversation. Like a man stepping into a room he already believed belonged partially to him.
Confident and unbothered.
Smiling like the world was something mildly amusing rather than something that could collapse at any moment.
Brianna made a small, strangled sound.
"Oh," she said.
Helen glanced at her daughter sharply.
"Oh what?"
Brianna leaned forward, eyes wide.
"I like him," she said firmly.
Olly choked on his drink.
Jacob actually laughed out loud.
Helen sighed.
"Like him?" she repeated. "Brianna, he has nae even finished speakin’."
"I don’t care," Brianna said, completely certain. "He’s nice."
"He is smilin’," Helen corrected.
"That’s nice," Brianna insisted.
Olly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Now I’m curious," he said, grinning. "Ye expectin’ Lyria to marry both of ’em now?"
Helen shot him a look.
Brianna, however, considered this very seriously.
"I don’t mind," she said after a moment.
The patrons fell quiet. Everyone paused for a while.
"You... don’t mind?" Helen repeated slowly.
Brianna nodded.
"They’re both charming," she said, as though that solved everything.
Olly wheezed with laughter.
"That’s it then," he said. "Politics solved. Pack it up, lads."
But Brianna’s attention had already drifted.
The energy of the street changed again.
Earl Hawthorne stepped into the broadcast.
And everyone listened again.
A few patrons leaned forward without realizing they were doing it.
Because Earl Hawthorne did not sound like the others.
He sounded like someone who had seen something and had not quite recovered from it.
Brianna went still.
Her earlier excitement faded into something quieter.
"Is war really that bad, Mama?" she asked suddenly.
Helen did not answer immediately.
She set down the tray she was holding and crouched slightly so she was level with her daughter.
"Aye," she said simply.
Brianna frowned.
"Like... really bad?"
Helen’s expression did not change.
"People don’t come back the same," she said. "If they come back at all."
That quieted Brianna in a way no scolding ever could.
Around them, the patrons shifted.
Jacob nodded once, slowly.
"Aye," he said. "And ye’re lucky, girl. You won’t see it like we did."
Olly grunted.
"Things are calmer now," he added. "Doesn’t mean they can’t change, though."
Brianna looked up again at the veil, but her expression had shifted.
Less dreamy now, and more thoughtful.
"Could the Earl teach Lyria how to fight?" she asked suddenly.
Helen blinked.
"What?"
"Just in case she goes to war," Brianna continued seriously, "she should know how to fight."
Olly snorted.
"Princess fightin’ in the streets now, is it?"
Brianna nodded firmly.
Helen sighed again.
"First of all," she said, "if you’re talkin’ about her, you should say Princess Lyria."
Brianna nodded obediently.
"Princess Lyria," she corrected herself.
"Good," Helen said.
Brianna tilted her head.
"But could he teach her?"
Helen hesitated.
"That’s not really how things work," she said carefully.
Brianna accepted that answer with a slow nod, though it was clear she wasn’t done thinking about it.
Her attention flicked again, scanning the faces on the veil as though searching for someone specific.
Then she frowned.
"Where is the red-haired duke?" she asked.
