Chapter 164: The Answer She Chose
Chapter 163: The Answer She Chose
Mercer’s Row simply waited.
Helen stood near the edge of the benches, one hand resting lightly against the back of a chair that had long since been claimed and abandoned again in the shuffle of the evening. A tray hung forgotten at her side, the mugs upon it untouched for once, their contents cooling as the night deepened around them.
Above, the scrying veil shimmered.
And in it, Princess Lyria sat.
Helen watched her quietly and nervously. It didn’t show in her hands or face, but her heart beat faster for Lyria.
Around her, Mercer’s Row held still.
Brianna leaned forward so far she nearly slipped from the bench, her small hands gripping the edge as though that alone might pull the image closer.
On the veil, Lyria did not move much.
She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, posture straight but not rigid, her shoulders relaxed in a way that did not quite match the weight of the moment. Her dress caught the light softly, and her hair—carefully arranged—did not shift even when she turned her head slightly to acknowledge the question posed to her.
And when she spoke, everyone listened.
"My intentions," Lyria said, her voice clear and even, "are no different from what has already been written."
"In both the widely known prophecy," she said, "and in its fuller interpretation, the role of the Moon is not a matter of desire, but of function."
That did it.
The murmurs began immediately she said those words.
"Fuller interpretation?" someone whispered.
"What’s she mean by that?" another asked, frowning.
"I’ve never heard anything about a second part of the prophecy," said the wiry man, his brows pulling together as he leaned forward, as though proximity might help him make sense of it.
"Maybe it’s one of those court things," a woman near the back muttered. "The kind they don’t bother tellin’ the rest of us."
"Or maybe she’s just speakin’ like there is more," a man said quietly, his gaze fixed upward, thoughtful. "Even if there isn’t."
The heavyset man shifted on his bench.
"Why would she do that?" he asked.
No one answered him.
Because no one knew.
And above them, Lyria continued.
She did not falter.
She did not hesitate.
She simply spoke as though every word had already been decided long before she sat in that chair.
"I intend," she said, "to protect the people first."
That landed differently.
The murmurs did not rise this time.
It was small—barely noticeable unless one was looking for it—but it was there.
"Aye," he muttered under his breath. "That’s the right of it."
Helen’s grip on the back of the chair tightened briefly before easing again.
She nodded too.
Not as visibly.
But just as certain.
Because she heard the difference.
Everyone did, whether they understood it fully or not.
Princess Jacinta’s answer had not sounded like that.
She had spoken of duty—of order—of the necessity of stability within the royal structure. She had spoken as though the role of the Moon was to uphold the crown itself, to ensure that those who wore it remained untouched by the chaos that might otherwise reach them.
There had been logic in it and even structure, but it wasn’t what Lyria had said.
Her words did not circle the throne.
They moved outward.
Toward the people.
And Mercer’s Row—full of people who had never once been mistaken for anything else—heard that clearly.
"She’s sayin’ it plain," Jacob murmured. "No dressin’ it up."
"Aye," Olly said.
Brianna didn’t speak.
She just watched.
Her earlier excitement had settled into something quieter, something more intent, as though she understood—without needing the words for it—that this moment mattered in a way the others had not.
On the veil, the questioning continued.
And still, Lyria did not change.
There was no sign of nervousness.
No flicker of uncertainty.
Her expression remained composed, almost blank in a way that made it impossible to read what lay beneath it.
"She’s givin’ nothin’ away," the silver-templed man observed.
"Aye, that’s smart," the wiry man said. "Very smart."
Helen said nothing.
But she watched closely.
"Why," the interviewer asked, "did you choose not to participate in the competition until now?"
People leaned forward just slightly, as though drawn by something they could not quite name.
On the veil, Lyria did not react immediately.
She did not rush to fill the silence.
And when she answered, one thing was clear and certain...her words conveyed that she had been scared of disappointing the royal family, and hence she continued to hide in the shadows.
While some believed what Lyria had said, Helen did not, because she remembered the injuries on Lyria’s back and the way the royal family didn’t even want her to be known. She knew Lyria was putting on an act, but she was proud of it.
The royal family wanted to pit the blame solely on Lyria and claim that it wasn’t their fault she had been in the shadows, when it clearly was, and now Lyria had turned it on them.
They wanted to see Lyria break, but she stood upright without fail, and Helen’s chest felt like it could burst from pride at that. If she could give Lyria a kiss right now, she would, but she controlled herself and her facial expressions, and then the interviewer asked Lyria if she was aware she was illegitimate.
"What the...did I hear that correctly?" Jacob asked.
"That’s just nasty. Do they have to bring it up every fuckin’ time?" a woman asked.
"Why’s it even being asked in an interview, eh?" Olly asked.
But while they reacted at how the question was bloody insensitive and how it should not have been asked, Lyria didn’t give anything away. Instead, she answered the question like she had been expecting it to be asked.
The way she answered it, one would think she had been prepared for the role of princess her whole life and not Jacinta.
