Chapter 166: The Weight of Words Left Unsaid
Chapter 165: The Weight of Words Left Unsaid
Lyria’s POV
The hall was emptier than it had been moments before, though the air still felt crowded.
Not with people.
With everything that had been said.
Voices had softened into distant murmurs as the nobles and attendants began to disperse in small, measured clusters.
The scrying veil had gone dark.
The interview was over.
And yet... it did not feel over.
I remained where I was for a moment longer than necessary, my hands still loosely folded before me, as though I might yet be called back into that chair to answer something else I had not prepared for.
A foolish thought.
It was done.
Lady Mirelle had already turned away to speak with one of her attendants, her expression once again the careful neutrality of someone setting a mask back into place after use.
Around me, I could feel the gaze of people measuring.
I was just about to take my leave when quiet footsteps approached me.
Whoever it was came with purpose.
Corvin stood a few paces away from me, his posture straight, his expression... quite twisted.
And it wasn’t just anger alone... disgust, perhaps. Either way, it made him even more unlike himself than normal.
His gaze flicked over me once, briefly, before settling with intent.
"Well," he said, voice low, "you certainly made a performance of it."
I blinked once.
My throat felt oddly dry.
"I- I am not certain what you mean, Marquess Hale," I said carefully.
His mouth tightened.
"Do not play coy," he said. "It does not suit you."
I tilted my head slightly.
It was not deliberate mockery.
Only confusion.
"I t-truly do not understand w-what you mean," I said again.
That seemed to irritate him further—and yes, I took a small, quiet delight in it. I knew what he was referring to, but I was not going to give it away.
He stepped closer.
Not enough to be improper in the strictest sense of court etiquette.
But enough that it was meant to be felt.
"You think what you did changes anything?" he asked. "That sitting in front of the entire kingdom and speaking sweetly about shadows and duty will somehow... save you?"
I stared at him for a moment.
Then blinked.
"S-save me?" I repeated softly.
He exhaled through his nose, sharp.
"Do not act naïve," he said. "I know exactly why you are here."
"You do?" I asked him. "T-then, please inform me, because as it appears, i-i am quite lost as to why I am h-here."
His eyes narrowed.
"Do you truly believe," he continued, "that no one sees what you are attempting?"
I frowned faintly at that.
"I am not attempting anything," I said. "And you have not answered my question, my lord."
That, apparently, was the wrong move.
His jaw tightened.
"Since you need me to enlighten you, you are here to take what does not belong to you," he said.
"And d-do tell, w-what would that be?" I asked him.
He scoffed. "Don’t pretend to me. I know you covet Jacinta’s position as Crown Princess."
I let the silence stretch for a heartbeat longer than comfortable, trying to hold in the laughter that almost slipped through.
Then I said quietly, "S-should you be addressing the Crown P-princess so casually?"
The effect was immediate.
His expression shifted into one of surprise, as though the sentence had not been expected in that form.
"What did you just say?" he asked.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us.
"S-should you," I repeated softly, "be calling the Crown Princess by h-her given name so freely?"
My voice was almost gentle.
"Who do you think you are," he said in a low growl, "to correct me?"
I held his gaze as I spoke.
"I am Lyria. T-the girl you pretended to be friends with, but that a-aside, I am simply p-pointing out manners y-you seem to have l-lost."
Then, quieter still, I added, "A-and a bit of advice for y-you, my l-ord: if you i-insist on speaking so f-freely, perhaps you should ensure your own c-conduct is e-equally... restrained."
His brows drew together.
I continued before he could interrupt.
"After all," I said, "what w-would people say if they were to l-learn of your c-correspondence with the Crown Princess?"
His eye twitched in anger, once and then again.
"What... did you say?" he asked.
My expression did not change.
"Do you p-perhaps have a defect l-like me?" I asked him. "T-though mine is s-speech, but perhaps y-yours is a h-hearing defect?"
The air between us tightened.
I could feel it.
Like a string drawn too far.
And in just the blink of an eye, he lifted his hand with obvious intention to strike me.
"Marquess Hale."
A voice called out just before he could hit me.
We both turned to the source.
Earl Hawthorne stood a short distance away, his posture composed, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as though he had been standing there the entire time rather than arriving at precisely the moment he was most needed.
His gaze settled on Corvin calmly, and I had to admit I had never seen a look like that on the Earl before.
"Surely," he said evenly, "you do not intend to raise your hand against a member of the royal family."
Corvin’s hand froze mid-air.
Then, slowly, he lowered it, and a smile appeared on his face instead. One that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"Earl Hawthorne," he said smoothly, as though nothing had occurred at all.
The Earl did not respond. He simply looked at him, waiting for Corvin to explain himself.
The silence stretched, and then Corvin cleared his throat.
"I was merely... having a conversation with Lyria," he said.
The Earl’s gaze shifted to me briefly.
Then returned to him.
"She is a princess," the Earl corrected calmly. "I trust you will refer to her appropriately."
Corvin’s eyes twitched with irritation.
"Yes," he said. "Given the fact we knew each other before now, I tend to slip into old habits."
