Chapter 208: The Bland Tearoom Date
Chapter 207: The Bland Tearoom Date
Lyria’s POV
The maids did not reply.
They simply stood frozen. Their silence was not agreement. It was not submission. It was, I suspected, the silence of people who had not yet decided how to respond and probably never would.
I did not wait for them to decide, though. I sat back down.
The chair was still warm from where I had been sitting moments before. I arranged my skirts carefully, smoothed one hand over the pale blue fabric, and looked up at them.
"Finish the m-makeup," I said, and they hurried.
Diana reached for the small pots and brushes with an eagerness that bordered on frantic. Sally positioned herself at my side, her hands only slightly unsteady as she tilted my chin toward the light. Theresa retrieved a folded cloth and stood ready to blot or powder or whatever else was required.
They worked quickly.
My face was cool where they applied the creams. Soft where they brushed the powder across my cheeks. The scar beside my eye disappeared beneath the careful layers, concealed as it had been concealed many times before.
And the bruise that had formed from the Queen’s maid hitting me was gone, hidden beneath the makeup.
At some point, I stared at a point on the far wall and thought about nothing at all.
Or rather, I tried to think about nothing at all.
The truth was quite different.
Beneath my calm exterior, beneath the composed mask I had worn since the moment I had risen from this same chair to confront them, I was nervous.
And it was not as a result of the maids. They were irritants, pests that could be managed.
I was nervous about the date, about what Duke Thorncrest and perhaps even others actually thought of me.
I knew I was not Jacinta. That much was obvious. I had known it my entire life. I had been reminded of it daily, hourly, in a thousand small ways and several large ones.
But what if the maids were right?
What if Duke Thorncrest truly wanted nothing to do with me?
He had taught me. He had stood with me in the library, he and Baron Redwick both, and coached me through the questions I might face in the interview. He had been patient, even kind, in his own particular way.
I was grateful for that.
I would have the opportunity, I hoped, to thank him properly today.
But there was still that part of me—small but persistent—that whispered doubt.
He was a Duke. I was illegitimate. He was charming and handsome and accustomed to the finest things the kingdom had to offer. I was none of those things.
Why would he want to spend time with me?
I shook my head.
The movement was small, barely perceptible, but Sally paused with her brush hovering near my cheek.
"Your Highness?"
"Nothing," I said. "Continue."
Why was I even bothered by this?
The Duke was not my concern. None of the suitors were my concern. I was merely passing time. Biding my days until I could find a way to accomplish what truly mattered.
Healing my mother, freeing Patricia, and escaping the palace.
Though it would take more time given my position now, it was where my focus should be.
Not others’ opinions of me.
I took a slow breath and let it out again.
The maids stepped back.
"We are finished, Your Highness," Diana said.
And I rose.
---
The tearoom was at the far end of the eastern wing, a small, intimate chamber reserved for private audiences and informal conversations. I had never been inside it before. The palace held many such rooms, each with its own purpose, its own atmosphere, its own silent hierarchy of who was permitted to enter and who was not.
Finally, we came to a door. The guard outside opened it, and Diana walked in.
"Her Highness, Princess Lyria," she announced.
And then I walked in.
Duke Thorncrest stood near the window, his posture relaxed, one hand resting loosely behind his back. He wore a coat of deep burgundy today, richly embroidered at the cuffs and collar, and his dark hair had been arranged with the sort of careless precision that could only have been achieved through careful effort.
A wide smile spread across his face when he noticed me.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing with a flourish that somehow managed to be both respectful and teasing. "You took your time."
He was handsome.
I had known that before. I had seen him at the ball, at the interview, at the poetry competition. I had watched him smile and laugh and tease and charm. I had been the recipient of that charm on more than one occasion.
But something about seeing him now—here, in this quiet room, with the morning light falling across his features—struck me quite differently.
I did not dwell on it, though. I could not afford to dwell on it.
"I had to get r-ready, Your Grace," I said, stepping further into the room. "I could not simply a-appear in my sleepwear."
He chuckled.
The sound was warm, genuine, entirely without mockery.
"I truly would not have minded," he said. "Though I suspect the palace gossips would have had something to say about it."
He extended his hand toward me.
I placed my gloved hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine gently, and he led me into the tearoom toward a velvet settee positioned near the hearth.
The room itself was elegant in the way most palace rooms were elegant—soft cream walls trimmed with gold detailing, crystal lamps hanging overhead, pale curtains framing the windows.
A tea service had already been prepared upon the low table before the settee.
Though notably...nothing else had.
The Duke seemed to notice the same thing.
Once I was seated, he glanced toward the table thoughtfully before sighing dramatically.
"I must say," he declared, "this date is rather bland."
I blinked.
"There are no refreshments," he continued gravely. "No cakes. No biscuits. Not even fruit."
He looked personally offended by this.
"I would have very much enjoyed snacks."
