Chapter 219: A Matter of Refreshments
Chapter 218: A Matter of Refreshments
Lucian watched her as the thought formed in her mind, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windows.
He had not been joking when he told her she was not ordinary. And he was certain she now realised that—along with what he had meant.
Her father was the King.
Even if that father did not acknowledge her. Even if she had spent her entire life being treated as something less than nothing. The blood that ran through her veins was royal blood, and that alone made her special.
But it was not only that.
It was the way she learned. The way her mind worked. She was curious, quick, and hungry for knowledge in a manner that had nothing to do with ambition and everything to do with something deeper. She also possessed a gift for learning things faster than anyone he had ever met.
He had taught her the basics of the waltz in a single morning.
It was a simple dance, yes. The steps were not complicated. But someone who was not ready to learn—someone whose mind was closed or whose body resisted instruction—would not have progressed as she had. Would not have stopped thinking, as she had. Would not have closed her eyes and simply felt the rhythm the way she did.
She was extraordinary.
And honestly, he had known that for a long time.
He turned his gaze toward the maids.
There were three of them. The same three who had accompanied Lyria to the garden, who had followed at a distance through the corridors, and who had stood near the door of the music room with their hands folded and their expressions carefully neutral.
Diana. Theresa. Sally.
He knew their names. He had made it his business to know them.
They were the only maids present. No others had been assigned to attend this date. No servants had been sent to pour tea, offer refreshments, or perform any of the duties that typically accompanied such occasions.
He wondered whether the Queen had done it on purpose.
Then he shook his head.
The thought was laughable, of course. This had been done deliberately. There was no other explanation.
The royal family were doing everything in their power to make Lyria a laughingstock. They had tried during the interview, sending questions designed to trip her, expose her lack of education, and humiliate her before the entire kingdom. They had tried during the poetry competition, arranging for the Moon candidates to read aloud, knowing she would struggle.
But for all their planning, it seemed to be backfiring.
The more they tried to make her fall, the less she fell. The more they pushed, the steadier she became. Even during the reading, when Corvin had presented that deliberately obscure poem, when the words had tangled on her tongue and her voice had wavered—she had not broken.
She had finished.
She had held her head high.
And she had answered questions about the poem’s meaning with an insight that had surprised even him.
He was beginning to appreciate that more and more about her. Her resilience. Her refusal to crumble, even when every force in the palace seemed aligned against her.
He straightened slightly.
Then he gestured toward the maids.
"Why are there no refreshments?"
Diana’s eyes widened.
Theresa blinked.
Sally’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again.
The silence stretched for a moment before Theresa finally found her voice.
"Pardon, Your Grace?"
Lucian’s expression did not change.
"I asked," he said evenly, "why there are no refreshments."
He paused, allowing the weight of the question to settle.
"When Her Highness and I were in the garden, there were no refreshments there either. I find myself wondering"—he tilted his head slightly—"whether you intend for the Princess to starve."
The maids exchanged glances.
Sally was the first to move. She stepped forward and bowed.
"It is not our duty to ensure refreshments, Your Grace," she said.
Lucian made a show of looking around the room.
His gaze swept across the empty tables, the bare surfaces, and the complete absence of any other maids besides them.
"I see," he said slowly. "And yet you are the only maids I see present in this room. Unless there are others concealed behind the curtains whom I have somehow failed to notice."
No one spoke.
"Therefore," he continued, "the responsibility falls to you. It is now your duty."
Diana’s jaw tightened.
Theresa’s expression flickered.
Sally said nothing.
Lucian continued before any of them could protest.
"Until refreshments are brought," he said, "contrary to what the Princess may think, this date shall not end."
He glanced toward Lyria.
She was watching him with an expression he could not quite read.
He looked back at the maids.
"She must have something to eat," he said. "And what is a date, after all, if there is nothing to chew upon during—or at the conclusion of—the proceedings?"
He paused.
"Go," he said. "Fetch refreshments. Now."
The maids hesitated.
Their eyes darted toward one another. Diana’s hands clenched at her sides. Theresa’s lips pressed into a thin line. Sally shifted her weight uneasily.
Lucian watched them.
Their hesitation irritated him.
"Did I stutter?" he asked in a low growl.
The maids bowed immediately at that.
Then they turned and hurried from the room, their footsteps swift against the polished floor. The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Silence settled over the music room.
Then Lucian turned toward Lyria, who was still watching him.
One of her brows had lifted slightly. Her arms were folded loosely across her chest, and she did not appear particularly amused.
"What?" he asked.
She did not answer immediately.
"You d-did not even a-ask my opinion," she said at last.
He blinked in surprise.
"I beg your pardon?"
She tilted her head.
"You d-did not c-consult me. Y-you did not ask whether I would a-actually wish to eat s-something during the c-course of this date. You did not ask whether I would wish to e-end it."
She paused.
"You s-simply made a d-decision f-for me."
