Chapter 32: Of Broken Porcelain and Borrowed Silence
Chapter 31: Of Broken Porcelain and Borrowed Silence
Lyria’s POV
Immediately I stepped out of the room where Patricia was being kept, I ran—with the precise, clipped urgency of someone who had learned where haste was permitted and where it was not.
The library doors yielded at once beneath my palm.
Warm, dust-soft air greeted me, heavy with ink and old paper and the faint scent of wax from candles long burned down to their final stubs. The high windows were half-veiled against the glare of late morning light, and for one brief, foolish heartbeat, the hush of the place steadied me.
I crossed the floor quickly and slipped the small primer back into its allotted space between two heavier volumes whose spines sagged with age.
My fingers lingered upon it only long enough to feel its familiar thinness vanish from my grasp.
I checked around, just in case the baron showed up, but thankfully he did not.
I did not allow myself the comfort of relief. I merely turned at once and left the way I had come, my skirts gathered just enough to keep my steps swift without drawing attention.
The corridors had begun to stir.
Servants moved with trays and folded cloth, guards shifted at their posts, and the palace resumed its carefully ordered breathing. I passed them all without pause, my head inclined, my pace modest but unyielding.
Jacinta’s chambers lay ahead.
I had only just reached the arched entrance when the sound struck the air.
A sharp crash.
Then another.
The unmistakable splintering of porcelain against stone.
I halted instinctively.
A raised voice followed—high, trembling with fury.
I did not need to be informed that the voice belonged to Jacinta. It was obvious, after all.
The guards at her door stood unmoved, their expressions fixed into the polished stillness expected of men whose duty was not to react, but to endure.
Something struck the inside of the door.
Hard.
But that did not stop the guards from opening it. And the moment they did, I stepped forward.
The moment I crossed the threshold, a white blur flew past my face.
The vase shattered against the wall behind me.
Fragments rained down upon the polished floor as the sound echoed sharply through the chamber, ringing against the tall windows and silk-draped walls.
Jacinta stood near the centre of the room, her chest rising quickly, one hand still lifted from the throw.
Her hair had slipped from its careful arrangement and spilled over her shoulders in disordered waves. A smear of water darkened the front of her sleeve where the washstand basin had been disturbed.
Her eyes locked upon mine.
For a breath, nothing was said, but then she spoke.
"Where were you?" she asked sharply.
I lowered my head at once.
"I was asleep, Your Highness," I answered quietly. "I m–missed the time when the—"
The slap landed before the sentence could finish forming.
My head turned with the force of it.
The sound was loud in the small space.
For a fraction of a second, my ears rang. I imagined returning it, but then I took hold of myself. My fingers clawed at each other as I tried to control myself.
My gaze remained on the floor.
"I am s–sorry, Your Highness," I told her, even though I meant nothing by it.
She scoffed.
"Do not insult me with such a performance, Lyria. You are not sorry." Her voice lowered, tightening. "You do not even care."
I did not deny it. She would not be far from the truth, after all.
"Your Highness," Kyia said carefully from beside the window, her posture immaculate despite the chaos littering the floor. "Please—calm yourself."
Jacinta turned on her at once.
"You lied to me."
Kyia froze.
Her hands folded before her skirts with immediate precision.
"Your Highness—"
"You told me they were all gathered," Jacinta snapped. "You assured me earlier, when you came, that every suitor of worth would be present."
Kyia inclined her head.
"I said the candidates were assembled, Your Highness."
Jacinta laughed sharply.
"A technical mercy, is it?"
She took two swift steps forward.
"The Duke of Blackmere was not there at all."
Kyia’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"The Baron of Stoneford left halfway through the meal without offering me so much as a glance."
Her voice rose.
"And even Lucian arrived late—and when he did, he scarcely looked at me."
The words shook as she spoke.
The humiliation beneath them trembled more violently than her anger.
I was this close to telling her that I knew where her candidates had been, but I refrained from doing so.
Jacinta drew in a breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve.
"I am meant to be the moon of this kingdom," she said, her voice strained but unwavering. "Do you understand what that means, Kyia?"
Kyia bowed her head.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"I am not meant to seek attention. It is meant to come to me." Jacinta’s eyes glittered. "They are meant to circle me. The ones that matter are meant to pursue me."
Her laugh broke again, thin and sharp.
"And yet it is precisely those men who do not appear."
She turned slightly, gesturing toward the far side of the chamber where overturned stools and shattered porcelain bore witness to her fury.
"Instead, I am left entertaining those who are unimportant."
Kyia inhaled.
"Your Highness," she said evenly, "the Marquess of Westreach was present."
Jacinta’s gaze slid to her.
"Is he meant to be the only one there?"
Kyia lowered her eyes further.
"There were twelve other candidates in attendance, Your Highness. The Count of Northvale, in particular, proved most charming."
Jacinta laughed outright.
The sound rang brittle in the air.
"Is it now your duty to inform me who is charming and who is not?"
Kyia dropped into a deeper bow instantly.
"My apologies, Your Highness."
Jacinta dismissed her with a small flick of her hand.
Then she turned to me, her blade a permanent fixture on her face.
"And you," she said. "Why did you not show up?"
I lifted my eyes slowly and frowned.
"What do you mean, Your Highness?" I asked her softly.
