Chapter 78: Whispers of the Moon
Chapter 77: Whispers of the Moon
Lyria’s POV
I leaned slightly over the bar, my hands folded carefully on the polished wood, my mask still in place, as I regarded Olly and the others with measured caution.
"Are you talking about the suitor candidates?" I asked.
He shook his head but didn’t say more.
I sighed, then spoke up.
"So... you’re not talking about the suitor candidates?" I asked him.
Olly shook his head again, leaning closer, his hand resting lazily on the worn bar. "Nay, lass. Not the candidates, per se. ’Tis... the royal family themselves." His eyes darkened, voice dropping almost to a whisper, yet still carrying the weight of anger. "Can ye imagine it? They’ve the guts—aye, the utter audacity—to broadcast it, right in the capital, for all of us commoners to see."
He paused, then continued. "’Tis the family making a spectacle of it. People are getting poorer, taxes rising, food stolen, children kidnapped... and yet they sit comfortably in their palaces, watching the world suffer, all while playing games with these—these candidates. Do ye think that’s proper?"
Jacob nodded grimly, taking his own cup back from Olly. "Aye. I understand the prophecy, I do," he said, lowering his voice, leaning slightly on the bar. "But surely they could have waited, done it some other time when the capital was less... well, when it was better than it is now."
I bit the inside of my lip, choosing my words with care. "I... I understand your complaints. Truly. But the competition itself—it is not the candidates’ fault. They cannot control the circumstances. They were invited, after all."
Jacob shook his head slowly, a frown deepening across his weathered face. "Like we said, it’s not the candidates themselves, lass, but the royal family. Every one of ’em. The princess herself doesn’t even step foot among us. She wants nothing to do with the common folk. She sits in her high tower, safe from the troubles she’s supposed to rule over. How can someone like that call herself our ruler? How can one such as she be the Moon of the Empire?"
I swallowed at that. Honestly, I understood that point. Jacinta saw commoners as people who should work for her. She forgets that their taxes are what feeds the royal family and why she gets to enjoy basic necessities.
Olly chuckled bitterly. "Aye, and that’s the heart of it. We’re expected to bow and cheer while she ignores us."
A man two stools down from Jacob had been listening with the quiet attention of someone waiting for the right moment. He leaned forward now.
"I thought the Moon was meant to be empathetic... to care for the people she ruled. But this one? Not a whit. Not a bit. And now... now I wonder if there’s another prophecy, one we don’t ken yet."
Jacob muttered under his breath as he drank from his ale. "Or another princess."
My breath caught.
"A-another p-princess?" I asked with wide eyes. Surely they didn’t know that I was the king’s daughter, right? "Why... why do you think that?"
Jacob shrugged, eyes narrowing. "I only say it because I trust whatever is spoken in this tavern stays here. We speak freely, don’t we? The walls have ears elsewhere, but here..." He glanced at Olly and the others. "Here, our words are safe. I’m only speaking because it stays between us."
Olly and the other man raised their glasses in unison. "Aye! Hear, hear!"
Jacob nodded solemnly, his hand tracing the rim of his glass. "The king... I heard he’s always had eyes for women, ye ken. There are accounts of him... consorting with maids, more than once. And I heard a story, once, that he had another child—though no one’s actually seen the child. No one knows whether it’s a girl or a boy. I never took the tale seriously, not until now."
I pressed my lips together, the breath in my chest catching, trying not to betray the storm of thoughts inside.
Jacob’s voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "I still doubt the rumours—but... what if there’s truth to it? What if the king did sire another? Someone hidden? Something kept from the eyes of the public? Perhaps it’s that child who will one day rise... perhaps it’s that child the prophecy speaks of."
I nodded slightly, keeping my posture elegant, even as my heart hammered. The room felt suddenly smaller, the scent of malt and smoke pressing in around me, pressing in on the thoughts I could not share.
Olly’s grin was sharp, almost knowing. "If there’s another, ye can bet she or he will not be treated as lightly as us. Born of secrets, raised in shadow... while the rest of the kingdom suffers under a crown that does not look kindly on those without noble blood."
Jacob’s voice broke the silence again. "Think on it, Iria. The king’s known for his... appetites. He has never lacked for company, yet he has never lacked for secrecy either. And now... who’s to say that child doesn’t exist, tucked away somewhere, waiting?"
I kept my hands moving—slow and steady, moving a cloth across the bartop, since I couldn’t not do something with my hands.
I kept my face still and my breathing even, and I did not say anything at all.
Because I could not say anything at all.
My heart was beating with a loudness that felt entirely disproportionate to the situation, as though it had not received the message that I was supposed to be Iria right now.
That Iria did not know anything about this.
That Iria had never heard this story and had no reason to react to it, and would simply nod, wipe the counter, and move on to the next order.
Iria had no hidden mother in a small room near the queen’s chambers.
Iria had no Patricia chained by the ankle in a decaying corridor.
Iria had no box under her floorboard filling slowly with the coins that were supposed to buy freedom.
Iria was just a girl behind a bar whose family beat her up.
I wiped the counter and took hold of my emotions.
"That is quite a thing to wonder," I said finally.
