Chapter 93: Unlikely Anchors and Quiet Defiance
Chapter 92: Unlikely Anchors and Quiet Defiance
Lyria’s POV
I stared at him.
For a moment longer than was proper, my lips parted in silent astonishment. The word he had spoken hung between us like mist over the water, refusing to dissolve.
"S-suicide," I whispered at last, the syllable tasting foreign and sharp on my tongue.
The Duke of Blackmere inclined his head.
"Yes," he said, with a calmness that felt entirely at odds with the weight of the word itself. "That is what it is."
"Compared to before, however, it has reduced," he continued. "Rather drastically."
He moved slightly in the water, settling.
"And it is for that reason that I am going to tell you what I tell most people in Blackmere—the ones we notice are on the verge of giving up but have not yet let go."
I just watched him quietly.
"As such," he went on, shifting faintly in the water, "I have taken to telling certain individuals something I believe may be of use."
I frowned at that, and he noticed—or I think he did—due to the look he gave me.
"Those," he said, "who appear to stand at the precipice."
My fingers tightened slightly at my sides.
"And yet," he added, softer now, "have not stepped forward."
I held his gaze, uncertain of what he intended to say next, and equally uncertain of whether I wished to hear it.
"When matters grow... intolerable," he said at last, "you must remember the reason you remain."
"It does not have to be something grand," he said. "It does not have to be something that would make sense to anyone else. It may be something small. Something entirely material. Something no one would look at and think—yes, that is worth staying for."
His pale green eyes held mine.
"But if it is worth staying for to you," he said, "then it is worth holding onto. And if you can—visit it. Spend time with it. Let it remind you why you are fighting to remain."
I swallowed, thinking of my mother and Patricia.
"I know it sounds simple," he said. "I am also aware that though it sounds simple, it is certainly not that straightforward."
He was not wrong about that.
"But people have told me," he continued, "that when they spend time with the things or the people they love—truly spend time, not simply exist near them—something shifts. They are reminded. Some are filled with shame at having even considered it. Some ask themselves why the thought came at all."
He paused.
"But life has a way of wearing people down," he said. "And the mind does not always ask permission before it goes to dark places. That is not weakness. It is simply—being alive when things are very difficult for a very long time."
He glanced at the water.
"At the end of it all, we die regardless," he said. "Everyone does. Everything ends. And sometimes that knowledge makes the weight of the present feel—unbearable."
He looked back at me.
"But not yet," he said. "Not today."
I looked down at my hands in my lap.
"N-not today," I agreed quietly.
Silence settled between us again.
Different from the earlier silence. Softer around the edges.
Then he said:
"I am going to make a request of you."
I looked up.
His expression was the same—steady, unhurried, slightly unreadable in the way it usually was.
"What r-request?" I asked.
"Add me to the list," he said.
I stared at him.
For a moment, I was quite certain I had misheard him.
"I b-beg—" I stopped and then started again. "I b-beg your p-pardon?"
This had to be a joke...but he looked serious. There was no smile on his face.
He looked entirely serious.
"The list," he said. "The things keeping you here. Add me to it."
"I—" My stammer had completely abandoned any pretence of cooperation. "Your G-grace, I—w-what—p-pardon?"
"You heard me," he said.
"I h-heard you and I—" I shook my head. "W-would Your Grace p-please repeat w-what you just said?"
The Duke laughed.
It was the same genuine laugh I had heard once before at the lake—warm and unguarded, the laugh of someone who found something delightful and saw no reason to conceal it.
"You are rather endearing when you are confused," he said.
My face burned, the heat rising swiftly.
"Your G-grace—"
"I am not saying it to fluster you," he said, though the amusement had not left his voice. He shifted in the water, settling his arms on the bank’s edge, looking up at me with those pale green eyes. "I am saying it because I want you to take example from me."
I blinked.
"I have no particular desire to be within these palace walls," he said. "Nor do I find the accommodations especially impressive."
He said it with complete sincerity.
"I find the proceedings largely tedious. And yet—" He gestured vaguely at the lake, at the palace beyond, at the general situation. "Here I am. Doing my best."
I could not help the involuntary snort that escaped me.
"Y-your best?" I echoed before I could stop myself.
"Y-you drew a s-tick figure for the competition, Your Grace."
There was a moment of silence, and I thought I had offended him. I opened my mouth to apologize when he chuckled.
I had no idea why the chuckle sounded pleasant to my ears. It wasn’t the first time I was hearing someone laugh, after all.
"That," he said, with great dignity, "is my finest artistic work to date."
"It h-had a W on its h-head."
"That was the crown."
"I-it was—" I pressed my lips together. "It was very c-crooked."
"The Princess’s crown is crooked," he said. "I depicted it accurately."
I could not hold it.
I laughed.
It was small and quickly contained, but it was real, and it came out before I had made any decision about allowing it. For a moment, I sat on the bank of the lake in the abandoned wing of the palace with my back aching and the Duke of Blackmere in the water, looking at me with quiet satisfaction.
"I dare say I tried my best with that painting," he told me.
"Was it t-truly your best w-work?" I asked him.
He stared at me for a moment, then smiled.
"You are bold, curious wolf," he observed. "But yes, I did. Though I confess I lied when I claimed otherwise earlier. That shall remain our secret, if you will allow it."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Before I could form a reply, he continued, his voice gentler.
"Let’s make a promise," he said. "For the duration of my stay in this palace, I will be your listening ear. I will check on you when I can. You need not speak if you do not wish to. But know that you are not entirely alone in this."
I stared at him, utterly mortified.
"Y-your Grace, that is e-entirely inappropriate," I said at once. "Y-you are a s-suitor candidate—"
"And a Duke?" he supplied.
"Yes," I said firmly.
He smiled.
"And yet," he replied, "I remain the weakest among them."
Weakest? I doubted that. He may not be good with painting, but I did not believe he was the weakest among the candidates.
"I doubt I shall last long in this competition," he said.
I stared at him in shock, my mouth falling open before I could prevent it.
The Duke’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Close your mouth, curious wolf," he said lightly, "before something flies in."
I snapped my mouth shut at once, embarrassment flooding through me.
"I—" I faltered, then gathered myself. "A-are you not... e-earnest in your pursuit of Her Highness?"
He did not answer. Instead, he took a breath and went under the water.
Minutes passed, and I was beginning to wonder if the conversation was over—if he would show his face again.
Though I would not be surprised or even bothered if he did not. The fact that he was even speaking with me until this moment was already more than enough, and as intriguing as he was, he was a man of standing, and I was nothing but a maid.
But then he came up and, with a smile on his face, said to me—
"Tell me," he said, "have you ever taken a swim in this lake?"
What?
Certainly there was no way the Duke just asked me if I had taken a swim in the lake right?
He tilted his head, his eyes looking at me curiously.
"Perhaps you haven’t." He muttered more go himself than to me.
And perhaps that was what pushed me to respond or perhaps if was something else, I didn’t know but I gave him a reply at that point.
"I-I have."
"Oh?" He said intrigued.
