Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 192: Listening Commoners

Everyone watched the scrying veil.

Nobody spoke immediately after Princess Lyria finished reading Baron Redwick’s poem.

The veil showed her lowering the parchment carefully, her hands steady, her posture proper despite the weight of so many eyes fixed upon her.

The silence that followed stretched across both the hall and the street alike.

Then Brianna sighed dreamily.

”Oh, that were lovely.”

Jacob looked at her.

”Did ye even understand half of what he said?”

Brianna turned toward him at once, scandalised.

”I don’t need to understand it,” she declared. ”It’s Baron Redwick.”

Jacob barked a laugh.

”Aye, there it is,” he said. ”Knew ye were gonna say somethin’ like that.”

Brianna folded her arms.

”Well, it’s true.”

”Ye just like his face.”

”And what if I do?”

”That ain’t the point.”

”It is to me.”

A few people nearby chuckled quietly at that.

Olly shook his head from where he sat near the edge of the bench, one elbow resting against his knee.

”We ought to ignore Brianna’s bias for a moment,” he said dryly. ”But truth be told, the Baron’s poem did sound good.”

”Aye,” Helen agreed from where she stood. ”It’s different from some others too.”

Jacob nodded slowly, still staring up at the veil.

”It weren’t just about people,” he said. ”Or buildings either.”

”No,” said the grey-haired woman from earlier. ”It sounded bigger than that somehow.”

Brianna straightened immediately.

”Exactly.”

Jacob snorted.

”Don’t ’exactly’ me. Ye just admitted ye didn’t understand it.”

”I understood enough.”

”That the Baron’s handsome?”

”That as well.”

That earned another ripple of laughter from those closest to them.

On the veil, Princess Jacinta rose gracefully from her seat.

The movement drew Mercer’s Row quieter once more.

Jacinta folded her hands neatly before her as she turned toward the court.

”The Baron,” she began smoothly, ”approaches the concept of home through sensation rather than structure.”

Her voice carried clearly through the veil.

”He does not begin with walls, nor even with people directly. Instead, he begins with need.”

Several people leaned forward slightly.

”He speaks first of destruction and recreation,” Jacinta continued. ”Of suffering endured quietly. Of hunger. Of discomfort. Of the various forms of absence a person may experience.”

She paused lightly.

”And from there, he presents home not as a singular definition, but as the answer to those absences.”

Olly nodded faintly to himself.

”Aye,” he murmured. ”That’s exactly what he did.”

”Ye didn’t know anythin’,” Jacob said. ”Don’t lie.”

Olly chuckled at that.

Jacinta continued speaking.

”The Baron argues that home differs from person to person,” she said. ”That it cannot be constrained to one understanding because comfort itself differs according to the individual seeking it.”

”He then shifts toward sound,” Jacinta continued. ”Not merely speech, but the atmosphere created by familiar life. Laughter. Conversation. Disorder. The noise of people existing together without restraint.”

A small smile touched her lips.

”He is careful not to romanticise perfection,” she said. ”In fact, he rejects it entirely. The home he describes is noisy, chaotic, and imperfect, yet meaningful precisely because of that imperfection.”

On the veil, Jacinta turned slightly as she continued.

”The poem also concerns reconstruction,” she said. ”Not simply of buildings, but of lives and peace itself. He speaks of what remains after destruction and what people choose to rebuild despite suffering.”

”He presents home,” Jacinta said carefully, ”as something deeply tied to recovery. To the persistence of people who continue despite grief, famine, war, illness, and hardship.”

The older man near the back folded his arms tighter.

”His territory,” he muttered.

Helen nodded. ”Yes, I think that’s what he wrote about.”

Jacinta’s voice remained steady.

”And perhaps most significantly,” she continued, ”the Baron compares home to air.”

”The comparison is deliberate,” Jacinta said. ”Air is not often considered while one possesses it freely. Yet its absence or corruption is immediately felt.”

She inclined her head slightly.

”The Baron speaks not merely of breathing, but of breathing without fear. Without smoke. Without grief. Without the scent of blood or illness lingering in the air around one.”

Helen’s expression shifted faintly at that.

”He defines home, ultimately, as peace,” Jacinta concluded. ”Not peace in the sense of silence, but peace in the sense of safety. The ability to exist without fear of further loss. It’s quite a beautiful poem.”

When she finished, Mercer’s Row remained quiet for all of three seconds.

Then applause broke out.

It spread quickly through the street.

”Aye, that were brilliant.”

”The Baron’s clever.”

”I liked that part about rebuildin’.”

”So did I.”

Brianna clapped hardest out of everyone nearby.

Jacob eyed her.

”Ye ain’t helpin’ your case.”

”I don’t care.”

Olly laughed quietly beneath his breath.

On the veil, Baron Redwick stepped forward after Jacinta finished.

Unlike several of the earlier candidates, he did not appear overly pleased by the praise nor eager for attention.

He simply bowed properly first to the King and Queen.

”Your Majesties,” he said.

Then he turned slightly toward Jacinta.

”Your Highness has interpreted it accurately.”

Jacinta smiled with ease.

”You honour me, my lord.”

The Baron inclined his head once more.

Then he turned to Lyria and bowed once, and after that, he returned to stand among the candidates.

Jacob watched him go.

The veil shifted again as the competition resumed.

Another name was called.

Another candidate stepped forward.

Mercer’s Row settled back into itself as voices rose once more around the benches.

”Ain’t gonna lie,” Jacob admitted, stretching his legs out slightly, ”I think the Baron’s one might be my favourite now.”

”The Duke of Blackmere’s was still better,” said the grey-haired woman.

”Aye,” another agreed nearby. ”That one hit different.”

”But this one felt...” Jacob frowned, trying to find the word. ”Real.”

Olly nodded slowly.

”Because it weren’t speakin’ like nobles usually do.”

That earned several sounds of agreement.

”It sounded like somebody who actually knew what hunger felt like,” one man muttered.

”And loss,” another added quietly.

”That’s because he does. Ye lot ain’t forgettin’ what happened in his territory, right? How we lost land?” Helen asked them.

”Now that ye say it, that’s true. He wrote about his territory,” one man said.

Brianna sighed again.

”He’s brilliant.”

Jacob groaned.

”There she goes again.”

And at that, they all dissolved into laughter as the last candidate stepped forward and gave his poem to Jacinta to read.