Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 195: Results Already Decided

Lyria’s POV

I hated this.

Not once had I been consulted during the finalisation of the results. Not once. I had sat through the deliberation and when I had attempted to raise my concerns, the Queen had smiled at me and the matter had been concluded before I had finished my second sentence.

The King had not even looked at me. The one who claimed to be the one who had gotten my mother pregnant... well, it was less a claim given the fact that he had done it, but if he was going to tell everyone he was my father, perhaps he should have behaved like one.

But then again, I should not concern myself with something like that.

And besides, there was nothing to be done about the deliberation. They were the rulers. Whatever I believed, whatever I knew to be true about what had been presented today, it carried no weight against what they had already decided.

And so now I stood beside Jacinta as every suitor candidate lined up behind the tables, waiting.

I already knew the results and I was not in support of them.

I kept my face composed and my hands folded before me as I looked out at the hall.

I thought about the scrying veil.

The royal family proceeded at times as though it were not there. As though what happened within this hall stayed within it. But every person in the kingdom was watching. The commoners on different streets. The people across the territories. Everyone who had gathered around the veil to watch.

Commoners were not unintelligent. I was certain they had heard the same poems. They were capable of drawing their own conclusions.

I wondered if the royal family had considered that.

Jacinta stepped forward slightly and smiled at everyone.

”We are most grateful,” she began, ”to each and every suitor candidate who participated in today’s proceedings.”

Her voice carried easily, warm and composed.

”It was evident that considerable thought and care was given to the task presented,” she continued. ”Each poem carried within it something distinct. Something individual. And it is no small thing to stand before this court and offer something of one’s own making.”

I kept my expression still as she spoke.

”Each poem resonated,” Jacinta said, ”in its own manner. Each carried a different message, a different understanding of the theme.”

She looked out across the candidates with an expression of warm appreciation.

”My sister...”

She said it pleasantly.

The words left her mouth easily, naturally, with the same practised warmth she brought to everything she did in public. I kept my face exactly where it was. Internally, I rolled my eyes so thoroughly I was surprised no one noticed.

”...and I were required to consider which poems resonated most deeply with us,” Jacinta continued, ”and to present the results of that consideration to the court.”

She inclined her head faintly.

”It was not a simple task,” she said. ”Every candidate presented something worthy of recognition.”

Another pause.

Then she straightened slightly.

”The top scorer,” she said.

The hall went very still.

”...is Baron Julian Redwick of Stoneford.”

I looked toward the candidates.

Baron Redwick did not move immediately.

He stood exactly where he had been, and for a moment his face was entirely unguarded. His eyes widened slightly. He turned his head, as though checking whether he had heard correctly, and I caught the moment Duke Aurelgrave registered it too — that brief stillness, that momentary widening of the eyes before he composed himself once more.

Baron Redwick blinked once.

Then he stepped forward.

He walked to the front with measured steps, stopped at the correct distance, and bowed. By the time he straightened, there was nothing in his expression that suggested he had needed a moment at all.

Jacinta nodded toward him graciously.

”Congratulations, my lord.”

”Your Highness is exceedingly gracious.”

His tone remained flawless.

Only someone watching closely would have noticed the faint stiffness still lingering in his posture.

”The second,” she said, turning back to the hall, ”is Duke Lucian Aurelgrave of Eastmere.”

I watched Duke Aurelgrave.

The shock was there — brief and quickly suppressed, but I had been watching and I saw it. Something in his jaw shifted. His eyes widened just slightly before he mastered the reaction.

Then he composed himself and stepped forward, taking his place beside Baron Redwick.

He bowed as well and Jacinta smiled at him.

”And the third,” she said, ”is Duke Alistair Thorncrest of Highmoor.”

Duke Thorncrest did not move.

He stood among the candidates with one hand loosely behind his back, his expression unreadable save for the faint crease now visible between his brows.

Jacinta’s smile remained steady.

”Duke Thorncrest,” she repeated.

He remained where he was for a moment longer.

The hall noticed.

At last, Duke Thorncrest began moving.

The faint frown remained upon his face as he crossed the chamber floor, and there was very little triumph in him.

If anything, he looked mildly inconvenienced.

He reached the front and bowed.

Jacinta smiled. ”You presented a memorable work, Duke Thorncrest.”

”How fortunate,” the Duke replied smoothly.

I lowered my gaze before anyone could notice the twitch threatening at the corner of my mouth.

Beside me, Jacinta continued smiling for the court as though nothing at all were unusual.

But my attention had already shifted elsewhere.

Toward Duke Valenridge.

He still stood among the remaining candidates, relaxed as ever, his posture easy beneath the weight of what had just occurred.

And astonishingly, he did not look disappointed. Not even slightly.

There was no bitterness, no visible frustration, and no anger.

If anything, he appeared almost entertained by the entire affair.

There was the faintest smile resting upon his face as he watched the others standing before the dais.

As though he were observing a performance whose ending he had anticipated long ago.

I stared at him for a moment before lowering my eyes.

It was ridiculous. Entirely so.

His poem had been the best. It was not merely good. It had done something the others had not and though Baron Redwick’s poem had been beautiful, it was not Duke Valenridge’s poem.

And there was nothing I could do about it.