Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 155: The Baron’s Interview

Lyria’s POV

Heat rose to my face before I could prevent it.

I cleared my throat quietly and turned my attention back to where it belonged.

Baron Redwick had taken his seat before Lady Mirelle. His spectacles caught the chandelier light as he settled, his posture straight, his expression collected.

Lady Mirelle inclined her head.

”Your intentions,” she said, ”in presenting yourself as a suitor candidate, Baron Redwick?”

He did not pause.

”My intention,” he said, ”is not limited solely to assisting the Moon in the fulfillment of her role.”

His voice was measured.

”It is also my intention,” he continued, ”to be a shoulder she may rely upon.”

”Someone who will support her when she requires it,” he said, ”and, where possible, before she requires it—without being asked.”

He adjusted his spectacles once, a small, precise motion.

”It is my belief,” he went on, ”that the Moon’s purpose extends beyond the royal family. Beyond ceremony and obligation.”

His gaze remained fixed on Lady Mirelle.

”The Moon exists for her people,” he said. ”To ensure they are seen. To ensure they are heard. To ensure their needs are met and their treatment is fair.”

He paused briefly.

”My intention,” he concluded, ”is to help her fulfil that role in its entirety, not in part.”

Lady Mirelle gave a small nod.

Then, with the same composed expression she had worn throughout the evening, she said,

”Hypothetically speaking, if you were to find yourself drawn to someone who was not a Moon candidate—”

”That is not possible,” he said.

Lady Mirelle accepted this with a nod.

I was paying attention to his words.

But something at the edge of the hall had shifted.

The doors had opened quietly, and three figures entered.

Their breathing was slightly uneven.

I watched them move to stand among the other valets and guards at the side of the hall.

Two of them I did not know.

The third, though—I looked at him.

Then I looked again.

My fingers stilled against my skirt.

I knew him.

Not from the corridor—not only from that—but from before. From the lake hollow in the abandoned wing, where the water had been still and the Duke of Blackmere had been swimming, and the afternoon had been quiet in the particular way that abandoned places were quiet.

He had arrived then with dishevelled brown hair and wide eyes, relieved and exasperated to have found the duke.

Tommy.

Duke Valenridge’s valet.

And the boy who had pressed the note into my hand in the corridor.

I stared at him for a moment longer than I should have before I caught myself and redirected my gaze back toward the interview.

But my thoughts had already begun to move.

Why?

Why would Tommy—of all people—have sent me that note? He was Duke Valenridge’s valet. His loyalty was to the duke entirely and without question. Everything about the way he had spoken at the lake, the way he had monitored the duke’s every movement, the way he had called him out about the masked scent without a single trace of hesitation—all of it pointed to a young man who would move heaven and earth for the Duke of Blackmere and very little else.

So why had he pressed a note into my hand containing questions designed to unsettle me?

I turned my gaze toward Duke Valenridge, but he was watching and paying attention to the baron’s interview.

I looked away.

My mind was still turning when the baron’s voice reached me again, and something in the quality of it—steady, unhurried, with that particular precision that I had noticed the first time he spoke in the kitchen at midnight—made me stop thinking and simply listen.

He was speaking about Stoneford.

”The territory has endured considerable trials,” he said, his voice carrying without effort. ”Loss of land. Loss of resources. Circumstances that might have reduced another place to ruin.”

His expression did not change.

”But the people of Stoneford,” he continued, ”did not allow that to be the end of the matter.”

”They pushed forward,” he said, ”together. And it is in that—in the collective effort of people who chose not to give in—that I find the greatest source of pride in my territory.”

He paused.

”We have the largest bookstore in the kingdom,” he added.

”The majority of Stoneford’s residents are scholars by nature,” he continued. ”And we are currently in the process of establishing an academy, designed to support younger children in their education.”

I was quite impressed with that, and I even had questions. I wondered if perhaps the academy would cater to both commoners and nobles.

Lady Mirelle nodded once.

”Thank you,” she said. ”Perhaps now you may tell us something of yourself.”

He nodded.

”I am Baron Julian Redwick of Stoneford,” he said, with the faintest trace of dry acknowledgement. ”I am quite certain that is already known.”

Lady Mirelle’s lips curved almost imperceptibly.

”I do not have a favourite colour,” he continued. ”Though I will concede that brown is not disagreeable, particularly when it is rich.”

Why were they all talking about brown?

”I favour rules,” he said, ”and books, and individuals who possess a genuine eagerness to learn.”

He adjusted his spectacles.

”I favour structure,” he added, ”in most things.”

He paused.

”I prefer tea,” he said, ”taken with a proper sandwich, not with snacks—and particularly not with those confections filled with jam or jelly.”

I nearly smiled.

”I prefer the library to most social engagements,” he continued. ”I am not, by nature, a person who gravitates toward company.”

Another pause.

”Though,” he added, with what might have been the very beginning of reluctance, ”the acquaintances I have made here seem rather determined not to allow that tendency to continue unchallenged.”

Duke Thorncrest’s smile widened at that.

Julian’s gaze moved briefly, but precisely, in that direction.

”Furthermore,” he said, adjusting his spectacles once more, ”I would like to address a particular misconception.”

He fixed an intense, level gaze directly at Duke Thorncrest.

Who smiled back at him with complete serenity.

”I do not,” Baron Redwick said clearly, ”particularly enjoy scowling.”

I pressed my hand over my mouth.

Because he said it so seriously.

So entirely without irony.

And yet, I had seen him scowl in the kitchen, in the garden, in the library, in the corridor, in the interview hall barely an hour ago when Alistair had made his comments about stiff individuals.

The baron appeared entirely unaware of the contradiction.

Or perhaps he was simply choosing not to acknowledge it.

Either way, I could not fully contain the soft smile that formed before I could stop it.

He adjusted his spectacles for the third time and continued.

”I enjoy conversation,” he said, ”when it is with someone worth having it with.”

A brief pause.

”I also paint,” he added.

And then, very quietly and discreetly, his gaze moved to me.

”I am not,” he said, ”particularly skilled with people.”

He held my gaze for just a moment.

”But I intend to try.”

Then he looked back at Lady Mirelle.

Who gave a small, composed nod.

”Thank you, Baron Redwick,” she said. ”That will be all.”

He rose, inclined his head, and returned to his position with the same measured composure with which he had done everything else.

The interviews continued.

Baron Frederick Ashcombe was called.

I paid him the attention the moment required and nothing beyond it. He was composed, his answers measured, though I noticed he cast one very brief, very sideways glance toward Duke Valenridge before he began speaking, as though confirming that the man was still standing exactly where he had been and had not done anything unpredictable in the interim.

Then, at last, it was the duke’s turn.