Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 167: A Corridor of Small Truths

Lyria’s POV

Earl Hawthorne frowned slightly at my words, as though the thought itself had settled uncomfortably upon him.

”You were quite young,” he said at last, more softly than before.

I gave a small nod.

”Yes,” I replied. ”V-very young.”

We continued on in silence for a while after that, our steps falling softly against the polished stone as the corridor stretched ahead of us, lit by candles that trembled faintly in their sconces, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to breathe with the palace itself.

His gaze returned to me from time to time, as though he were considering something and then choosing, each time, not to speak of it.

It was not unpleasant.

Only... noticeable.

After a moment, I spoke again, my voice lowered slightly.

”I never e-expected,” I said, ”that you would be c-considerably older than I am.”

A faint sound left him—something that might have been a laugh if it had fully committed to being one.

”Is that so?” he asked lightly. ”And what led you to that conclusion? Do I give the impression of one far younger than I ought to be?”

I hesitated at that, then shook my head at once.

”N-no,” I said quickly. ”It is not that. I did not mean to suggest—”

But he spoke again before I could finish.

”Or perhaps,” he said, a touch more thoughtfully, ”it is because I have been described, on occasion, as somewhat lacking in caution or judgement?”

That made me blink in shock.

”No,” I said again, more firmly this time. ”T-that is not it. I do not think you lack j-judgement at all.”

A brief pause followed.

I glanced down for a moment, choosing my next words with care.

”I only mean,” I continued more quietly, ”that I had assumed you to be nearer my age. Perhaps o-one or two years older at most.”

Something subtle shifted in his expression at that—an adjustment rather than a reaction.

”I see,” he said at length. ”So I do not present myself as one who has lived beyond such an estimate.”

He regarded me for a moment without speaking, allowing the silence to settle as though he were waiting for me to find the proper phrasing myself.

Eventually, I exhaled softly.

”P-perhaps so, I-I did not think you to be e-eight years older than I am,” I said at last. ”It was... rather u-unexpected.”

That made him pause.

As though the number itself had required reconsideration.

”I had not considered it in those terms,” he admitted after a moment.

Another silence passed between us.

Then, somewhat unexpectedly, his tone shifted.

”Am I to understand,” he asked, ”that you find I appear younger, your highness?”

I blinked at that.

”That is not w-what I said,” I replied at once.

A faint curve touched his mouth.

”No,” he agreed mildly, ”but it is not entirely removed from what you implied.”

I hesitated at that, unable to fully deny it.

”...I s-suppose,” I said reluctantly.

Then, after a brief pause that felt more precarious than the words themselves, I added quietly, ”Y-you do look... handsome, so... y-yes, that is w-what I i-implied.”

The words settled between us at once, unadorned and unprotected.

For a moment, even the corridor seemed to quiet around them.

He stopped walking for the briefest instant.

Then resumed, as though correcting nothing at all within himself.

After a moment, he cleared his throat once, neatly, as though restoring order.

”I would suggest,” he said, his voice composed once more, ”that such observations are not made so freely within court society.”

I tilted my head slightly.

”I am n-not speaking to court society,” I replied softly. ”I am speaking to y-you.”

That gave him pause again—shorter this time, but no less real.

”...I see,” he murmured at last.

The silence that followed was different from before.

After a while, he spoke again.

”You are quite beautiful yourself,” he said.

That made me stop without meaning to.

I turned to look at him fully.

He, however, continued walking as though the words had been nothing more than an observation of weather or architecture—carefully placed, but not drawn out for attention.

I blinked once.

Then again.

”I-it is the dress,” I said quickly, almost instinctively, and then continued walking.

And then, as though that alone required reinforcement, I added, ”A-and the makeup.”

He gave a slight shake of his head.

”That is not it,” he replied.

I glanced at him again.

His tone remained steady, but gentler now.

”From what I understand from my sisters,” he said, ”such things are not meant to create beauty, but to refine what is already present.”

I did not answer immediately.

He continued after a moment, glancing toward me briefly.

”And in your case,” he added, ”they have done little more than bring it further into notice.”

My steps slowed slightly at that.

”That is... n-not necessary to say,” I murmured.

”It is nevertheless true,” he replied simply.

I looked away quickly after that, my face growing warm in a way I could not quite explain, save that it was unfamiliar in its timing and persistence.

We walked on in silence for a short while longer.

Eventually, the corridor widened ahead, splitting into two distinct paths that curved away from one another.

I came to a halt.

”This is where I m-must go another way,” I said.

He stopped beside me.

”So it would appear,” he said.

A pause lingered between us—unforced, but present nonetheless.

Then, as though it had been considered rather than spoken impulsively, he added, ”Perhaps I may have the pleasure of speaking with you again on the morrow.”

I hesitated, then inclined my head slightly.

”I would not be opposed,” I replied softly.

His expression eased faintly at that, and then he nodded.

I gave a small curtsey of the head.

”G-goodnight, my lord.”

”And to you, your highness,” he replied.

I turned then.

My maids fell into step behind me without a word. Though I was not oblivious to the fact that they had seen everything and that they would likely give the Queen a report.