Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 197: What Truly Reached Her

The castle halls had quieted considerably since the conclusion of the competition.

Though servants still moved through the corridors with polished silver trays and soft-footed efficiency, and guards remained stationed beside archways and staircases in disciplined silence, the greater excitement that had filled the palace earlier in the day had long since settled into subdued conversation behind closed doors.

Rain clouds had begun gathering beyond the tall windows overlooking the eastern gardens, turning the late morning light silver-grey as it filtered through the glass.

Inside one of the smaller receiving chambers overlooking the inner courtyard, Marcus, Baron Redwick’s second-in-command, sat comfortably near the hearth with a drink in hand.

The room itself was modest by noble standards, though still grander than most places beyond castle grounds. Dark walnut shelves lined one wall, filled with old records and neatly arranged books, while a deep green carpet stretched beneath polished furniture carved with intricate floral detail. The fire crackled softly within the marble hearth, warming the room against the growing chill outside.

Marcus leaned back slightly in his chair, one leg crossed over the other.

The amber liquid within his glass shifted lazily as he turned it once in his hand.

Opposite him stood one of Stoneford’s stationed guards.

Aldric Moore.

A broad man with dark hair beginning to grey at the temples and the sort of posture that years of service permanently carved into a person. His uniform remained immaculate despite the long day, brass fastenings polished bright beneath the firelight.

”The Baron appears to have begun rather well,” Aldric remarked after a moment.

Marcus hummed lightly.

”The first official competition,” Aldric continued. ”And he takes first place before the entirety of the kingdom.”

There was approval in his voice.

Pride too.

And understandably so.

Marcus smiled faintly into his drink.

”Perhaps,” he said.

Aldric looked at him then.

It was a familiar sort of look. The kind given to a man whose expression suggested he was thinking something entirely different from the words leaving his mouth.

”You do not appear wholly satisfied,” the guard observed.

Marcus chuckled softly beneath his breath.

”One thing you should understand,” he said, ”is that winning the first competition does not guarantee victory in the selection itself.”

He lifted the glass slightly before taking another measured sip.

”At the end of all this,” he continued, ”the Moon Candidates shall still decide whom they favour.”

Aldric frowned thoughtfully.

”That is true.”

”And there is also,” Marcus added after a brief pause, ”the matter of foul play.”

The guard’s brows rose immediately.

Marcus did not seem particularly alarmed by his own statement.

If anything, he sounded mildly inconvenienced by it.

”The judging was poor,” he said simply.

Aldric folded his arms behind his back.

”You believe the results inaccurate?”

”I believe they were deliberate.”

The fire crackled softly between them.

Marcus glanced briefly toward the darkening windows before continuing.

”Julian’s poem was excellent,” he said. ”Exceptionally so. It was intelligent, emotionally aware, and well written.”

Aldric nodded once in agreement.

”But?” he prompted.

Marcus smiled faintly.

”But it was a Stoneford poem.”

The guard remained quiet.

Marcus swirled the liquid in his glass again.

”It spoke deeply to those who understand Stoneford,” he explained. ”To those who have witnessed destruction. Famine. Reconstruction. To those who know what it means to rebuild peace after losing it.”

His tone remained calm and conversational.

”It resonated profoundly with our people because it was about our people.”

Aldric’s expression shifted slightly as understanding began settling into place.

Marcus continued.

”But ask yourself this,” he said. ”Would it strike the same depth within someone untouched by those experiences?”

The guard did not answer immediately.

Marcus did not rush him.

Outside, thunder rolled faintly somewhere beyond the distant hills.

”At court,” Marcus said, ”emotion and resonance are not always the same thing. A person may admire a work greatly without being personally moved by it.”

Aldric frowned thoughtfully.

”And you believe another poem achieved that instead.”

”I do.”

The guard studied him carefully.

”Duke Valenridge.”

Marcus looked up at him then and smiled slightly.

”Yes.”

Aldric exhaled through his nose.

”To be truthful,” he admitted, ”I had thought the Duke’s poem overly broad.”

”Broad?” Marcus echoed with amusement.

”He spoke of many things at once. People. Places. Buildings. Objects. Memory. Feeling.” Aldric shook his head faintly. ”It seemed... expansive.”

”It was,” Marcus agreed.

He set his glass down upon the small table beside him.

”And that was precisely why it worked.”

The guard’s brows furrowed further.

Marcus leaned back again.

”The Duke did not define home for the listener,” he said. ”He asked the listener to define it for themselves.”

Aldric fell silent.

Marcus continued quietly.

”That changes the nature of the poem entirely.”

The room seemed warmer now beneath the firelight, shadows shifting softly against the walls as evening gradually settled over the castle.

”The others presented understanding,” Marcus said. ”Valenridge presented reflection.”

The guard looked thoughtful now.

”He spoke to experience without limiting the experience itself,” Marcus added. ”Anyone listening could place something of themselves within that poem.”

Aldric considered this for a long moment.

”And yet,” he said slowly, ”the poem did not appear to resonate equally with both candidates.”

Marcus smiled again then.

A knowing sort of smile.

”No,” he agreed.

”It seemed to resonate far more strongly with Princess Lyria.”

Marcus’s gaze drifted briefly toward the fire.

”Precisely.”

Aldric frowned slightly.

”Then surely that weakens the argument rather than strengthens it.”

Marcus looked amused by that.

”Does it?”

The guard hesitated.

Marcus folded his hands loosely.

”The Duke did not write for both candidates,” he said.

The words settled quietly into the room.

Aldric stared at him.

After a moment he said carefully, ”You believe he wrote specifically for Princess Lyria.”

”I believe,” Marcus replied, ”that he understood something the others did not.”

”And what was that?”

Marcus’s expression softened faintly with thought.

”That Princess Lyria has spent much of her life being told what she is.”

The fire shifted.

”And Duke Valenridge,” Marcus continued, ”wrote a poem that instead asked her who she was. And to anyone who was listening, it would have resonated with them.”

Silence followed that.

”Even I resonated with it,” Marcus said softly.

Aldric looked toward the dying light beyond the windows.

When he spoke again, his tone was slower than before.

”I had not considered it from that perspective.”

”Most people did not.”

The guard glanced back at him.

”But how are you so certain?”