Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 221: The Voice of the People

The man behind the table frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked from Olly to Baba May and back again. He did not appear to be a bad man—merely a weary one, burdened with a task he had not devised and possessed no authority to alter.

”I apologise,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness, ”but those are the rules. I cannot change them. The only candidates who may be voted for are the suitor candidates.”

Baba May tapped her walking stick against the cobblestones. The sound was sharp and insistent, demanding attention without requiring raised voices.

”And what if I have a favourite Moon candidate?” she asked. ”What if I wish to cast my vote for her?”

Olly nodded as well, his arms crossed over his chest.

”Aye,” he said. ”That’s exactly what I’ve been sayin’. The competition ain’t just about the suitor candidates. There’s Moon candidates too. Two of ’em now. So why cannae we vote for them? We ought to be free to choose.”

He jerked his thumb toward the scrying veil hanging dark above the square.

”The royal family said so themselves,” he continued. ”They said we could vote. They said everyone in the kingdom, every territory—all of us. It was right there on the veil for all to see.”

The man behind the table shifted uncomfortably. His gaze darted toward the queue behind Olly, toward the line stretching across the square and curling around the corner of the nearest building.

”It is not my place to tell you whom you may or may not vote for,” he said carefully. ”I do not make the rules.”

”I am merely a representative tasked with collecting votes.”

He paused, glancing down at the papers upon the table.

”The best solution,” he continued, ”would be for you to send a request to the department in charge. A formal petition. After all, the royal family has stated that they listen to the cries and concerns of the people. If enough voices speak, they may be compelled to listen.”

Baba May huffed.

The sound was not loud, yet it carried the weight of long years.

”Fine,” she said. ”Then I shall do precisely that.”

She tapped her walking stick against the stones once more for emphasis.

”But for now, I’m votin’. For me favourite candidate.”

Olly tilted his head.

”And who might that be?” he asked. ”Yer favourite, I mean.”

Baba May turned her gaze upon him. Her eyes remained sharp despite her age, bright and knowing within a face lined deeply by decades of living.

”Why d’you want to know?” she asked suspiciously. ”Tryin’ to convince me not to vote for ’em?”

Olly chuckled.

”Nah,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. ”Just wonderin’, that’s all. What’s an old woman like you doin’ gettin’ so invested in a competition like this?”

Baba May drew herself up to her full height—which was not considerable, though she somehow managed to make herself appear imposing nonetheless.

”I’m old,” she said, ”but I ain’t dead. I still have eyes. I still have ears. I still have opinions. And besides, you’re old too.”

Olly nodded solemnly.

”Aye,” he said. ”That’s true. But at least I ain’t ancient like you.”

Baba May glared at him, though Olly did not so much as flinch.

”The more ye glare,” he said pleasantly, ”the older ye get.”

Someone further back in the queue laughed.

Another person immediately shushed them.

Baba May continued glaring for a moment longer before turning back toward the table with a dismissive sniff.

”Just vote,” she muttered. ”That’s what we’re here for.”

After that, the line continued moving.

People stepped forward one by one, casting their votes for the suitor candidates whose names they had learned through the broadcasts, through gossip carried along the streets, through whispered conversations exchanged in taverns, marketplaces, and cramped flats where families gathered together at night.

Some voted for Duke Aurelgrave, impressed by his composure and by the quiet strength within his poem. Others favoured Duke Thorncrest, charmed by his humour and the easy confidence he wore like a finely tailored coat. Baron Redwick received a considerable number of votes as well—his poem about Stoneford had resonated deeply with those who understood what it meant to lose and rebuild.

Earl Hawthorne, too, possessed his supporters. There was something about his honesty—his refusal to hide behind elaborate language—that appealed to people weary of being spoken to as though they could not understand plain speech.

And Duke Valenridge had supporters as well.

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Across the kingdom, in territories near and far alike, the voting continued.

In Stoneford, the streets thrummed with activity. The people there took voting seriously—they always had. Books were consulted. Debates sprang up upon street corners and within homes alike. Neighbours argued passionately over the merits of one candidate above another, though most agreed that their own Baron Redwick had represented them admirably.

In Windmere, the atmosphere was far less restrained.

There were no civil debates regarding which candidate was superior.

If one dared suggest that the Earl was not the finest candidate, one was immediately challenged to a duel. And should they lose, they would then be required to provide reasons as to why their Earl was not the best choice regardless.

Still, the overwhelming majority genuinely believed Earl Hawthorne to be the finest candidate.

He was honest. He always had been.

And sometimes honesty alone was enough to make a man both a worthy ruler and a worthy partner.

In Eastmere, the voting was quieter.

The people there spoke of Duke Aurelgrave with a reserved sort of respect. He was not a man who sought attention, they said, but he was a man upon whom one could rely. He was fair. He was just. He did not raise his voice unnecessarily, nor did he make promises he could not keep.

That, they believed, was precisely the sort of leader they required.

And whilst some territories participated eagerly in the voting process, others chose to ignore it entirely.

Their reasons varied.

Some insisted it was too early to act. Some simply held no interest in the competition at all. Others could not care less who eventually became the kingdom’s sun.

Not all rulers were admired.

Not all rulers were beloved by their people.

Some wished their rulers did not exist at all.

But no matter how much they wept or complained, nothing ever changed.

And so they asked themselves—

Why bother voting at all?