Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 261: The Music Competition

Lyria’s POV

”Welcome,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the assembled nobles, ”to the second official competition of this selection process.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping through the hall.

”As you are all aware, we are now down by one candidate. There are thirteen suitors remaining.”

He paused again.

”As was announced during the ball yesterday evening, this competition centres around the creation of a musical piece. That is all that was said at the time. However, further instruction shall now be given.”

He turned slightly, gesturing toward the musicians’ area where instruments had been arranged.

”Each candidate’s piece shall be played using either a keyboard instrument or a string instrument. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

He let the words settle.

”For each piece performed, the Moon candidates shall judge which pleases them most, and it must be an original composition. Servants may assist in tuning the instruments, but they shall not assist in playing them.”

His voice grew firmer.

”Anyone who wishes to stand beside a Moon candidate must be well versed in society. They must know how to play instruments such as these. It is not merely a matter of talent. It is a matter of refinement.”

He paused again.

His gaze moved across the hall and then settled on me.

”It is also with great joy,” he said, though his voice was flat, devoid of any real warmth, ”that I announce Princess Lyria has recovered. Her participation here tonight is duly noted.”

I wondered if perhaps he thought his words would prove to the people that he cared about me, or if perhaps it would not.

I could not understand what went on through the heads of the royal family after all.

The King gestured toward the hall and those present.

”Let the competition begin.”

Instruments were brought into the hall, separate from those in the musicians’ area.

They were arranged in careful rows—keyboard instruments with their gleaming ivory keys, and string instruments in their polished wooden cases. Servants moved between them, adjusting positions, ensuring everything was in order.

And after it was done, a footman stepped forward with a scroll. I was fairly certain that the footman now knew every candidate’s name by heart, but perhaps it was important to hold the scroll—who knew.

The footman cleared his throat as he unfurled it.

”Duke Lucian Aurelgrave of Eastmere,” he announced to the hall.

Lucian stepped forward from the crowd. He moved through the hall with easy grace, posture straight, expression composed. He bowed to the royal family and then made his way directly to the piano.

He sat on the bench, adjusted his position, and placed his fingers on the keys.

Then he began to play.

The music that filled the hall was unlike anything I had heard before. It was soft at first—gentle, so much so that it reminded me of rain falling on still water.

Then it grew, swelling into something richer, something deeper, something that seemed to reach into my chest and press against my heart.

I closed my eyes.

The music wrapped around me, warm and familiar, and for a moment I forgot where I was. I forgot the King and the Queen and Jacinta’s cold smile. I forgot the nobles watching from their positions.

I simply listened. I loved his piece, though I could not stay on beat to save my life.

And when the last note faded, I opened my eyes.

The hall was silent for a few seconds—and then applause sounded, resonating through the hall. I joined it because it was quite beautiful.

Lucian rose from the bench, bowed to the royal family, and then to the crowd.

Then he returned to the others.

It was only then that I noticed the suitors were not standing according to their titles. They stood where they wished, in groups that seemed to have formed naturally.

Lucian stood with Baron Redwick, Duke Thorncrest, Earl Hawthorne, and Duke Valenridge. They gave him smiles, and Earl Hawthorne leaned toward him and said something I could not hear.

Lucian scowled at whatever was said, though Duke Valenridge and Duke Thorncrest had faint smiles on their faces.

I wondered what had been said.

”Duke Alistair Thorncrest of Highmoor,” the footman announced.

Duke Thorncrest stepped up.

He bowed to the royal family just like Lucian had done. Then, like Lucian too, he made his way to the piano.

But what he played—and how he played—was entirely unexpected.

He lifted a single finger and pressed a key.

A single note rang out.

Then another.

Then another.

I recognised the melody immediately. It was a children’s nursery rhyme—the one about the star. Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

He played it with one finger, picking out the notes one by one, and even as he played, he missed several keys.

And as he played, the hall filled with murmurs.

Nobles exchanged glances. Some raised their eyebrows, clearly displeased. A few looked as though they were trying very hard not to laugh. Marquess Corvin looked outright disgusted. Lucian simply shook his head, while Earl Hawthorne and Duke Valenridge chuckled under their breaths.

I tried to hold in my own laughter as well, but I failed—just a small sound slipping out before I could stop it.

The Queen gave me a sharp look, and I quickly pressed my lips together, but the amusement still lingered stubbornly.

Duke Thorncrest continued playing, apparently unconcerned by the reaction of the hall. He picked out the melody carefully, one finger at a time, missing another key near the end.

And when he finished, he turned and bowed to the royal family.

The Queen’s expression was cold.

”Your Grace,” she said sharply, ”do you think this competition is a joke?”

Duke Thorncrest tilted his head slightly.

”Why would Your Majesty ask me that?” he asked.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed.

”The competition clearly stated that each candidate should compose an original musical piece,” she said. ”You did not compose anything. You played a children’s rhyme.”

Duke Thorncrest smiled.

”With respect, Your Majesty,” he said, ”I did compose. I made a twist to the composition, after all.”