Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 263: The Pirate’s Composition

Lyria’s POV

Duke Valenridge rose from the chair, carefully set the cello aside, and bowed to the royal family. His expression remained composed, his eyes steady, as though he had not just performed a children’s nursery rhyme on a string instrument while singing off-key before the entire court.

The King leaned forward in his seat.

”Your Grace,” he said, his voice cold, ”do you think this competition is a joke?”

Duke Valenridge straightened.

”Your Majesty,” he said, his tone polite, ”if I thought this competition was a joke, I would not have attended in the first place.”

The King stared at him, clearly irritated.

”Then explain yourself,” he said. ”Explain what you just did.”

Duke Valenridge inclined his head.

”I did as the competition asked, Your Majesty. I played an original composition.”

The King’s jaw tightened.

”How,” he asked, his voice rising slightly, ”is a children’s rhyme an original composition? How is that considered composing anything at all?”

Duke Valenridge did not flinch.

”With respect, Your Majesty, what I played may have sounded like a children’s rhyme, but it is not. It is quite different from what you believe it to be.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the hall.

”I am certain that when I first began to play, no one here could immediately identify the piece. Am I correct?”

The hall was silent. No one acknowledged his question.

Then Duke Valenridge turned to Jacinta.

”Your Highness,” he said, ”did you recognise the piece from the first notes?”

Jacinta hesitated for a moment.

”No,” she admitted. ”I did not.”

He turned to me.

”Your Highness?”

I was still biting the inside of my cheek, still fighting the laughter that threatened to bubble up. I shook my head.

”I d-did not,” I said.

Duke Valenridge nodded.

”That is the idea,” he said. ”The piece I played is one I composed a long time ago. I thought there was no better occasion to present it than here, before the court and the kingdom.”

He paused, his expression growing thoughtful.

”Everyone knows that my territory, Blackmere, has ties to the sea. Everyone knows that my family’s history is entwined with pirates and sailors and the unpredictable nature of the ocean.”

I nodded. It was well known.

”What many do not know,” he continued, ”is that when a storm approaches, when the waves grow high and the winds grow fierce, we have certain... traditions. Certain songs that have been passed down through generations.”

He gestured toward the cello.

”This music is one I composed myself. It is to be played exactly as I played it because it is intended to scare away the beasts of the sea, calm the waves, and protect our people from the destruction that the ocean can bring.”

His voice was filled with conviction.

I stared at him.

He spoke with such certainty, such gravity, that for a moment—just a moment—I almost believed him.

But then I realised that was exactly what he wanted us to believe.

Because he was actually saying nonsense.

Utter, glorious nonsense.

And yet he delivered it as though it were the most serious statement he had ever made.

Jacinta nodded along with his words.

”Now that you have explained it,” she said, ”the piece sounds quite beautiful. I can almost hear the waves in it.”

The waves?

What waves?

I almost asked her, but I kept my mouth shut.

Duke Valenridge bowed.

”Your Highness is most kind,” he said. ”I am glad that you enjoyed it.”

He turned to me.

”And Your Highness?” he asked. ”Do you share the King’s opinion? Do you feel that my piece was merely a children’s rhyme, unworthy of this competition?”

I shook my head, a smile breaking across my face.

Who would have thought men of such noble standing could not compose a piece of music?

Why were they so bad at it?

”It is q-quite exquisite, Your Grace,” I said. ”I enjoyed it e-extremely well.”

Duke Valenridge bowed again.

”I seek only to please the Moon candidates,” he said. ”That is the purpose of this competition, after all.”

I shook my head and pressed my hand over my mouth once more.

Duke Valenridge turned back to the King.

”Would Your Majesty like me to play something else, though?” he asked. ”I have other compositions. I would be happy to perform another, since what I played did not suit you.”

The King shook his head.

”That will not be necessary,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal. ”Return to your place.”

Duke Valenridge bowed and walked back to join the other suitors.

Lucian said something to him, gesturing toward both him and Duke Thorncrest. I could not hear the words, but I saw Duke Valenridge and Duke Thorncrest smile.

They looked utterly unashamed.

The competition continued.

More names were called. More performances were given.

Some were masterful.

Some were forgettable.

Some were simply there.

Then it was Corvin’s turn.

”Marquess Corvin Hale of Westreach,” the footman announced.

Corvin stepped forward.

He moved to a violin, tucking it beneath his chin with practised ease. He lifted the bow.

And he played.

It was perfect—or at least as perfect as a piece of music could be.

The notes flowed effortlessly. Every movement was precise. Every note landed exactly where it was meant to.

The King nodded approvingly, and the Queen’s expression softened, if only slightly.

But I did not care about Corvin’s piece.

To me, it was forgettable.

The competition continued.

”Earl Benedict Hawthorne of Windmere,” the footman announced.

Earl Hawthorne stepped forward.

He walked to a violin.

He picked it up.

He held it properly, the way one was meant to hold a string instrument.

And then he raised the bow.

And hit the violin with it.

The sound that emerged was not music.

It was not a melody.

It was a beat—a percussive, rhythmic thumping that seemed entirely out of place in a competition meant to showcase refined musical talent.

I pressed my hand over my mouth.

Once more, I battled laughter.

He continued striking the strings, creating a rhythm that was more suited to a drum than a violin.

When he finished, he bowed.

Unlike Duke Valenridge’s and Duke Thorncrest’s performances, however, the hall was silent.

The Queen’s voice cut through the quiet.

”Your Lordship,” she said, ”do you understand what a string instrument is?”

Earl Hawthorne raised the violin.

”This is a violin, Your Majesty,” he said. ”It is a string instrument.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed.

”Then why did you play it as though it were a percussion instrument?”