Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 155: The Things Men Say When They Are Seen

Chapter 154: The Things Men Say When They Are Seen

Lyria’s POV

Lady Mirelle cleared her throat softly, drawing the attention of the hall back to the present.

"Earl Hawthorne," she began, her tone measured, "state your name and title for the record."

He straightened almost immediately, though the nervousness in his posture did not entirely disappear.

"Earl Benedict Hawthorne of Windmere," he said.

There was the slightest tremor at the start of his voice, but it steadied as he continued.

Lady Mirelle inclined her head.

"And your intentions," she said, "in presenting yourself as a suitor candidate?"

He cleared his throat quietly before answering.

"My intentions," he began, "are... much the same as those who have spoken before me."

There was a brief pause, as though he were choosing his words carefully.

"I aim to assist the Moon in fulfilling her role," he continued. "That is what the prophecy entails, and it is a responsibility I do not take lightly."

His voice gained a little strength as he spoke further.

"And," he added, "I also intend to be a good spouse to the Moon."

That was new.

My lips curved slightly before I could stop myself.

No one else had said it so plainly.

No one else had acknowledged it quite like that.

"After all," he continued, a little more firmly now, "the Sun is meant to stand beside the Moon. And so... I believe it is only right that I strive to be worthy of that place."

Lady Mirelle gave a small nod.

"Very well," she said. "Now, this is a hypothetical question."

He nodded at once, as though bracing himself.

"If," she continued, "you were to find yourself inclined toward someone who is not a Moon candidate, what would your response be?"

He was the only one who did not interrupt her as she asked the question.

Earl Hawthorne took a quiet breath before answering.

"I did not come here with the intention of being swayed," he said honestly.

There was no embellishment in his tone.

No attempt to make the words sound more impressive than they were.

"And," he added, "I do not believe that such a situation is likely to occur."

He paused briefly.

"I am... quite invested in this selection," he continued. "And I believe that my focus will remain here."

There was a small, almost apologetic smile on his face. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

"So," he finished, "as the others have said... I do not believe that will happen."

I studied him quietly.

There was something about the way he spoke.

It was not polished in the way the others had been.

Not carefully constructed or deliberately weighted.

It was simply... honest.

Lady Mirelle inclined her head again.

"The next question," she said, "has been submitted by the public."

He nodded, though the tension in his shoulders returned slightly.

"You are known," she continued, "as a war hero."

There was a subtle shift at that.

"The people wish to know," she said, "what it was like to be on the battlefield."

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he let out a small, nervous chuckle, though it did not carry any real amusement.

His gaze dropped briefly to his hands.

"It is... not something I often speak about," he admitted.

His fingers curled slightly, as though remembering something they would rather not.

"But," he continued after a moment, "I will say this."

He lifted his gaze again, though there was a heaviness in it now.

"War is not what people believe it to be."

The words were simple.

But they settled heavily in the air.

"People die," he said quietly. "Families are torn apart. Those who survive... often return having lost more than can be seen."

"It is not..." he hesitated briefly, "it is not something I would ever wish to glorify."

"Being there," he continued, "was difficult. Every day, I prayed that I would return home."

His voice softened slightly.

"To my territory," he added. "To my family."

There was a pause.

Then, as though realising the weight of what he had said, he straightened slightly.

Lady Mirelle gave a slow nod.

"Thank you," she said.

There was a brief moment before she continued.

"Now," she added, "perhaps you may tell us something of yourself."

He swallowed.

Then gave a small, uncertain smile.

"There is... not much to say," he admitted.

"Everyone already knows my name," he said. "And that I am a suitor candidate."

He shifted slightly in his seat.

"I suppose..." he hesitated, then continued, "I am more... absent-minded than I would like to be."

I smiled softly at that.

"I tend to let things slip by without noticing," he added quickly. "Though it is not intentional."

He rubbed lightly at the back of his neck.

"It is something I am trying to improve."

His honesty remained unchanged.

"I have six sisters," he continued, a small smile forming again. "All younger than I am."

There was a warmth in his voice now.

"They are... quite lively," he added. "And I have learned a great deal from them."

He paused briefly.

"About what a woman may prefer," he said, "and what she may not."

That earned a few quiet murmurs.

"I enjoy sweets," he added, almost as an afterthought. "And I sometimes carry snacks with me."

"And," he continued, "like Duke Thorncrest, I enjoy running in my wolf form."

There was a brief pause.

Then his expression shifted—subtly, but noticeably.

"I dislike discrimination," he said firmly, the lightness gone from his voice.

"I believe... everyone deserves an opportunity to be seen and judged fairly."

His voice steadied further.

"I do not tolerate unfair treatment."

There was something firmer beneath his tone now.

"And, most importantly," he added, more quietly but with greater certainty, "I do not tolerate abuse."

"My territory—Windmere—is strongly opposed to such things," he continued. "And I will not stand for it."

I watched him carefully. He said it with full conviction.

After a moment, he seemed to realise how firm his tone had become.

He cleared his throat softly, the nervousness returning just slightly.

"That will be all," he said, scratching lightly behind his ear.

Lady Mirelle allowed a small smile.

"Thank you, Your Lordship," she said.

He nodded quickly, rising from his seat with a slight stiffness before stepping away.

The interviews continued.

One name after another.

The rhythm resumed.

And I hardly paid attention until Baron Redwick was called.

He stepped forward with his usual composure, adjusting his spectacles with precise care before taking his seat.

But just as he took his seat, the door opened, and Duke Valenridge stepped in as though he had never been absent at all.

He adjusted his cuff as he walked, his expression composed in a way that suggested he was entirely unconcerned with the fact that he had arrived late.

He moved into position beside Baron Frederick Ashcombe.

The baron, who had been composed moments before, now appeared... less so.

A handkerchief appeared in his hand, and he used it to dab lightly at his brow.

Duke Valenridge noticed and gave him a smile. I noticed he came alone and wondered where his valet and guard were.

As if he could feel my gaze on him, he turned toward my direction and smiled softly.