Free Web NovelChapter 70: The Winner Announced
Chapter 69: The Winner Announced
Alistair reached past Benedict for a small pastry and bit into it before anyone could reasonably expect him to contribute anything further.
Then he said, quite pleasantly, around the bite:
"Sweet." freeweɓnøvel.com
Lucian turned to him with a frown.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The scent," Alistair said, chewing slowly. "Earl Hawthorne described it as sweet. If that is not sufficient description for your purposes, Your Grace, I am not certain what you were hoping for."
He picked up another pastry and examined it with brief professional interest.
"Sweet is, generally speaking, a fairly complete description of something sweet."
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
"I was speaking to the Earl," he said.
"Yes," Alistair replied. "And I was listening. It is an unfortunate habit of mine."
He took another bite, chewing with quiet satisfaction before continuing.
"You ask as though you expect a particular answer," he added. "A very specific one, which suggests that you already know what you wish to hear."
Baron Redwick adjusted his spectacles.
His gaze moved between Alistair and Lucian. A conversation that had been light at most was now turning into one filled with tension.
Lucian held Alistair’s gaze for a moment longer.
But before he could say anything more, the bell rang, signalling the close of the recess.
A footman’s voice followed immediately.
"All suitor candidates are requested to return to their positions forthwith. The proceedings are to resume."
Alistair turned to Lucian.
"It appears," he said pleasantly, "that the conversation will have to continue at another time."
He gestured toward the arc of easels.
"We are being summoned."
Lucian said nothing.
The group dispersed with the natural efficiency of people who had a place to be.
The suitor candidates arranged themselves back into position. The assembled nobles settled back into their positions along the courtyard edges. Fans resumed their gentle movement. The scrying mirrors caught the afternoon light at the periphery of the space, steady and watchful.
The King and Queen remained in their seats at the dais; it was Jacinta who rose.
She regarded the candidates before her.
"I trust," she began, her voice carrying with practiced ease across the courtyard, "that you have all enjoyed the opportunity to observe one another’s work."
She paused before she continued.
"I must say, I have been... most impressed."
There was a subtle lift to her chin as she spoke.
"You have each brought something of yourselves to this competition. Some through technical mastery, some through the boldness of their interpretation, some through simplicity."
A murmur of appreciation from the assembled nobles.
"You have all demonstrated not only skill, but thought," she said. "Interpretation and also individuality."
Jacinta continued, her voice settling into the more formal register of someone transitioning from warmth to announcement.
"But it is, as you are all aware, the nature of any competition that there must be a conclusion—a recognition of those whose efforts have distinguished themselves above the rest."
She paused again before she continued.
"The judges have deliberated carefully and thoroughly. All fourteen works were considered with equal attention. The decision was not made lightly."
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
"The winner of the first competition," Jacinta said, "is Baron Julian Redwick of Stoneford."
The applause that moved through the courtyard was immediate and genuine.
Several nobles nodded with the satisfied air of people whose judgment had been validated.
At his position, Julian stood very still for the span of a breath.
His hand rose briefly to adjust his spectacles, a familiar motion that seemed to anchor him even as attention settled squarely upon him.
"Your Highness," he said, with a bow.
"A well-earned distinction," she said.
No one was surprised he won. His painting, after all, had stunned everyone gathered into silence.
The applause settled, and Jacinta continued.
"The second place in this competition goes to His Grace, Duke Lucian Aurelgrave of Eastmere."
Another round of applause, warm and appreciative.
Lucian stepped forward with the contained grace that characterised all his movements, bowed to Jacinta and the royal family with the correct depth and composure, and returned to his position without elaboration.
Jacinta waited for the applause to settle a second time.
"And the third place," she said, "goes to Count Elias Thornleigh of Brightwater."
Count Thornleigh, a tall man with a composed bearing and the satisfied expression of someone whose bold choice of painting Jacinta as a figure at the prow of a ship had apparently served him better than he might have hoped, stepped forward with a bow that carried a faint but unmistakable quality of pleasant surprise.
The applause was polite and genuine.
He returned to his position with the slightly dazed composure of a man recalibrating his expectations upward.
Jacinta surveyed the arc one final time.
"The remaining results," she said, "along with the elimination, will be announced at the ball at the end of this week. Until then, I look forward to spending time with each of you and coming to know you better."
She smiled. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
"You have all given me a great deal to think about."
Her gaze moved along the candidates as she said it.
"Each one of you has done something remarkable, and I must say, I’m impressed. But this marks the end of the competition." She told them, then bowed to the King, who smiled in delight.
The royal family were the first to leave the courtyard, and then the nobles started moving too, some stepping forward to interact with the suitor candidates.
Alistair headed straight for Baron Julian.
"No surprise you won it," he said with a laugh. "You deserved it."
Just then another voice spoke up.
"Deserved what exactly?" the voice asked. "I daresay the Baron’s work was over the top."
Alistair turned and locked eyes with the Marquess Hale. He knew who he was, but he pretended not to and stared at the man with his head tilted to the side.
"Pardon me, but I can’t seem to recall who you are," he told the Marquess, whose eye twitched in anger.
