Chapter 473: Unspoken Words

Chapter 472: Unspoken Words

There were situations in which Lyria possessed a fairly sound notion of what she ought to do, what she ought to say, how she ought to conduct herself, and when it was best to hold her tongue entirely. There were, however, other situations in which she possessed no such certainty whatsoever, and then there were those rarer occasions still upon which she was not even afforded the liberty of deciding upon any course of action before events had taken the whole matter entirely out of her hands. This, unfortunately, belonged to that latter and least welcome category.

For immediately upon Duke Valenridge having spoken those words to her, he had appeared almost startled by his own confession, as though the sentiment had escaped him before he had properly weighed the wisdom of giving it voice. He withdrew from her with such abruptness as seemed wholly at odds with the tenderness of what he had just uttered, and before she might so much as gather her scattered thoughts, he had quit the room entirely.

To say he had left her quite alone would have been somewhat inaccurate, for Brayden entered the chamber soon after, and, having evidently been instructed to see her safely returned to the inn, escorted her there without permitting her the opportunity to resume a discussion she had scarcely begun to comprehend — though the gentleman with whom she had been conversing had, by that time, vanished entirely from sight.

Everything that followed seemed to occur at some considerable remove from Lyria herself, as though she observed it all from behind a pane of imperfect glass. She recalled the walk back to the inn, though she could scarcely have related what had passed along the way.

She recalled Elara’s countenance upon discovering the full extent of her injuries. There had followed a sharp reprimand, accompanied by an equally earnest declaration that the saving of Daisy had been a brave and commendable deed, but that this circumstance excused Lyria from nothing, least of all the proper care of her own person. Under most circumstances, she might have attempted some defence of her conduct, if only because Elara’s scolding had grown so familiar a thing that it was difficult not to answer it in kind. Upon this occasion, however, she had merely listened, offering no word in reply.

A little later, the maids brought water that she might wash. It was pleasantly warm, and Lyria suspected it had been drawn from the spring, though she did not enquire of it directly.

Elara and the others attended to her injuries, assisting her first to wash and then to dress properly. Pippa came in soon after, bearing porridge, this being what the town itself had furnished for their meal.

It had been prepared with herbs, intended to restore their strength after the exhausting labour of the past several hours. Lyria ate as though in a dream, and could scarcely have told, a moment later, what the food had tasted of.

Perhaps the maids had marked her unusual silence, for once they had finished attending to her, and had satisfied themselves that she wanted for nothing further, they withdrew, leaving her alone within the chamber with Zephyr for her sole company.

He had made himself comfortable upon her lap, his fur soft beneath her fingers as she stroked it absently, her thoughts elsewhere entirely. Lyria regarded him with a frown, wondering, quite irrationally, whether he might somehow furnish her with some explanation for the peculiar confusion that had taken hold of her. Zephyr, who harboured no apparent interest in matters of the heart, nor in the difficulty of understanding a duke, only purred contentedly beneath her hand.

She could not even account to herself for what had so thoroughly unsettled her.

Was it the words themselves? Certainly they had been unlooked for. And she could not say with any certainty whether his words had pleased her or no, for her heart had quickened its pace considerably at the hearing of them.

But she must confess, she had never before heard him speak in quite such a manner.

Perhaps her confusion sprang from having expected some explanation of himself to follow. Or perhaps it was his countenance that troubled her most of all. He had looked almost wounded, and yet she could not understand how she might have caused him pain merely by insisting she was capable of judging for herself when she stood in need of assistance.

Unless, of course, that was precisely the thing that had wounded him.

She lowered her gaze to Zephyr, who had by now closed his eyes entirely, and gently rubbed the space between his ears, turning the matter over once more in her mind, when a knock sounded upon the door.

Zephyr lifted his head and gave a loud meow, as though he had been expecting a visitor all along, and was now grown impatient for their admittance.

"W-who is it?" Lyria called.

"It is I, Your Highness."

Lucian’s voice was unmistakable. Lyria glanced down at her dress, smoothing the fabric over her knees and satisfying herself that nothing in her appearance was likely to occasion unnecessary alarm. Her injuries had been properly attended to, and though she remained weary still, there was no cause to keep Lucian waiting upon her threshold.

"You m-may c-come in."

---

Duke Valenridge had made a great many mistakes throughout the course of his life, a fact he had never found particularly difficult to acknowledge within the privacy of his own thoughts. He was rather less inclined to admit as much before others, especially those whose trust he had not yet earned, but the knowledge remained with him regardless, as familiar and as persistent as the dull ache that had lately settled behind his temples.

Indeed, there had been seasons in which he had regarded his very existence as the very first of those mistakes.

His parents had not expected to have another child, after his elder sister’s birth. Ten years had passed before his own, by which time the matter of any further child had long since ceased to occupy their thoughts — particularly since they had been told they could not have a child again.