Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 353: The Duke’s Restraint

Lyria’s POV

Jacinta fanned herself even more vigorously as Duke Thorncrest walked back to return his weapon. Her movements had become almost frantic, as though she could scarcely contain her excitement.

"I know the duke likes me," she declared, her voice filled with breathless certainty. "That wink was the most ungentlemanly yet gentlemanly thing I have ever witnessed."

She paused to fan herself again.

"Oh, how I wish I had some influence over who wins this competition. I should choose him myself. He is simply perfect."

I gave her a look but said nothing.

It was not my place to comment.

Jacinta would only ask who had given me permission to speak, and I would then have to endure another tedious lecture or punishment concerning my position within the palace. I had no desire to invite such a conversation, particularly when there was a competition taking place directly before us.

So I remained silent and turned my attention towards the arena.

Lucian was the next competitor, after all.

I watched as he approached the weapons rack with measured grace, his expression composed. He selected a sword and tested its weight. His fingers settled naturally around the hilt, and he adjusted his grip almost imperceptibly.

There was a quiet confidence in his movements.

Count Greystone had already selected his weapon.

A broadsword.

The blade gleamed beneath the grey afternoon light, and there was something about the count’s expression that unsettled me. He looked almost smug, as though he had already determined the outcome of the match and saw no reason to doubt himself.

I could not help wondering why.

Then again, there was very little I could do about it.

The one person I might have confided in was about to face the man himself.

The bell rang.

Count Greystone attacked immediately.

His sword swept towards Lucian with considerable force, the blade cutting through the air with a sharp whistle. Lucian parried the blow with remarkable ease, his movements fluid and controlled, as though he had anticipated the attack before it came.

The clash of steel rang throughout the arena.

The count did not relent.

He attacked again.

And again.

Each strike came with greater force than the last, his movements becoming increasingly aggressive. There was something almost desperate in the way he fought. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed, and every blow seemed intended not merely to defeat Lucian but to overwhelm him.

Lucian remained composed.

He parried each attack, his sword moving with precision rather than brute force.

I found myself holding my breath.

Then Lucian moved.

It happened so quickly that I nearly missed it.

With one deft movement, he brought his own blade to rest against the man’s neck.

A clear victory.

I released the breath I had been holding.

Surely that was the end.

But Count Greystone did not concede.

Instead, he used his sword to knock Lucian’s blade aside and continued the fight as though nothing had happened.

My eyes widened.

What was he doing?

A murmur of surprise swept through the arena.

Lucian appeared equally startled. For the briefest moment, his composure faltered. He had clearly expected the count to yield, and the unexpected resistance caught him off guard.

His foot slipped against the stone.

The count seized the opportunity.

He swung.

Lucian twisted away just in time, the blade passing dangerously close to him.

My heart leapt into my throat.

For a moment, I thought the count might actually land a blow.

But Lucian recovered almost immediately.

He stepped forward and struck the count in the stomach with the hilt of his sword.

The count doubled over with a strangled gasp.

Lucian then kicked him backwards, sending him stumbling across the stone.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

The count’s face darkened.

He scrambled back to his feet and lunged at Lucian once more, his sword raised.

This time, Lucian was prepared.

He stepped aside, caught the count’s wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back.

I frowned.

There was something about the position that looked almost peculiar to me. I had never seen anyone fight quite like that before.

Count Greystone struggled violently.

His face had turned red with exertion, his teeth clenched as he attempted to wrench himself free. Lucian, however, held him firmly, his expression remaining remarkably calm.

A footman hurried forward.

"The match is concluded!"

His voice carried across the arena.

"Two minutes and five seconds!"

The crowd erupted.

I blinked.

Two minutes and five seconds.

It could have been considerably shorter, I thought, had Count Greystone simply conceded when he had been disarmed.

Instead, he had continued attacking and prolonged the match unnecessarily.

The Queen made a quiet sound from the dais.

It was soft, but the expression upon her face made her opinion unmistakable.

"That is rather disappointing," she remarked.

I glanced towards her.

I did not think it was disappointing.

Quite the contrary.

Lucian had remained calm when the situation had suddenly become unpredictable. He had not allowed the count’s aggression to dictate his own movements. Even when he had been caught off guard, he had recovered almost immediately.

There was something admirable about that sort of restraint.

The commoners seemed to agree.

Their voices rose from the stands.

"Hail the Duke of Eastmere,swift as a wolf should be!"

The chant spread through the arena, growing louder with every repetition until it seemed to roll over us like a wave.

Lucian finally released Count Greystone.

His movements remained controlled, almost formal, despite what had just occurred.

He stepped away and straightened before turning towards the royal dais.

Then he bowed.

It was perfectly proper.

Perfectly courteous.

Yet when he straightened, I caught a hard glint in his eyes.

Perhaps it was anger.

Perhaps disappointment.

Perhaps both.

I turned towards Jacinta whose gaze was focused on the stands.

My attention returned to the arena.

Only then did I notice the blood.

A thin line of red ran along Lucian’s forearm, the cut small but unmistakable. It must have happened during the exchange earlier.

He did not appear particularly concerned by it.

He simply walked towards the weapons rack, returning the sword as the cheers continued around him.

Count Greystone remained where he was for a moment.

He looked furious.

His gaze moved towards the royal dais, lingering for a while before he finally looked away.

His jaw was tightly clenched, and even from where I sat, I could see the frustration written plainly across his features.

There was something unsettling about the entire encounter.

I could not explain it.

Perhaps it was the way Count Greystone had refused to concede.

Perhaps it was the anger that had remained in his eyes even after the match was over.

Or perhaps it was simply the feeling that something had gone wrong.

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