Chapter 357: The Winners and the Crowd

The cheers did not die down.

They continued for several minutes, rolling through the stands like waves upon a shore, the commoners’ enthusiasm undiminished by the passage of time. The arena had become a sea of sound, each name called out and repeated, the echoes bouncing off the stone walls and filling the air with a joyous cacophony.

Even the nobles, many of whom had maintained their composure throughout the earlier matches, could not entirely suppress their appreciation. Some clapped politely, while others allowed themselves small, approving smiles. A few even exchanged animated remarks with those seated beside them, their usual reserve temporarily forgotten beneath the excitement of the spectacle.

At last, a footman walked forward to the centre of the arena.

He positioned himself where the fights had taken place, his posture straight and formal. He waited, allowing the noise to continue for a few moments longer before raising a hand.

The arena gradually quieted.

The King rose from his seat.

His presence commanded immediate attention. The last remnants of chatter faded, and every eye in the arena turned towards the royal dais.

"The competition has now come to an end," he announced, his voice carrying across the arena. "I am certain everyone here is well aware of who the top three are."

A ripple of applause passed through the crowd, short-lived but enthusiastic.

The King raised his hand, and silence returned.

He gestured towards the footman standing at the centre of the arena.

"Call them forward," he said.

The footman bowed deeply, then straightened and cleared his throat. His voice rang out across the arena, clear and precise.

"In first position, with a time of just fifty seconds—Earl Benedict Hawthorne of Windmere!"

The cheers erupted once more.

Thunderous applause filled the air, the commoners’ voices rising above the rest. Even some of the nobles joined in, their earlier restraint giving way to genuine appreciation.

Alistair clapped enthusiastically from where he stood.

"Big man!" he called out.

Benedict stepped forward, his expression calm, though his eyes carried a flicker of satisfaction. He walked towards the footman, acknowledging the cheers with a slight inclination of his head before taking his place at the centre of the arena.

The footman waited for the noise to subside before continuing.

"In second position, with a time of one minute and thirty seconds—Duke Alistair Thorncrest of Highmoor!"

Alistair’s smile widened.

He made an exaggerated face at his companions, his expression one of theatrical delight, before walking out to join Benedict.

A broad grin remained fixed upon his face as he took his place beside the Earl.

Lucian shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"He is rather pleased with himself," he observed.

Evander shrugged.

"The man won it fair and square," he said. He turned towards Lucian, his eyes carrying a hint of amusement. "You won as well, to be honest. There was simply foul play involved in your match."

Lucian’s expression flickered, but he did not argue.

"Do not be so charitable," he said instead. "And get out there. You will likely win another competition in the future, but this is the first time you have ever even been in the top three."

Evander paused, considering the words.

"That is true," he admitted. "You and Julian have been winning for a while now."

Julian made a sound, a faint frown crossing his features.

"I was only part of the top three once," he pointed out.

Evander waved a dismissive hand.

"There is not much difference."

Julian gave him a flat look.

"There is a considerable difference between once and repeatedly."

Evander merely smiled.

The footman repeated the name.

"In third position, with a time of one minute and thirty-two seconds—Duke Evander Valenridge of Blackmere!"

Evander’s smile widened.

He reached out and tapped both Lucian and Julian on the shoulder.

"Cheer for me," he said to them.

Lucian and Julian exchanged a glance.

Then, almost in unison, they spoke.

"Your vanity is quite impressive."

"Your conceit is becoming positively unbearable."

Evander stared at them for a moment.

Then he laughed.

"Jealousy does not become either of you."

Lucian rolled his eyes.

"Do go before I am tempted to demonstrate precisely how little your victory impresses me."

Evander laughed again as he walked away, his steps unhurried and confident.

He joined the other two at the centre of the arena, taking his place beside Alistair and Benedict. The three stood together before the footman, their postures relaxed, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of satisfaction.

The commoners’ enthusiasm surged once more.

"Valenridge! Valenridge!"

"Thorncrest! Thorncrest!"

"Hawthorne! Hawthorne!"

The names were called out again and again, each one carried upon a wave of sound that seemed to shake the very walls of the arena.

The King raised his hand once more.

"With that," he said, his voice cutting through the noise, "the competition has come to an end."

He paused, allowing the words to settle.

"However," he continued, "there is a twist to today’s competition that we have held off on announcing."

A murmur of curiosity rippled through the crowd.

"The Princesses and every suitor candidate who won their matches shall mingle with everyone present," the King announced.

A beat of silence followed.

Then excited cheers erupted from the commoners.

Lyria watched as Brianna’s eyes widened, her small face breaking into a grin of pure delight. She jumped up and down, her braids bouncing wildly as she clutched her mother’s arm.

The Queen rose from her seat.

"As usual," she said, her voice carrying across the arena, "what remains of this competition today shall be finalised during the ball."

Jacinta smiled, the expression bright and practised. She rose from her seat, her golden hair catching the light.

Lyria followed suit.

Her heart was beating rapidly, a mixture of excitement and nervousness churning within her chest. She was excited to see Brianna and the others, but she was also afraid. She did not know what they thought of her now, whether they were angry or hurt or simply indifferent.

The royal family began making their way down from the dais.

Lyria followed behind Jacinta, careful to keep a respectful distance between them. The shouts and cheers continued around them, the commoners’ enthusiasm undiminished.

Lucian turned towards Julian, his voice low.

"At least there is some compensation," he said.

Julian’s lips twitched.

"Indeed."

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