Chapter 403: She’s Weak, Ain’t She?

Chapter 402: She’s Weak, Ain’t She?

Lyria’s POV

Even Duke Thorncrest was laughing.

The sound was warm and genuine, his shoulders shaking with the effort of containing his amusement.

Then someone started a rendition of Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

And it was worse than the first.

The man attempting it had evidently forgotten half the words and possessed very little understanding of the tune. Another patron joined him regardless, and before long, several voices had taken up the song, each contributing a different melody.

More laughter erupted around us.

The tavern had become a sea of noise and warmth, and I found myself laughing too, my cheeks beginning to ache from the effort.

Bridget suddenly rose from her chair.

"I believe I can do better," she said.

Several patrons immediately encouraged her.

"Go on, then!"

"Let’s ’ear it!"

"Sing it again!"

Bridget smiled.

Then she began singing.

She attempted to copy precisely the manner in which Duke Valenridge had performed during the competition.

She was quite successful too, and there was even more laughter.

The patrons loved her for it.

"You’re good, lass!"

"Proper performance, that was!"

Bridget finished with a bow.

The room answered with applause.

She straightened with a grin that suggested she had just performed before the most distinguished audience in the kingdom.

Helen shook her head from behind the bar.

"Don’t let it go ter yer ’ead, lass."

Bridget turned toward her.

"I should hate to disappoint them."

That earned another round of laughter.

From there, the discussions began in earnest.

The patrons spoke of everything and everywhere, though it was mainly about the competition. Their voices overlapped, each person eager to contribute an opinion before another could claim the subject.

"The last competition was quite interestin’," one man said, leaning back in his chair. "But I reckon the next ones’ll be even ’arder. We’ve yet ter see anythin’ I’m sure of."

Olly nodded.

"I just ’ope me favourite ain’t goin’ anywhere yet. I want ’im fer me princess."

"Our princess," someone else corrected firmly.

Soon, others took up the words.

"Our princess!"

"Our princess!"

The chant echoed through the tavern.

Brayden, Bridget, and even Duke Thorncrest joined in.

I dare say he felt more at home in the tavern than I did, and that was quite shocking considering it should not have been. He was a duke, after all, and I could not imagine him having been in places like this before.

Surely men of his standing did not visit establishments such as this.

"Does anyone remember ’ow she stood up fer us?" one patron asked. "When they tried ter send us away?"

Jacob made an exaggerated swooning sound.

"That’s why I like ’er," he said. "She’s got a good ’eart. That’s rarer than jewels, I tell ye."

A patron leaned towards him.

"Don’t like ’er too much," he said. "You’re too ugly fer ’er."

The surrounding table laughed.

Jacob looked offended.

"I’m a father figure," he said firmly. "Nothin’ more."

Olly struck him lightly upon the shoulder.

"Mind yer tone," he said. "Perhaps ye’ve forgotten she already ’as a father."

Jacob rolled his eyes and took a long drink from his beer.

"I know that."

"Didn’t sound like it."

"You’re an irritatin’ man, Olly."

"And ye’ve only just noticed?"

Their exchange drew another ripple of laughter.

I felt my cheeks warm.

No matter how much time passed, I still felt undeserving of their praise, even if they insisted upon showering me with it.

Bridget, who had been watching the exchange with interest, leaned forward.

"Do you truly like Her Highness?" she asked them.

The question quieted the immediate conversation.

There was a pause, followed by several nods.

They were all in agreement.

"Aye."

"Course we do."

"Especially after she stood up fer us."

One of the patrons rested his arms upon the table.

"I’d love ter see ’er keep that spark always," he said. "She’s got it in ’er. I know she does."

Olly’s expression grew more serious.

"That blasted place ’as dimmed ’er spark, though."

A few people nodded.

"She ’ardly even smiles anymore," he continued. "An’ every time we ’ear anythin’ about ’er, she’s fallin’ sick."

Jacob lowered his voice.

"I think the sickness is a lie."

Several heads turned towards him.

"How d’you know?"

Jacob glanced around before gesturing for them to lean closer.

And we all did.

"I ’eard some nobles discussin’ it one time," he said. "They don’t want ’er ter be chosen by the goddess. They don’t want ’er ter outshine the other one. That’s why they’re always lyin’ about ’er bein’ sick when she ain’t."

A murmur travelled through the tavern.

I kept my expression carefully neutral.

It was quite unsettling to hear my own circumstances discussed so casually.

More unsettling still was the fact that some of these people appeared to understand them better than I had expected.

"They’re afraid of ’er showin’ them what bein’ a princess really is," Jacob continued.

Bridget nodded slowly.

"That is quite possible. It makes sense now that I think about it."

I gave her a look.

The corner of her mouth lifted.

She was clearly enjoying this far too much.

Olly nodded firmly.

"Right? I believe it too." He paused. "After all, she’s even more beautiful than the other one."

A few patrons murmured their agreement.

Then a man near the back scoffed.

"If only she were stronger too," he muttered.

The warmth of the room seemed to diminish for me.

The man rose from his seat, paid his tab, and walked out without another word.

I watched him disappear through the door.

There had been something in his voice that I could not quite dismiss.

I frowned.

"What did he mean by that?"

Jacob waved a dismissive hand.

"Yarrow’s just bein’ grumpy," he said. "If there’s anyone ter blame fer what’s ’appenin’, it ain’t the princess. It’s the others."

Olly nodded in agreement.

"Aye. Don’t mind ’im."

Bridget and Brayden nodded too.

Then someone else spoke.

"It’s true, though," they said. "She’s weak, ain’t she?"