Chapter 46
The carriage was blessedly quiet.
After the warmth of Lord Dainhurst’s ballroom—the layered conversations, the music, the careful smiles, the overly polished wine, the confrontation, the garden, the kiss—
No.
Dara was not thinking about the kiss.
She was thinking about practical matters. Important matters. Administrative matters.
The carriage rolled smoothly through the night, its lanterns casting a soft golden sway across the interior.
Outside, Ambervale passed in blurred glimpses of shadowed streets and distant lights.
Inside, the world had narrowed to cushions, silence, and the steady presence of the Crown Prince seated beside her.
Valerius had not spoken much since they entered.
That was considerate of him.
Rather too considerate.
Dara sat with her hands folded in her lap for approximately three minutes before deciding that posture was unnecessary suffering.
The evening had been long. Her shoes were beautiful but not merciful.
Her hair felt heavy with pins, and her mind, unfortunately, remained wide awake despite the tiredness settling into her body.
At some point, the carriage shifted over a small unevenness in the road, and her shoulder brushed his.
She did not move away.
There was no reason to.
Another turn came. This time, she remained where she was.
Valerius noticed, of course.
He said nothing.
That was also considerate.
Dara looked out the window, watching the city pass by in soft streaks of amber and black. Her hand, without consulting her better judgment, found his.
His fingers closed around hers.
Warm. Steady.
Still no comment.
Good. She would have objected to any comment.
Probably.
For several moments, the only sound was the carriage wheels and the faint creak of leather. Dara’s thumb began tracing slow, absent circles against the back of his hand as she thought.
Then Valerius asked quietly, “What are you thinking about?”
Dara kept her gaze on the window. “They move too slowly.”
A pause.
“The horses?”
“The nobles.”
“Ah.”
His voice held no surprise.
“They move carefully,” he said.
“They move inefficiently.”
“That may also be true.”
“It is true.” She yawned before she could stop herself.
Disgraceful.
Dara pressed her lips together, offended by her own body’s betrayal, and shifted slightly. Somehow, this resulted in her leaning more fully against him.
She noticed.
Valerius noticed.
Neither of them mentioned it.
That was becoming a theme.
“They discuss things,” she continued, still looking out the window, “then refer them to offices, request reports, wait for someone else to object, and convene again to decide whether the objection deserves review.”
“An accurate summary.”
“It’s unbearable.”
His thumb moved once over her knuckles. Small. Barely there.
She felt it anyway.
“The government often is,” he said.
“That is not a defense.”
“No.”
She turned her head slightly, not quite looking at him. “If someone had authority, things would move faster.”
“Yes.”
The answer came too smoothly.
Dara narrowed her eyes. “You know where I’m going with this.”
“I suspected.”
“Of course you did.”
His mouth shifted faintly.
She should have sat up properly.
She did not.
The carriage was warm, and he was warmer, and the night had been long.
Also, this was a strategic conversation.
Clearly.
Dara looked back out the window. “The governor’s seat remains empty.
My brother is being considered, but he is not here.
And while the council reviews, discusses, delays, and performs whatever elaborate ritual they use to make obvious decisions take longer…
” She paused, then softened her voice just enough.
“Ambervale still needs someone to move things forward.”
Valerius was quiet.
Not because he did not understand.
Because he was waiting for the actual question.
Dara traced another slow circle against his hand.
This was not deliberate.
Probably.
“Would you let me…” she said, and then stopped.
The carriage wheels whispered over the road.
“Just temporarily?”
Valerius did not answer at once.
Dara finally turned her face toward him.
He was looking at her with that steady, unreadable expression that usually meant he had understood far more than she would have preferred.
“You’re asking me to appoint you temporary governess of Ambervale,” he said.
Dara blinked. “Well. When you say it like that, it sounds very direct.”
“It is direct.”
“I was being delicate.”
“You were tracing circles on my hand while asking for regional authority.”
Dara looked down.
She was, in fact, still doing that.
She stopped immediately.
Then, after a beat, resumed because stopping felt more suspicious.
“I was tired,” she said with dignity.
“Of course.”
“I was also making a reasonable request.”
“Yes.”
That made her pause. “Yes?”
Valerius looked at her. “Yes. It is reasonable.”
Dara had prepared arguments. Several, actually. She had expected resistance, questions, conditions, perhaps one of those irritatingly calm looks that suggested he could see directly through her. She had not expected agreement quite that quickly.
“That was fast,” she said.
“You are qualified.”
“I am not formally trained.”
“You are effective.”
“I have no official experience.”
“You have already produced results while lacking official authority.”
“That sounds like an argument against your entire administrative class.”
“It may be.”
Dara stared at him.
Then, slowly, she said, “You are aware I may become difficult.”
His gaze did not move. “You already are.”
“That was rude.”
“It was accurate.”
She should not have found that comforting.
She did.
A little.
“I would need actual authority,” she said. “Not ceremonial authority. Not decorative authority. Not ‘Lady Lynara may make suggestions while the council ignores her’ authority.”
“I understood.”
“Temporary,” she added quickly. “Officially temporary. Only until a permanent governor is chosen.”
“Of course.”
“And written authority,” she said. “Enough to make decisions, review records, summon council members, and redirect stalled funds.”
Valerius paused.
Dara looked at him.
He looked back.
“Within reason,” he said.
She made a small sound of disappointment.
He almost smiled. “Lynara.”
“Fine.”
“Within documented reason.”
Dara sighed. “I can work with that.”
He considered her for another moment. “I can issue a provisional appointment under Crown oversight.”
Dara’s fingers stilled against his hand.
Crown oversight.
That was both excellent and slightly inconvenient.
“What does that mean exactly?”
“It means your authority would be recognized, but subject to review.”
“By you?”
“Initially.”
That was useful.
Very useful.
Also dangerous.
Because if he was the one reviewing her work, she would have to be at least moderately careful about the appearance of her intended political self-destruction.
Annoying.
But workable.
“Would the council object?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Dara brightened slightly despite herself.
Valerius noticed. “Try not to look pleased.”
“I am not pleased.”
“You are.”
“I am administratively encouraged.”
“That is not a phrase.”
“It is now.”
The carriage rocked gently through a turn, and Dara’s shoulder settled more firmly against him.
This time, it was not accidental.
Perhaps.
She was tired.
That remained a very strong explanation.
“Will you arrange it?” she asked.
“I will prepare the order.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
She gave him a look.
He answered before she could complain. “Tomorrow.”
That was better. Much better.
Dara exhaled, satisfaction settling through her with the dangerous softness of a successful scheme.
Temporary governess. Official authority. Council objections. Crown oversight.
Route B was not merely alive.
It had teeth.
“Excellent,” she murmured.
Valerius’s fingers shifted around hers, holding more securely. “You understand this will draw attention.”
“That is the point.”
“From the council.”
“Yes.”
“From the nobility.”
“Excellent.”
“From the capital.”
Dara paused, opening one eye slightly. “…Manageable.”
“That was not a confident answer.”
“It was a realistic one.”
He looked down at her.
She became aware, suddenly, that she had leaned far enough that her head nearly rested against his shoulder.
How had that happened?
No.
Irrelevant.
She was tired and victorious. Those were both valid conditions.
“Your Highness,” she said.
“Yes.”
“If this fails, I will blame you.”
“Reasonable.”
“If this succeeds, I will take credit.”
“I expected as much.”
She smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded now.
The city sounds beyond the carriage had grown softer. The warmth inside had deepened. The steady movement of the wheels began to lull thought into fragments.
She should sit up.
She should discuss terms.
She should maybe not fall asleep against the Crown Prince after convincing him to make her temporary governess.
But his hand was warm around hers, his shoulder was inconveniently comfortable, and the night had been very long.
Dara closed her eyes just for a moment.
Only a moment.
“I’ll need copies of the current petitions,” she murmured.
“You’ll have them.”
“And financial ledgers.”
“Yes.”
“And district maps.”
“Yes.”
“And a list of everyone who will be annoying.”
“That may require several pages.”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “Good.”
Her voice had softened.
Sleep had begun stealing the edges from her words.
Valerius did not move. Not until her head finally rested fully against his shoulder, her hand still loosely held in his, her breathing evening out in small, quiet measures.
For a time, he simply let her sleep that way.
Then, carefully, he shifted.
Not enough to wake her. Only enough to slide his arm around her shoulders and draw her more comfortably against him, so her head rested not awkwardly against the edge of his shoulder, but against the steadier warmth of his chest.
Dara made a faint sound—half sigh, half protest—and settled closer.
Valerius looked down at her.
Temporary governess.
Of course.
He should have expected nothing less.
A woman who could accept courtship gifts, dismantle a district manager, critique government inefficiency, and fall asleep against him after asking for power was not a woman who would ever make his life simpler.
Good.
He had no interest in simple.
The carriage continued through the dark toward the Voss estate, carrying with it the sleeping future governess of Ambervale, the Crown Prince who had just agreed to make her so, and the quiet beginning of a very dangerous arrangement.