Chapter 2
When Dara entered the receiving room after breakfast, the first thing she noticed was that no one in it looked surprised to see her.
That, in itself, was irritating.
Lord Valerius rose at once from the settee when she stepped inside.
Sir Leon stood a short distance behind him, posture straight and expression already carrying the dangerous brightness of a man too aware that something memorable was about to happen.
Sir Edric remained near the mantel, hands behind his back, looking like someone who had resigned himself to whatever fresh absurdity the morning intended to produce.
Grace stood near the side table with perfect composure, neither startled nor uncertain, which told Dara immediately that she had already been informed of far more than anyone had yet bothered to tell her.
Too many people. Too much calm. Entirely the wrong atmosphere for peace.
Dara moved farther into the room and gave Lord Valerius the proper curtsey due his station as a noble guest, because whatever else this morning had become, she had been raised correctly.
He returned the courtesy with a formal bow. “Lady Lynara.”
“My lord.”
Only once the greetings were properly observed did Dara take the seat clearly meant for her. She did so with quiet dignity, smoothing one hand over her skirt before looking from Valerius to Leon, then to Edric, and finally back to Valerius again.
“With an audience,” she said.
Leon, unhelpfully, looked pleased with that phrasing. “If you prefer, my lady, I can stand farther back and become less emotionally visible.”
“That sentence improved nothing,” Dara said.
Leon’s expression suggested he considered the attempt worthwhile anyway.
Valerius resumed his seat only after she had settled. Grace remained where she was, still and composed. Edric did not move at all.
The room held that particular kind of silence that meant information was coming.
Dara disliked it on sight. “Well,” she said. “What now?”
Valerius rested one hand lightly against the arm of the settee. “I thought it best that we speak before the day progresses further.”
That was not encouraging.
Dara folded her hands over her lap and waited.
“The matter concerns the attack against you,” he said, “and the measures currently in place around the estate.”
That was at least useful.
“Yes,” Dara said. “The measures. I noticed.”
From the edge of the room, Grace very wisely continued to look at nothing in particular.
Valerius went on. “The investigation is ongoing. The men involved in your kidnapping were not acting independently. There are larger interests behind what happened, and until those interests are better understood and properly contained, I cannot permit the estate to remain as exposed as it was.”
Dara’s expression did not change.
She knew the kidnapping had not been random. She had walked into that road with her eyes open, knowing full well she was baiting something ugly into revealing itself. What annoyed her now was not the fact of increased protection, but the degree of it.
That was the difficulty.
If he had been irrational, objecting would have been simple.
If he had panicked uselessly, she could have dismissed him outright.
But no—his response had shape. Strategy.
Purpose. He had not merely thrown guards at the problem.
He had altered the entire estate around the possibility of a second attempt.
Practical, yes.
Infuriating, also yes.
Dara sat back slightly. “I understand the need for protection. What I do not understand is the degree to which my father’s estate has ceased behaving like my father’s estate.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“What, precisely, gives you the authority to station your own men throughout the grounds, alter our household rhythms, and invade our home on this scale?”
Leon coughed into his hand.
Valerius’s expression did not shift. “The response is proportional.”
“It is invasive.”
“Yes.”
That answer came too easily.
Dara narrowed her eyes. “And yet everyone seems to be accepting it.”
No one in the room moved.
That was an answer in itself.
Grace lowered her eyes just slightly. Leon suddenly appeared fascinated by the handle of his teacup. Edric looked at Valerius with the calm resignation of a man about to watch something inevitable happen.
There.
That was the real question.
The room stilled in a different way.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. But enough.
Valerius looked at her for a moment, then rested one hand lightly against the arm of the settee.
When he spoke, his tone remained maddeningly calm. “More than you have yet been told.”
Dara stared at him.
That was not an answer. That was a threat wearing good manners.
She became aware, all at once, of how carefully everyone else in the room had gone still.
Grace knew something. Leon knew something. Edric certainly knew something. And Lord Valerius, seated across from her in her own receiving room like a man entirely at ease in the center of other people’s lives, was about to say whatever it was.
This was very bad for her comfort level.
He said, “Your father has already been informed.”
Dara’s gaze sharpened. “Informed of what?”
Valerius did not drag it out. Mercifully, if only because she would have hated him more for that.
“I am not simply a lord.”
There was half a heartbeat in which Dara understood, in the vague and instinctive way one understands the shape of a fall before hitting the ground, that whatever came next was going to make the last several weeks of her life substantially more irritating.
Then he said, “I am Valerius Octavian, Crown Prince of Caelvaris.”
Dara blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then, with the calm certainty of a woman rejecting reality on principle, she slowly shook her head. “No.”
The room held still.
Leon made a sound suspiciously like the beginning of his own death. Edric’s expression became the face of a man watching history commit a minor crime. Grace remained composed with the quiet heroism of someone determined not to laugh in front of her employer.
Valerius, to his credit, did not react immediately. “…No?”
“No,” Dara repeated, firmer this time, as if that settled the matter conclusively.
Leon turned his face away and coughed into his fist. It did not help.
Valerius looked at her with deep and growing amusement he was, so far, only barely restraining.
“I assure you,” he said, “that is correct.”
“No,” Dara said again, lifting one hand. “I reject that information.”
A pause.
“…You reject it.”
“Yes.”
“You believe it to be false.”
“I believe it to be unnecessary,” she said flatly. “And deeply inconvenient. Therefore, no.”
Leon made a strangled noise. Edric closed his eyes. Grace stared very intently at the tea service.
Valerius remained seated, one hand still against the arm of the settee, his expression now hovering in that dangerous territory between control and clear amusement. “You think I am mistaken.”
“I think,” Dara said smoothly, “that titles are very confusing, and perhaps one has attached itself to you in error.”
Leon bent forward with both hands over his mouth.
Valerius’s mouth moved faintly at one corner. “In error.”
“Yes. It happens.”
“To Crown Princes.”
“Potentially.”
Edric muttered, “Remarkable.”
Dara ignored him. “You may be a duke,” she allowed. “Or some other category of person who arrives with too many men and makes the furniture nervous.”
Valerius regarded her in silence.
Then Dara, because she was committed now, added, “Possibly a very enthusiastic accountant.”
That did it.
Leon choked outright. Edric turned away, shoulders tightening once in what might have been suffering or laughter. Grace pressed her lips together with such force it bordered on saintly self-denial.
Valerius, infuriatingly, remained composed. “…An accountant.”
“Yes,” Dara said, relieved that he was finally following the logic. “That makes much more sense.”
“It does not.”
“It does to me.”
“There are witnesses,” he said patiently. “Documentation. The royal seal.”
“No,” Dara said, louder now, cutting across the entire concept. “I am not accepting supporting evidence.”
Leon was shaking.
Valerius blinked once. “You are refusing evidence.”
“I am refusing the whole structure,” Dara clarified.
“And if I were to prove it?”
She met his gaze with complete seriousness. “I would simply not believe you.”
Leon broke fully then and had to disguise it as a coughing fit so violent it nearly folded him in half.
Edric covered his face. Grace’s shoulders went suspiciously still.
Valerius exhaled softly through his nose.
Not annoyance.
No. Worse.
Amusement.
Real amusement now, quiet and deep and wholly unoffended, as if Dara had done something no one in his life had ever once dared do and he was enjoying every impossible second of it.
“…I see,” he said.
Dara relaxed slightly. “Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
“We are not.”
“We are,” she said firmly. “You are not the Crown Prince. I am not involved in anything political. Everything is fine.”
A beat.
Then Valerius said, very gently, “You are aware that reality does not alter itself simply because you disapprove.”
She pointed at him. “Incorrect. It has altered significantly for me.”
Leon made a wounded little noise from behind his hand.
Valerius tilted his head. “And what, precisely, has altered?”
“My stress levels,” Dara said. “They have gone down considerably.”
Leon laughed aloud. Edric lowered his hand just long enough to look profoundly disappointed in the world. Grace remained a model of elegant restraint while very clearly suffering.
Valerius watched Dara for a long moment. Then, to everyone’s surprise except perhaps his own, he inclined his head slightly. “Very well.”
Dara narrowed her eyes. “Very well what?”
“For the moment,” he said, “you may continue being incorrect.”
She brightened immediately. “Excellent. Then we are done here.”
“We are not done.”
“We are absolutely done,” she said, already rising to her feet. “This conversation has been resolved.”
“It has not.”
“It has for me.”
She smoothed one hand over her skirt and lifted her chin with the full authority of a woman whose refusal of monarchy was, in her opinion, both rational and final. “As I am the person most inconvenienced by this extremely fake revelation, I believe my position should carry the most weight.”
“I do not think that is how reality works,” Edric said dryly.
Dara lifted one hand toward him without looking, palm out. “It is now.”
Leon had leaned halfway into the wall for support.
Valerius remained seated, gaze lifted to follow her as she moved toward the door. Then he said, with dangerous mildness, “Lady Lynara.”
She stopped and turned back. “Yes?”
“If I am not the Crown Prince,” he asked, “then what am I doing here?”
She did not even hesitate. “Visiting… casually.”
A pause. “…casually.”
“Yes. Like a normal, non-threatening, definitely-not-powerful person.”
Leon made a sound like a man seeing the face of God and finding it hysterical. Edric looked at the ceiling. Grace was by now surviving exclusively through discipline and divine assistance.
Valerius held Dara’s gaze for one long moment. Then, still deeply amused, he inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Dara nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
And then she left.
Very quickly.
Before documents could appear. Before seals could emerge. Before reality could recover and attempt another attack.
She swept out of the receiving room with all the speed dignity would permit and none of the willingness to stay for further clarification.
Behind her, Leon finally lost the battle entirely.
Dara did not turn back.
Because denial, in her opinion, only worked if one committed to it with discipline.