Chapter 4
By late afternoon, Dara had reached a fragile but functional conclusion: yes, Lord Valerius was apparently the Crown Prince, yes, reality had become unbearable, and no, continuing to throw herself onto furniture every time she remembered this would not improve her situation.
Much.
So when Grace informed her that His Highness and Governor Voss were waiting in the smaller west sitting room—the one that had, over the last several days, quietly ceased to belong to the household and begun to smell faintly of sealed reports and royal patience—Dara merely set down her teacup, adjusted one sleeve, and rose with the composed dignity of a woman preparing to endure something personally offensive.
The room had indeed been thoroughly commandeered.
Not aggressively. Not vulgarly.
Worse than that.
Efficiently.
The hearth had been lit. Lamps were already burning in the corners despite the remaining daylight.
A long table dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with maps, documents, sealed packets, and one neatly arranged tray of tea that no one had yet touched.
Two chairs had been drawn closer for conversation, while a third sat slightly apart, angled with such subtle precision that it was obvious someone had thought about the balance of power in the room and arranged the furniture accordingly.
Very annoying.
Her father was already there, standing near the hearth with one hand braced lightly against the mantel.
He looked better than he had the night before, but only in the sense that a man could still appear tired, worried, and somewhat cornered while technically remaining upright.
Valerius sat at the long table reviewing a sheet of paper, Leon stood behind him as unobtrusive as a man with that face could ever truly be, and Edric waited near the door with his usual expression of military endurance sharpened by faint personal disbelief.
When Dara entered, Valerius looked up at once.
And of course he rose fully, because apparently becoming the Crown Prince retroactively made every previous gesture of his even more infuriatingly correct.
Dara gave the proper curtsey this time.
Deeper. Cleaner. Flawless.
“Your Highness.”
There was absolutely nothing improper in her tone.
That was what made it excellent.
Just enough precision. Just enough coolness. Just enough faintly sharpened displeasure to let him know she had accepted the truth but not forgiven it.
Valerius bowed. “Lady Lynara.”
If he noticed the edge in her address—and of course he did—he gave no outward sign except for the barest shift in his gaze that suggested the entire performance pleased him far more than it should have.
Her father, who had clearly witnessed enough political tension for one lifetime and would have preferred not to watch his daughter weaponize etiquette at the Crown Prince, said quickly, “Lynara.”
“Father.”
She crossed the room and took the remaining seat with perfect grace, smoothing her skirts once before looking from her father to Valerius and then, briefly, to the stacks of reports and documents that had turned the room into a quiet outpost of Crown intervention.
Yes.
This was definitely his room now.
Not formally. Not by ownership. But by use.
By gravity.
That was also irritating.
Valerius resumed his seat only after she had settled.
Leon remained standing behind him, hands loosely clasped, expression carefully neutral in the way of a man already preparing not to laugh at something he knew would soon happen.
Edric stayed near the door, silent as a wall and only marginally less decorative.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Valerius placed the paper aside and said, “Thank you for joining us.”
“An invitation from the Crown Prince seemed difficult to decline,” Dara said.
Her father shut his eyes briefly. Leon looked at the ceiling. And Valerius—
Valerius looked directly at her and was, she realized with immediate offense, amused.
Not broadly. Not mockingly. But unmistakably.
Dangerous man.
He said, “I will endeavor to make the necessity worth your patience.”
“That would be appreciated, Your Highness.”
There it was again.
That tiny, cutting polish on the title.
She saw Leon’s shoulders tighten by a fraction and knew, with savage satisfaction, that he had noticed too.
Valerius, however, only folded his hands loosely before him. “As I told you this morning, the investigation into the attack is ongoing. I wanted to speak again now that further reports have come in and your father has had time to review the broader situation.”
Dara nodded once.
Business, then.
Good.
That was easier than thinking about hand-holding.
Valerius continued. “When I first came to Ambervale, I did so because a formal complaint had been sent to the Crown regarding irregularities in the regional administration.”
His eyes shifted briefly to her father. Not accusingly. Not gently. Simply directly.
“The complaint originated with Lord Silas Montrose.”
There.
A small tightening ran through the room.
Her father’s mouth flattened. Leon’s attention sharpened. Dara sat a little straighter.
Yes. That tracked.
From the recent reports, Silas had seemed far too interested in Ambervale’s failings to be entirely innocent.
Valerius went on. “His report alleged financial misconduct, mismanagement, weakening regional controls, and the possibility of embezzlement within Governor Voss’s office. Those claims were sufficient to warrant a quiet investigation.”
Her father exhaled through his nose. “I know how it sounds.”
Dara looked at him.
That was perhaps the most honest thing her father had said in some time.
Valerius inclined his head slightly. “And enough of it was credible that I came personally rather than delegating the matter entirely.”
Dara did not look at him for that line, because if she did, she might begin reprocessing all over again that the man seated across from her had walked into Ambervale under a false title and somehow managed to become both political catastrophe and emotional inconvenience at once.
She was not doing that in this room.
Not again.
Valerius’s voice remained calm. “At the start of my inquiry, it appeared possible that Governor Voss himself was the primary source of the rot. At present…” He glanced once toward her father. “That no longer seems the most accurate reading of the situation.”
Her father’s shoulders shifted a fraction.
Not relief exactly. More like someone bracing for a blow and discovering, to his cautious surprise, that it had landed elsewhere.
Valerius continued, measured as ever. “Governor Voss has been negligent.”
Her father winced, which Dara thought both fair and overdue.
“He has tolerated administrative decay, exercised insufficient oversight, and allowed poor internal controls to persist for far too long.”
Regulus said nothing.
“However,” Valerius said, “the deeper financial inconsistencies appear to run farther down the chain than simple gubernatorial indifference. At this point, I believe negligence created the conditions in which more active misuse of funds could flourish.”
Dara listened carefully.
That was… not ideal.
But it was also much better than her father turning out to be the elegant architect of every financial failure in the region. Lazy, inattentive, morally lax, and too willing to let things slide? Yes. That fit him. Petty indulgence, poor oversight, and a lifetime of expensive bad habits? Also yes.
But not necessarily the clever hand inside every account.
That distinction mattered. She did not particularly enjoy that it mattered, but there it was.
Regulus let out a long breath and rubbed one hand over his jaw.
“So what you are telling me,” he said, “is that I have been a fool.”
Valerius did not soften. “I am telling you that your administration has not been under control for some time.”
A harsh answer.
A deserved one.
Dara glanced between them.
Her father looked older in that moment. Not frail. Not diminished. Just stripped of some comforting layer he had probably been wearing for years—the one that let lazy men believe that if they had not personally touched the knife, they bore no blame for the wound.
“And Lord Silas?” her father asked quietly.
There it was.
Valerius’s expression cooled. “Lord Silas Montrose is now missing.”
The room went still.
Dara’s fingers tightened once over the arm of her chair. “Missing,” she repeated.
“He disappeared shortly after the failure of the kidnapping attempt,” Valerius said. “At present, I do not consider that coincidence.”
Regulus swore softly under his breath.
Dara did not. Mainly because she was too busy assembling the shape of it.
Silas reported Ambervale to the Crown. Valerius came to investigate. Silas remained nearby, agitating the political waters. Then Lynara was targeted. The kidnapping failed. And now Silas had vanished.
Yes. That was not subtle.
Valerius reached for one of the papers on the table. “Whether Montrose was directly involved from the start or simply attempted to exploit an existing vulnerability remains under review. But his disappearance, taken together with the attack, shifts the weight of suspicion significantly.”
Dara exhaled slowly.
That put things in a much cleaner shape than before.
Dangerous still. Complicated still. But cleaner.
Silas was no longer just a troublesome noble with useful complaints. Now he was a man who had run at the precise moment events stopped favoring him.
Coward.
Valerius set the paper down again. “I am therefore asking for your full cooperation, Governor Voss.”
Regulus looked at him tiredly. “You have it.”
“I will need access to office records, account ledgers, correspondence, payroll trails, and the full list of personnel who handled regional disbursements over the last several years.”
Regulus gave a short nod. No argument. No posturing.
Valerius continued. “I will also require your agreement that members of your office may be questioned directly, and that no warning be passed ahead of time to any clerk, steward, factor, or aide who may fear scrutiny.”