Chapter 66 #2
But funds alone would not do it. Not now.
Not with Route B demanding solo exile. Not with Valerius watching her like every questionable decision contained layers of profound strategy.
Not with workers calling her fair, merchants calling her visionary, and council members beginning to look at her like she was a storm they had chosen, foolishly, to stand beneath.
She needed a scandal—personal, attributable, and damaging enough to matter without destroying her father, her staff, or her city. Something elegant, annoying, and criminal enough.
Her eyes narrowed. "We need more crimes."
Cai flipped upright, his entire face lighting up. "Yes!"
Dara glanced at him. "You are far too happy."
"I have waited for weeks for you to say something sensible."
"I have said many sensible things."
"You once reorganized trade because you had a dream about fried chicken."
"And now we have fried chicken."
Cai paused. "That is true."
"Exactly. Respect my methods."
He bowed midair with theatrical solemnity. "Your criminal genius humbles me."
"It should."
Dara crossed to the writing desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Planning helped. Lists helped—they made chaos look civilized and intentional.
She dipped the pen. "Current assets."
Cai drifted near the top of the page. "Money, influence, terrified council members, a prince with poor self-preservation instincts—"
"I am not writing that last one."
"You should. It is a major asset."
Dara's hand paused.
Then she very deliberately wrote: Political visibility.
Cai snickered.
Dara ignored him. "Objective."
"Exile."
"Solo exile."
"Stylish solo exile."
She considered that, then wrote: Objective: Generate personal scandal sufficient for exile.
Underneath it, she added:
Do not ruin father. Do not harm staff. Do not damage my roads.
Cai looked at the list. "Your roads."
"Yes."
"You sound possessive."
"They are smooth because of me."
"That does not answer my accusation."
"It answers enough."
Dara tapped the pen against the parchment. "Now. Crimes."
A pause.
Then she wrote the word very neatly.
CRIMES.
Cai sighed happily. "Beautiful."
"First, reputation sabotage."
"Whose?"
"Nobles."
"Excellent."
She wrote: Selective truth exposure.
"I do not even need to lie," she said. "That is the best part. We collect embarrassing but accurate information. Who underpays workers. Who avoids levies. Who hoards grain. Who complains about public improvements while using them."
"Who wears ugly hats?"
Dara paused. "That is not a crime."
"It should be."
She considered that for a moment. "Addendum: social humiliation opportunities."
Cai pumped one claw. "Justice."
Dara wrote it down. "Second. Bureaucratic overreach."
Cai's eyes widened with reverence. "You're weaponizing paperwork."
"I am establishing an administrative order."
"That sounds worse."
"It is worse. Nobles hate paperwork."
"Everyone hates paperwork."
"Yes, but commoners already suffer from paperwork. Nobles consider it a personal attack."
Cai looked impressed. "That is evil."
"Thank you."
She wrote:
Permit requirements. Approval forms. Public compliance records. Late fees.
Cai made a small delighted sound. "Oh, vicious."
"Structure," Dara said.
"Extortion with forms."
"Governance."
"Crime."
"Potentially."
They both looked pleased.
Dara moved to the next line. "Third. Property interference."
"Now we're getting somewhere."
"Unused land," Dara said. "Wasteful land. Noble-held lots sitting empty while roads need widening, markets need space, and district projects require staging areas."
"You're going to take land."
"I am going to reassign inefficiently used space."
"That is taking land with nicer shoes."
"It will be temporary."
"Will it?"
Dara thought about that, then smiled. "Depends how irritating they are."
Cai clasped his claws. "There she is."
She wrote:
Temporary public-use claims. Rezoning proposals. Investigate legality. Compensation insulting.
Cai whispered, "Art."
"Fourth. Public image power moves."
"Speeches," Cai said immediately.
"Yes."
"You hate speeches."
"I hate listening to speeches. Giving them may be useful if I can make everyone else uncomfortable."
"Target?"
"Nobles."
"Theme?"
Dara smiled slowly. "Civic responsibility."
Cai gasped. "Cruel."
"Publicly praising commoners for doing their part while implying nobles are too delicate to contribute."
"Oh, that will make them furious."
"Yes."
"And the commoners?"
Dara paused. "They may cheer."
"They will absolutely cheer."
"Not relevant."
"Deeply relevant."
She wrote:
Public remarks: duty, contribution, shared burden. Praise workers. Compare nobles unfavorably but politely.
Then underlined politely.
"Polite insults are harder to prosecute," she said.
Cai hovered in silence for one beat, then whispered, "I'm so proud."
Dara's lips twitched, but she refused to smile too much.
"Fifth. Market manipulation."
Cai went very still, then slowly lowered himself onto the desk like a creature witnessing a religious experience. "You have been hiding this from me."
"I have been busy."
"Say more."
Dara leaned over the parchment. "Buying out goods. Creating scarcity. Redirecting supply. Contracting exclusive access. Funding substitutes. Forcing price movement."
Cai's eyes widened. "That sounds genuinely villainous."
"It also sounds expensive."
"Even better."
"And personal-fund eligible."
Cai clutched his chest. "She has become unstoppable."
Dara wrote quickly.
Bulk purchases. Exclusive contracts. Strategic scarcity. Controlled release. Target: noble luxury goods.
She paused.
Imported dyes had potential. Nobles cared about clothing, social events, appearances. If she disrupted luxury goods, they would scream as if stabbed.
Building materials were too dangerous. Festival supplies could create public spectacle, but luxury goods were safer.
She wrote: Begin with luxury goods. Minimize commoner harm.
Cai peered down. "That note is not very evil."
"It is practical. If commoners suffer, my streets become loud."
"Your streets."
"Yes."
"You understand you are proving my point every time."
"I understand that you are small enough to fit in a teapot."
He drifted backward. "Uncalled for."
Dara looked over the list.
Reputation sabotage. Bureaucratic overreach. Property interference. Public image pressure. Market manipulation.
Promising. Very promising.
For weeks, perhaps months, she had been reacting. Reacting to projects becoming successful, to Valerius becoming important, to Montrose vanishing, nobles complaining, and council members revealing themselves as more annoying than anticipated.
But this was a direction.
Her direction.
She was choosing Route B.
She was burning her money.
She was tying the loose ends herself.
And yes, perhaps the roads were smoother, the districts cleaner, the staff happier, the guards more loyal, the merchants more active, the council more functional, and the Crown Prince increasingly impossible.
That did not mean she had lost.
It meant the route had become complicated.
And Dara was very good with complications when they came with numbers.
She glanced toward the System again. "Display personal funds."
PERSONAL FUNDS: 12,920 GOLD
Less than thirteen thousand.
Her fingers curled slightly around the pen. "So close."
Cai rested his chin on the edge of the parchment. "You sound sentimental."
"I sound victorious."
"You sound like a woman about to spend the cost of several mansions on administrative harassment."
Dara's smile returned. "Exactly."
She folded the parchment neatly.
Cai watched her. "What now?"
She rose with all the dignity of a villainess preparing to ruin many people's week.
"Now," Dara said, "we begin."
"With which crime?"
Dara looked toward the window.
Outside, the late afternoon sun gilded the estate gardens, the distant road, and the moving figures of servants and guards. Her world—this temporary, inconvenient, too-comfortable world—looked orderly.
Safe.
Hers.
That last thought slipped in before she could stop it.
She ignored it with discipline.
"Paperwork," she said.
Cai blinked. "Paperwork?"
"Yes."
His face fell slightly. "Could we not start with something flashier?"
"No." Dara smoothed her sleeve. "Paperwork first."
"Why?"
She smiled. "Because no one fears it until it is too late."
Cai stared, then placed one claw over his heart with slow, reverent solemnity. "I take it back," he whispered. "That is evil."
Dara lifted her chin. "Obviously."
The System flickered faintly in the corner of her vision, quiet for once.
Dara took that as respect.
Or fear.
Either was acceptable.
She swept toward the door, already composing the first order in her head.
Permits. Compliance declarations. Public contribution records. Land-use reviews. A polite speech about civic responsibility that would make half the noble quarter foam at the mouth.
And somewhere beneath all of that, a personal fund balance ticking steadily downward.
Only twelve thousand nine hundred twenty gold left.
Not much.
Not really.
Not when one was properly motivated.
Dara smiled to herself.
Everything was going according to plan.
This time, surely, it had to be.