Chapter 70
The applause followed Dara down from the podium.
That was already suspicious.
Applause, in Dara’s opinion, should have ended when the speech ended. It was meant to be a polite public noise. A socially required response. A brief exchange of sound for effort.
This applause continued.
Worse, it grew warmer.
Dara descended the platform steps with Valerius beside her, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and tried to decide whether the sensation crawling up her spine was victory or danger.
Possibly both.
The nobles were still applauding.
Not enthusiastically, of course.
That would have required emotional flexibility.
But they were clapping because not clapping had become impossible. The commoners were still cheering. The workers were still standing taller. The merchants were watching everything with bright, calculating eyes.
Excellent.
This meant the pressure had worked.
Dara’s gaze slid toward the shaded noble section, where they sat beautifully dressed, perfectly arranged, and smiling with the brittle discipline of people whose social organs had just been squeezed in public.
Dara’s mood improved immediately.
Look at them, Cai said, floating near her shoulder, invisible and gleeful. They’re sweating politely.
Dara’s mouth curved. Good.
One lord looks like he just swallowed a tax notice.
Even better.
Valerius glanced down at her. “You look pleased.”
“I am merely satisfied with civic engagement.”
“That is what we are calling it?”
“Yes.”
His eyes warmed with amusement. “Very well.”
Dara adjusted her sleeve and lifted her chin. “Shall we greet the honored guests?”
“Of course.”
She moved toward the nobles first.
That was important.
Not because she liked them.
Obviously.
But because hierarchy mattered, optics mattered, and if she wanted the commoners’ pointed looks to continue doing damage, then she needed to stand in front of the nobles with perfect manners and make them endure gratitude like a punishment.
The first cluster rose as she and Valerius approached. Lord Brackenmere, who had contributed funds only after three separate reminders, two public notices, and one conversation with Bernard that Dara had not witnessed but deeply respected, bowed with stiff precision.
“Your Highness,” he said first, then inclined his head to Dara. “Lady Lynara. A stirring address.”
“Thank you, Lord Brackenmere.” Dara smiled. “Your household’s recent contribution toward the west drainage repairs was appreciated.”
His smile tightened. “Of course.”
“Especially after the delay.”
A tiny silence.
Valerius stood beside her, composed.
Several nearby commoners, close enough to hear, turned their heads with immediate interest.
Lord Brackenmere’s fingers flexed once.
Dara’s smile remained serene. “Still,” she continued, “I am glad you chose to participate.”
“Ambervale’s prosperity concerns us all,” he said.
“How reassuring.”
Cai clasped his tiny claws together. You are stabbing him with manners.
I am thanking him.
Viciously.
She moved on.
Lady Celestine Arkwright stood near the council seats, silver-blonde hair flawless, gray eyes calm. She appeared neither wounded nor embarrassed by the speech.
Naturally.
She looked thoughtful.
That was worse.
Dara stopped before her. “Lady Arkwright.”
Celestine curtsied first to Valerius. “Your Highness.” Then she turned that same composed courtesy toward Dara. “Lady Lynara. A memorable address.”
“I hoped it would be useful.”
“I imagine it will be discussed for some time.”
“Good. Public memory can be so helpful.”
Celestine’s gaze rested on her. “Or inconvenient.”
Dara smiled. “Often the same thing.”
For one breath, the two women simply looked at each other.
No raised voices.
No obvious threat.
Just polished silence and the faint scent of tea, flowers, and political injury.
Then Celestine inclined her head. “I look forward to seeing how the next allocations proceed.”
Dara’s smile deepened. “So do I.”
Cai drifted between them, looking delighted. Oh, she hates you beautifully.
She does not hate me.
She is considering how expensive it would be to hate you efficiently.
Dara moved on before her mouth could betray her.
Lady Yselle Greenmoor was next, her expression composed and her eyes sharp enough to cut thread.
“Lady Greenmoor,” Dara said.
Lady Greenmoor curtsied first to Valerius, then to Dara, wearing a perfect smile over a perfect stalemate. “Your Highness. Lady Lynara.”
“Your attendance is appreciated.”
“I would not miss such an important civic occasion.”
“No,” Dara said. “I did not think you would.”
Greenmoor’s eyes narrowed by the smallest degree.
Valerius, beside Dara, remained silent.
That silence was its own kind of weapon.
Dara inclined her head and moved onward.
Several council members followed. Some looked relieved to receive simple thanks. Others looked deeply concerned that simple thanks might contain poison.
It did not.
Mostly.
Dara thanked those who had complied quickly. Praised those who released records without requiring force. Acknowledged contribution where contribution existed.
She was fair. That mattered, and it was deeply annoying for her enemies because fairness made insults sharper. If she praised the helpful nobles sincerely, then the ones she did not praise had no hiding place.
By the time she left the noble section, the shaded area felt several degrees warmer from restrained panic.
Dara was delighted.
My nefarious plan is working, she thought.
Cai made a strangled sound. You do realize your evil scheme currently involves thanking people for civic contributions, right?
With pressure.
Ah yes. The darkest kind of gratitude.
She ignored him.
Next came the merchants.
Gareth stood with several guild representatives, his expression practical as ever, though Dara saw approval in his eyes. As they approached, he bowed first to Valerius, then to Dara.
“Your Highness. My lady.”
“Master Hallowell,” Dara replied.
“The refreshments appear to be moving smoothly.”
“Yes,” Dara said. “I noticed.”
“I assumed you would.”
That was dangerously close to teasing.
She allowed it because he had helped make boba possible. “Your guild’s coordination has been useful.”
His brows rose faintly.
That was not a compliment Dara gave lightly.
“Useful enough to continue?” he asked.
“For now.”
“High praise.”
“Do not become emotional.”
“I will make every effort not to.”
A nearby merchant coughed into his sleeve.
Dara looked at the tables where food was being distributed in steady, efficient waves. No crowding. No empty trays. No frantic servants. Bernard and Elowra had planned well, and the merchant guild had clearly assisted in the supply side.
Wonderful.
“If trade routes continue improving,” Gareth said quietly, “events like this will not remain unusual.”
Dara glanced at him. “Do not make that sound threatening.”
“It was meant as an observation.”
“Merchants always say that before making money.”
“Usually, yes.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
“Continue the current supply coordination,” she said. “Especially for the district workers. If they are attending civic events, they will eat properly.”
Gareth bowed his head. “Understood.”
You are feeding your workforce again, Cai said.
Productive people require food.
You sound like Duncan.
Good.
From there, Dara turned toward the workers’ section.
This was where things became harder.
Not politically.
Emotionally.
The workers were not smiling like nobles.
They were not calculating like merchants.
Many of them looked as though they still did not entirely understand why she was approaching them, especially with the Crown Prince at her side.
Valerius seemed to understand that too, because he remained quiet, his posture formal but his presence carefully restrained.
That made something twist uncomfortably in Dara’s chest.
Duncan stood at the front, arms crossed, and posture solid as a wall. His expression remained stern, but the workers around him were not nearly so composed. Some looked nervous, others proud, and a few simply stunned.
A sanitation worker in a dark green uniform kept smoothing his sleeve as if trying to make sure it looked proper enough for the occasion.
A young road worker stood too straight, eyes fixed somewhere over Dara’s shoulder.
Two market women whispered to each other, then fell silent the moment Dara came closer.
Dara stopped before them.
For once, she did not immediately speak.
Then she inclined her head.
Not deeply.
Not theatrically.
Enough.
“Thank you,” she said.
The workers froze.
Duncan’s brows lifted slightly.
Dara continued, voice quieter than it had been during the speech, but no less clear. “The roads held today because of your work.”
A few of them glanced instinctively toward the avenue.
“The square is clean because of your work. The drainage complaints have started decreasing because of your work. The markets are moving because of your work.”
She looked at the sanitation worker who had been fussing with his sleeve. “And the streets smell significantly less offensive.”
He blinked, then laughed once, startled and rough. The sound broke something, and a few others laughed too.
Duncan’s mouth twitched.
Dara felt herself relax. “That,” she said, “is not a small achievement.”
The sanitation worker ducked his head, smiling like he was trying not to. “My lady,” he said, voice thick with embarrassment and pride.
Dara nodded once. “Continue.”
It was not soft.
Not exactly.
But it was sincere.
And they seemed to understand that.
One of the younger workers said, “We will, my lady.”
Another added, “Road crews are ahead on the south lane.”
Duncan shot him a look as if to say do not turn this into a report, but Dara’s attention sharpened.
“Ahead?”
The young man straightened further. “Yes, my lady. Since the stone deliveries stopped being delayed.”
Dara glanced toward the noble section.
Several commoners nearby followed her gaze.
So did two workers.
The nearby nobles stiffened.
Dara looked back at the young worker. “Good.”
One word.
A reward, apparently.