Chapter 79
By midmorning, Dara had decided that recovery required scenery.
And snacks.
And pets.
Mostly snacks.
The carriage rolled out from the Voss estate with Grace seated across from her, Bernard beside the opposite window, Elowra holding a slim travel folder in her lap, Salem curled like a small black shadow on the cushion beside Dara, and Pipette nestled in a little padded travel basket as if she were royalty being conveyed to a minor diplomatic function.
Which, honestly, suited her.
Cai floated upside down near the carriage ceiling, watching Dara with the expression of someone waiting for the next stage of collapse.
Dara ignored him.
She was too busy looking out the window.
The road to the mountain had changed.
Not completely. Not perfectly. But enough.
The carriage moved more smoothly than it would have weeks ago, wheels gliding over repaired stone and packed earth instead of lurching through holes like fate had personal grievances.
Young trees had been planted along the roadside, their leaves bright in the morning light.
Flowering shrubs appeared in measured clusters—white, gold, and soft blue blooms arranged carefully enough to look natural without actually being careless.
Dara leaned toward the glass.
Her mood improved against her will.
“This is much better,” she said.
Grace smiled immediately. “It is a lovely road, my lady.”
“It is a functional road,” Dara corrected. “The loveliness is a bonus.”
Bernard looked faintly amused. “A planned bonus, my lady.”
“Good.”
Because it was good.
A road should not merely exist. It should make travel less miserable. Shade mattered. Drainage mattered. Smoothness mattered. Stops mattered. People who designed journeys without considering snacks and rest were not people Dara trusted with civilization.
The carriage passed the first roadside stop not long after.
Dara sat up.
There it was.
A small shaded structure with benches, water troughs for horses, a clean stone platform, and a little stall selling drinks, fruit, and wrapped pastries. A pair of travelers sat beneath the awning, cups in hand, looking irritatingly content.
Dara’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction.
“See,” she said. “I knew rest stops were important.”
Elowra looked up from her folder. “Yes, my lady. Usage has increased steadily since the first three opened.”
Dara turned. “It has?”
Elowra immediately produced a page.
“Travelers have begun adjusting routes to make use of them. Merchants report fewer complaints from drivers. Two vendors have requested permission to establish permanent snack stalls along the improved road.”
Dara stared, then slowly leaned back. “Excellent.”
Cai drifted lower. You are being comforted by your own public works.
Dara picked up a small travel biscuit from the snack tray. Finally, something loyal.
Cai’s whiskers twitched.
Grace poured chilled fruit water into cups while Bernard opened a neatly packed travel box. Inside were small savory rolls, sliced fruit, sweet cakes, and several tiny pet-safe treats Dara had specifically approved because emotional support animals required standards.
Pipette emerged from her basket at once, ears perked.
Salem opened one green eye.
Dara selected a small soft treat and offered it to Pipette.
“Tiny bites,” she said.
Pipette accepted it with the dainty solemnity of a princess receiving tribute.
Salem received a cat-safe morsel next and ate it with the expression of someone doing Dara a favor by enjoying it.
Dara respected that.
Grace took a pastry. Elowra accepted fruit. Bernard claimed he did not require anything, then accepted a savory roll after Dara stared at him for three seconds.
The carriage continued.
The farther they went, the lighter Dara felt.
Not happy.
No.
That would be too much.
But less dead.
The trees helped. The flowers helped. The smooth road helped. The snacks helped significantly. Salem’s warm weight against her thigh helped. Pipette’s tiny snuffle from her basket helped.
Outside, Garrick and his estate guards rode in visible formation, steady and disciplined. Marek and his men kept closer to the carriage’s blind spots, less obvious but far more difficult to miss once Dara knew where to look.
Protection everywhere.
Still annoying.
But today, less suffocating.
Perhaps because the road was wide.
Perhaps because the sky was clear.
Perhaps because they were going somewhere desolate, and desolation felt emotionally appropriate.
Then the mountain appeared.
At first it was only a dark shape beyond the rolling land.
Gray-green slopes. Uneven ridges. Stone showing through patches of stubborn grass. Wind-bent trees clinging to the lower edges as if the mountain had allowed them to exist but refused to make it easy.
Dara slowly sat forward. “There it is.”
Grace followed her gaze. “It is… very striking, my lady.”
Dara’s eyes warmed. “Desolate.”
Cai floated beside her face. Just like your soul.
Dara nodded solemnly. Exactly.
Bernard, who thankfully could not hear that exchange, said, “The main approach should be passable now, my lady. Not fully finished, but safe enough for inspection.”
“Good.”
Dara looked at the mountain again.
Quiet.
Empty.
Unbothered.
No council chambers. No flower crowns. No cheering crowds. No Crown Prince lowering her hands and ruining months of work with affectionate competence.
Just stone, wind, and potential isolation.
A thought arrived.
A beautiful thought.
A dangerous thought.
Dara’s eyes sharpened. Wait.
Cai froze. No.
What if I self-exile?
Cai stared. Lyn.
No, think about it. If I leave society voluntarily and live on my mountain, that is still exile.
The System appeared.
REQUEST ANALYSIS: SELF-IMPOSED EXILE
Dara leaned forward slightly, careful not to look too animated in front of the others.
Yes. Exactly. Analyze that.
PROCESSING…
REQUEST DENIED.
Dara’s face fell. What? Why?
ROUTE B REQUIRES FORMAL EXILE BY RECOGNIZED AUTHORITY.
That feels discriminatory against independent women.
REQUEST DENIED.
But I would be isolated.
INSUFFICIENT.
I would be away from court.
INSUFFICIENT.
I would have a mountain.
IRRELEVANT.
Dara glared at the glowing text. Rude.
Cai patted the air sympathetically. The mountain rejected you bureaucratically.
The system rejected me. The mountain would never.
The interface disappeared.
Dara slumped back against the cushions.
Grace looked over immediately. “My lady?”
“I’m fine.”
She was not fine. She had suffered another administrative defeat.
But then she looked at the mountain again.
No.
Not defeat.
Adjustment.
“Perhaps not exile,” she murmured.
Bernard looked up. “My lady?”
Dara sat straighter. “But a cabin.”
Cai closed his eyes. Here we go.
“A small one,” Dara said.
Grace blinked. “A cabin, my lady?”
“Yes. Comfortable. Quiet. Properly insulated. A good bed. A small kitchen. A tea room. Storage for snacks.”
Elowra’s pen had already appeared.
Bernard’s expression shifted into cautious resignation.
Dara continued, warming to the idea. “A viewing deck.”
Cai opened one eye. A viewing deck?
“For emotional reflection.”
Grace, bless her, nodded as if that were perfectly reasonable.
“And perhaps a small garden,” Dara added. “Nothing excessive.”
Cai looked at her. You do not know what that means.
I know exactly what that means.
You once called a zoo and aquarium ‘attractions.’
Correctly.
The carriage rolled closer to the mountain road.
Wind brushed the trees ahead. Sunlight touched the ridges. The desolate mountain waited, silent and dramatic and deeply suitable for a woman whose exile plan had been murdered by romance.
Dara rested one hand on Salem’s back. The cat purred once, barely, as if granting permission for hope.
Fine.
Self-exile had been denied.
For now.
But a retreat?
A cabin?
A quiet, private place where no one could summon her before breakfast, accuse her of crimes incorrectly, crown her with flowers, or lovingly destroy her route?
That could work.
Probably.
Maybe.
Dara smiled for the first time that day with genuine interest.
The desolate mountain waited in the distance.
If exile would not come to her properly, perhaps she could at least build somewhere quiet enough to pretend.