“You can’t force us to—” someone began.
“You’re right,” Esther said pleasantly. “I can’t force you to care about the people whose labor built your estates and keeps your tables full.”
A few lowered their gaze.
She let the silence stretch, then added calmly, “But Icandecide which families are in good standing with the crown. Which families receive future trade licenses. Whichfamilies receive palace contracts and legal protections. Which families receive invitations to coronations, weddings, and state banquets.”
Baroness Levon, seated further down the table, smiled slowly like a cat watching a canary walk into a room unescorted.
“So to remain in the crown’s favor,” Esther finished, “you must demonstrate that you care about more than your own vaults. Publicly. Generously. Consistently.”
“That sounds like extortion,” grumbled one noble.
“That sounds like accountability,” the Baroness said sweetly. “And an excellent opportunity to improve your reputations. Just imagine your names on plaques, darling.‘House So-and-So: Hero of the Hungry.’”
Several nobles perked up at that.
“House reputations have been strained of late,” another muttered. “An association with the rebuilding efforts would help…”
Esther fought the urge to roll her eyes. If they wouldn’t move for compassion, she’d drag them by vanity.
Arietta leaned toward Lupin and whispered—not quietly enough—“Your sister is terrifying. I like her.”
Lupin made a faint squeaking noise.
King Arcturus cleared his throat. “I support the crown princess in this,” he said. “We let things rot for too long. It is time our Harvest Festival reflected what we want this kingdom to be—not what it used to be.”
That took the last of the fight out of the room.
Slowly, hesitantly, nobles began to nod.
The Baroness patted her gloves and sat forward. “I will organize the ledgers,” she said. “We’ll list each house’s contribution publicly, of course. It would be a shame if someone forgot and saw their name under‘Absent.’”
A chill of social terror swept the nobility.
Esther allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
“Good,” she said. “Then let’s begin planning the biggest Harvest Festival Valedara has ever seen.”
They took over the war room for festival planning.
Lucy pinned color-coded scraps of parchment to a massive map of the city, humming off-key. Sylva stood beside her, arms folded, tail twitching as he watched her plan chaos like a general.
“This plaza for the food stalls,” Lucy said, jabbing at the map. “This street for games. The orphanage can run the pie stand. The refugees can sell whatever crafts or skills they have. Oh! And a stage here for performances.”
“Performances?” Sylva asked warily.
“Music. Storytelling. Maybe a goat juggling act if Vorrik gets too excited,” Lucy said.
Sylva grimaced. “I will not protect the city from goat-based incidents.”
“You say that now,” she said cheerfully.
Lyssara leaned over the table, tracing patrol routes with a fingertip. “We’ll need guards at every entry point. And runners between districts. If someone tries to use the crowd as cover for theft or worse…”
“We’ll catch them,” Sylva finished, nodding. “I’ll set up vantage points.”
“If you climb on a roof and glare down at people,” Lucy said, “half the city will propose marriage and the other half will assume they’re being judged by an angry forest deity.”
