By the week's end, word had already reached the market square: Lord Tristan would address the merchants at the manor.
That day was today.
Wagons crowded the courtyard, each trying to get a vantage point. Men and women whispered about the new venture. Some were eager. Others were wary. A few muttered about Kim's absence—though none dared say it too loudly while Shannon's pack stood guard.
Inside the hall, Tristan paced once before the hearth. The fire snapped behind him, his coat plain but pressed, his hair combed back. He looked less like a musician tonight and more like a steward of coin.
Tara stood by the window, watching quietly as he steadied himself. "Remember," she said, "they're not here for crowns or ceremonies. They're here for proof. Show them enough to believe in, and they'll follow."
Tristan drew a breath. "Proof, not promises."
"Exactly."
When the herald's bell rang outside, Shannon entered with Mira at his side. "They're waiting," he said.
