The council chamber was alive with speculation, men whispering in corners, letters passing hand to hand. The city buzzed with only one question: Who would succeed Lord Gray?
Adrian stood before a cluster of allies — Williams, the seasoned alderman; Halford, a younger reformist with fire in his eyes; and two merchants whose fortunes rose with the city's growth. Their voices filled the room with cautious energy.
"You must declare soon," Williams urged. "The longer you wait, the stronger Crowne appears. He's already courting the guildmasters."
Adrian paced, his brow furrowed. "If I stand, it must not be as a man defending his honor but as a man offering a vision. Crowne seeks power for its own sake. We must show them that I seek the city's good."
Halford leaned forward eagerly. "Then speak of what you've built already — new schools, fairer trade laws, the housing reforms. The people remember."
Adrian stopped pacing, meeting their eyes one by one. "Very well. Let it be known: I will stand for Lord Mayor. Not because I desire it, but because New Albion cannot afford to place her future in Crowne's hands."
A murmur of approval passed among them, though shadows of doubt remained. Crowne was a formidable foe, and the poison of scandal still clung to Adrian's name.
That poison thrived in society's parlors, where Emily fought her own war.
Emily
At Lady Mansfield's luncheon, she found herself yet again across from Clara. The actress glittered in emerald silk, a pearl comb in her hair, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.
"How touching," Clara said sweetly, lifting her teacup. "Lady Hartwell, ever the devoted sister. But tell me — do you never wonder what your brother-in-law truly did when your poor Evelyn was alive? Grief has a way of blinding us, does it not?"
Emily's pulse quickened. She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, a calm, confident voice cut through.
"I find grief clarifies, actually," said Charlotte Wilson, who had taken the seat beside Emily. A tall woman with keen eyes and an unshakable poise, Charlotte radiated quiet authority. "When lies creep into the cracks of memory, those who loved most keenly can see them for what they are."
Clara's smile faltered. Emily blinked, startled at the unexpected ally.
Charlotte continued, her tone smooth but edged. "The trouble with stories, Miss Clara, is that they often demand more imagination than consistency. A good liar must remember her own inventions — and you, I fear, are not quite diligent enough."
The circle of women stirred, whispers rising. Clara's cheeks flushed, though she masked it quickly with a laugh. "How sharp you are, Miss Wilson. Perhaps too sharp for polite company."
"Politeness is overrated," Charlotte said coolly, sipping her tea.
Emily's lips curved in a small, grateful smile. For the first time in weeks, she felt the tide shift — if only slightly.
Later, as they left the luncheon together, Emily turned to her new friend. "You spoke for me when I could not find the words. How did you know what to say?"
Charlotte shrugged lightly. "Clara thrives on spectacle. She wants to draw you into outrage, because outrage looks like weakness. The answer is not to shout her down but to unravel her with calm precision. People will remember her contradictions, not her tears."
Emily absorbed this with a fierce nod. "Then teach me. Help me match her blow for blow."
Charlotte's eyes gleamed. "Gladly. Together, we'll strip the paint from her mask until the whole city sees her for what she is."
Crowne
Meanwhile, across the city, Crowne sharpened his counterattack.
In a smoke-filled chamber, he addressed a group of guildmasters and merchants, his tone grave. "Vale speaks of virtue, but can New Albion risk such a man? He is distracted by grief, plagued by scandal. He may mean well, but meaning well builds nothing. What the city needs is stability — steady hands, proven judgment. I offer both."
Coins exchanged hands, promises whispered, alliances forged. Crowne knew Vale's declaration would come soon — he could smell it. But he also knew that once the word scandal attached itself to a man, it never fully washed away. Adrian Vale might fight, but Crowne would ensure he fought uphill, against both rumor and ambition.
Adrian
That night, Adrian gathered his closest allies once more in his study, Emily and Charlotte among them.
"The lines are drawn," Adrian said. "Crowne has the guilds, perhaps half the council. But we have the people — the workers, the reformers, the young. If we can weather the lies, if we can show them a vision, we may yet prevail."
Charlotte leaned forward. "Then give them something undeniable. Clara has been allowed to spin tales unchecked. Expose her lies. Not angrily — not defensively. Coolly, with proof. Let society shame her, not you."
Emily's eyes burned with fierce resolve. "And I will help gather that proof. Clara has fooled many, but not all. I'll find the cracks. I'll tear down her stage piece by piece."
Adrian studied the two women, the old grief heavy in his chest but joined now by a fragile thread of hope. Evelyn was gone, but Emily had grown into steel, and Charlotte into an unexpected ally. Together, they might yet hold back the tide.
Crowne and Clara
But across town, Crowne raised his glass in a private toast with Clara, his voice low and confident. "Let Vale run. Let him gather his pitiful friends. When the vote comes, the city will choose order. They will choose me. And by then, his name will be fit only for ruin."
The battle for New Albion had begun.