Talulah did not pay much mind to Allerdale's reaction after she stepped away. She felt she had done her part; what remained depended entirely on what the countess chose to do next.
Deep down, however, Talulah was confident Allerdale would take the leap. The genuine emotion and lingering hope she harbored for the Aslan dynasty said enough. She would find a way to make it happen.
Putting those thoughts aside, Talulah made her way toward the Western Hall. It was the very site where the last Aslan King had been sent to the gallows, making it one of the most famous historical landmarks in the realm.
Walking through its expansive grounds, Talulah could almost picture the heavy gallows standing there, though the gallows had been removed long before her arrival.
This was precisely why she held nothing but disdain for the throne those nobles fought over. Whoever eventually sat in that seat faced the exact same possibility—ending up at the end of a rope.
The Western Hall was surprisingly quiet today. Someone behind the scenes had clearly restricted entry, making sure the chamber wasn't completely swamped by the public.
"We welcome the Draco to this place! We have long awaited the return of a Draco to our realm, a sign that Victoria's past has not entirely abandoned us, but remains ever present by our side..."
A voice broke out, reciting a thoroughly disingenuous opening address. Halfway through, the speaker's voice even trembled with theatrical emotion, as if he were overcome with genuine ecstasy over Talulah's presence.
Had anyone been ignorant of how these very same lords had systematically hunted down the Draco, they might have believed the act. Out on the streets, commoners watching via broadcasts and telescreens were likely swallowing it whole.
Talulah, however, did not shatter the man's stage setup. She maintained a placid expression, quietly observing the hypocrite beside her without offering a single word of commentary.
Seeing that Talulah had no intention of interrupting, the man carried on by himself for nearly half an hour, grandly chanting the glorious history and past triumphs of the Draco lineage. Even Talulah, watching coldly from the side, had to admit the aristocracy had picked a remarkably skilled performer.
Only after his grand speech ended did the man quietly bow to Talulah in gratitude before slipping away.
Curiously, he had not mentioned his own name once throughout the performance. Was he someone famous, or simply a bureaucrat who lived for the spotlight? She couldn't be bothered to figure it out.
Now, her time had come.
Talulah took a deep, steady breath, stepped into the center of the main hall, and faced the broadcasting equipment.
"To the people of Londinium, and to all of Victoria: I appreciate that so many of you are willing to pay attention to affairs that have caused you no small amount of trouble. Some of you may have heard my name already, but allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Talulah Artorius. My race is Draco..."
Outside, Jeanne smoothed the hair on little Fafnir's head, watching the broadcast screen carefully as she prepared to make her move when the timing was right.
"I know rumors regarding my presence have spread throughout this city," Talulah continued, her voice echoing clearly. "Some suggest that I have returned to reclaim everything associated with my lineage. I wish to state right now, in no uncertain terms: I have no such intention."
A wave of hushed whispers rippled through the onlookers across the city. Almost no one could fathom why a dragon would willingly cast aside a claim to the royal seat. What was this woman thinking?
Meanwhile, in their private estates, several disgruntled lords cursed Talulah's name in rage. They had been ready to back her claim for their own gain, only for her to publicly throw the offer back in their faces.
These were lesser nobles whose fortunes had waned—desperate men hoping to ride a dragon's coattails straight to the top of the political ladder.
"Many of you may find this hard to comprehend," Talulah said, her gaze coolly sweeping over the chamber. "So let me make this unmistakably clear to those clinging to impractical fantasies: it is true. You do not need to keep probing me or attempting to push me onto Victoria's throne..."
In their estates, the nobles fumed. "Has this woman no sense of decorum?! How dare she blab about private negotiations out in the open? Does she not know that confidential talks are meant to stay confidential?!"
They were infuriated by her refusal to play by the unspoken rules of high society. She was trampling all over their game!
With her public declaration, anyone with half a brain could guess which factions had approached her in secret. Fear began to creep into the hearts of those lords as they contemplated the fallout.
"It's all because of that cursed Talulah—that damned Artorius! The Infected really are a bunch of..."
In a sense, Talulah had accomplished her primary goal. From this moment on, no noble with a shred of sense would dare approach her for a political scheme.
"Now," Talulah shifted her tone, "let us talk about what I have witnessed during my time in Victoria. To be frank, I am deeply disappointed. The Victoria of today is a far cry from the magnificent empire of history. My perspective on this land has changed considerably."
The crowd's interest began to wane. Most commoners had little patience for someone who explicitly refused to be king, especially when she spent her time criticizing their country.
This outcome was precisely what the ruling grand dukes had hoped for. Relief settled over the high aristocracy; the volatile variable named Talulah had effectively been neutralized. They could now return to their ongoing power struggles uninterrupted.
"I have seen Tarans and Victorians harboring deep hatred for one another," Talulah continued evenly. "I have lived through a Catastrophe here, and I have learned the root causes behind these struggles. To put it bluntly, it is absurd..."
At the mention of Tarans, many listeners scoffed in disdain. The citizens of Londinium—and Victoria at large—could not care less about the well-being of Taran workers.
In their minds, it was only natural for Tarans to suffer in squalor. If Tarans lived better lives than proper Victorians, that would be an outrage.
"I am not here to lecture you on your treatment of Tarans," Talulah said. "However, given how unbearable life has become for them here, I am willing to offer them a chance at a new life—provided they are willing to reside in a city alongside the Infected..."
Talulah laid out the proposal they had agreed upon earlier. To the impoverished Tarans, it came as a shock. Yet leaving their homes for an unfamiliar destination was a heavy choice, to say nothing of living side-by-side with victims of Oripathy.
In the streets, Jeanne patted Fafnir. It was time for them to make their exit. She had promised to put on a grand show, after all.
She had agreed to keep things relatively grounded, but so what? Carrying the dragon, Jeanne set out to begin her part of the plan.
Back in the hall, Talulah concluded her statement regarding her willingness to welcome both Tarans and the Infected. She knew not how much weight her words would carry, nor how many would believe her.
Finishing her speech, she raised her head to look at the Victorian flag hanging above—the banner bearing the dragon and the lion. A sharp spark gleamed in her eyes as she prepared to execute her next step.
Before she could act, however, a messenger rushed in, breathless and pale, urgently pulling her aside to report news.
Outside the gates of Londinium, that terrifying mythical beast had appeared once again, slowly making its way toward the city walls.
Talulah pressed a hand against her forehead, letting out a helpless sigh.
"Didn't I tell her not to make such a massive scene...?"