He tells her to listen and she does, each of them taking their turn at explaining what it is they want. It sounds antithetical to her ear - a king who would rather be an equal, the man who assured her that no one would dare to cross his word, making it clear that she was wrong to ask for his blessing in this endeavor. In her mind, they aren't her chickens, and she isn't going to stay long enough to see this through. In the minds of these men she seems to already be in charge of their keep, having committed herself to a house within their home, a spot at their hearth. Olinger's warnings seem both right and wrong; by Willa's judgment his investigation is thus far flawed. The gates aren't open to anyone, and while some women seem to be valued for their beds, the mayor neglected to mention the women like Teagan, like Ruth, like the handful of others who make their value known by other means.
She listens, and it strikes her in the moment that for all the bad he's been bringing into the world, the man called Rodeo must be trying to make good, too. The comparative quiet of clucking hens falls between them as she considers what he's said, how he's been the better judge of her motivations. Willa has heard him, and stands corrected, though not cowed.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?" she asks, doing her best to mask the strange nerves that have taken the place of all her planning.