The council chamber breathed wealth and history. Tapestries depicting the Kingdom’s founding lined walls of polished marble, while alchemical light cast a warm glow across the assembled nobles’ faces.

  Elana sat straight-backed in her chair at the chamber’s head, maintaining perfect composure despite the mounting tension before her. As usual, she had arrived early to assure herself the lighting was just so.

  The round table, carved from a single massive oak, bore the scars and water rings of countless debates.

  Baron Gerlach’s face had reddened to match his ceremonial sash. “The northern borders cannot wait for trade incentives to bear fruit,” he was saying. “We need steel and stone now.” He punctuated each word by jabbing his finger against the ancient oak. “Three raids in the past month alone. Villages burned. Citizens fleeing south.”

  Lady Sybilla’s silk sleeves rustled as she gestured. “And bankrupt the treasury in the process?” she said. Her finery spoke of southern wealth—pearls at her throat, rings on every finger. “The border towns need commerce, not fortifications. Give them the means to prosper and they’ll defend themselves.”

  Velten’s calm presence steadied Elana’s growing frustration. She had moderated this same argument three times in as many weeks, each noble’s position becoming more entrenched with each repetition.

  The real challenge lay not in finding a solution—that had become obvious days ago—but in making both factions believe they had achieved victory.

  “Both perspectives have merit,” she said, her voice pitched to carry without seeming to dominate. The trick lay in the subtle modulation—too soft and she would appear weak, too forceful and the nobles would bristle at being lectured. “Baron Gerlach rightly emphasises our security needs, while Lady Sybilla speaks to the heart of sustainable growth.” She paused, letting each noble feel acknowledged. “Perhaps a compromise—”

  “Compromise?” Gerlach’s fist struck the table. The water in the crystal goblets trembled. “While Molotok raiders strike with impunity? While our people cry out for protection? This isn’t about politics, Your Highness. This is about survival.”

  “They cry out for bread before steel.” Sybilla’s cultured accent dripped with disdain. “What good are walls if the people behind them starve? What army can fight on empty stomachs?”

  Around the table, other nobles were shifting allegiances with each point scored. Lord Straus remained carefully neutral, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Baron Kessler’s sympathies clearly lay with Gerlach—his own lands bordered Molotok territory. And Lady Reza played with her rings, her expression suggesting she’d already decided, but wished to back the winning argument.

  “My lords.” Elana didn’t raise her voice, but something in her tone cut through the building chaos. She had learned this trick from her father—the power of quiet authority. “Consider this. We strive for a graduated approach. We begin with targeted fortification of key trading routes, using the increased security to foster merchant caravans. The resulting tariffs fund further defensive works, creating a cycle of growth and protection.”

  The tension in the room shifted, a subtle change that rippled through the gathered factions.

  Neither side looked satisfied—an outcome that signalled a compromise had been reached.

  The logic was undeniable, even if grudging. Each leader straightened, no doubt already calculating how to frame the decision as a victory for their supporters.

  Gerlach tugged at his collar. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chamber’s cool air. “The initial costs—”

  “Would be offset by implementing Lady Sybilla’s proposed tax incentives for merchant guilds.” Elana allowed herself a small smile. “Provided they contribute to the defence fund, of course. The exact percentage can be negotiated, but I would suggest starting at fifteen percent of gross profits.”

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  Sybilla’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “And oversight of these funds? We can’t have military interests dominating economic decisions.”

  Elana gestured to the scribes who waited against the wall. “A joint committee. Three representatives from each faction, with quarterly reports to the full council.” She paused before she went on. “The reports will be a matter of public record, ensuring transparency.”

  “An elegant solution, Your Highness,” Lord Darius said, his voice smooth. “Though one wonders if such measured approaches can truly address immediate threats.”

  “The best defences are built on solid foundations, my lord,” Elana said, meeting his gaze steadily. Something in his tone set off warning bells, but she couldn’t place why. “Rushing to fortify without considering supply lines and economic impact would leave us vulnerable in other ways.”

  The tension bled from the room. Elana maintained her serene expression, but inwardly she noted which nobles seemed disappointed by the resolution. Those who thrived on conflict were often the ones to watch most carefully.

  Baron Kessler began outlining specific trade routes that would need protection. Lady Reza offered suggestions about tax structure and implementation. The conversation shifted from confrontation to collaboration, though Elana noted the underlying currents of competition remained.

  The chamber doors burst open, admitting a royal messenger whose face had gone chalk white. He stumbled to Elana’s chair and bowed. “Your Highness…the King…your father…assassinated during the naming day celebration.”

  The world contracted to a pinpoint of pain.

  Elana’s fingers clenched on her chair’s armrests, but she maintained a mask of calm.

  She could not show weakness. Not here. Not now.

  “Commander Irmin is investigating, but—”

  The chamber erupted.

  “Molotok spies!”

  “The trade council must have—”

  “Succession must be settled immediately—”

  “The military should assume control until—”

  Voices overlapped, accusations flew.

  Lord Darius stood silent, his expression unreadable. Lady Sybilla pressed a hand to her throat, her facade of sophistication cracking. Baron Gerlach’s face had gone from red to purple, spittle flying as he demanded immediate military action.

  Elana rose, the movement precise and controlled. The chamber fell silent, years of diplomatic training crystallising into this moment.

  “My lords and ladies.” Her voice emerged steady, though her heart hammered against her ribs. “We have suffered a grievous blow. But we must not let shock and fear drive us to hasty action.” She met each noble’s gaze in turn, establishing connection, demanding attention. “The Kingdom’s strength lies in its unity. We will reconvene in three hours for an emergency council session, where we will address immediate concerns with the gravity they deserve.”

  Protests rose, but she silenced them with an upraised hand. “Until then, I ask you to remember your oaths. Remember that we serve something greater than our individual interests. The Kingdom watches how we conduct ourselves in this dark hour.”

  The nobles filed out, their whispered conversations a rush of conspiracy and speculation. Already, alliances were forming—Gerlach and Kessler whispering together, Sybilla drawing several southern lords into her orbit. Lord Darius moved between groups, saying little but missing nothing.

  Elana maintained her composure until the last had gone. Then she slipped through a side door on to a private balcony, her legs threatening to give way.

  Velten waited there, silver scales catching the late morning sun. The wyvern’s presence wrapped around her like a physical embrace, offering strength without words.

  “I can’t…” She pressed her forehead against Velten’s warm scales. “Father…”

  “Grieve later,” Velten said, his resonant voice gentle but firm. “The Kingdom needs you now.”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “The nobles already split into factions. Did you see how quickly they turned to advantage-seeking? Like carrion birds circling a corpse.”

  “The Kingdom is a cracked mirror,” Velten said. “Your role is not to restore it to perfection, but to ensure it doesn’t shatter entirely.”

  “How?” The word emerged smaller than she intended. “Half of them will demand immediate military control. The other half will insist on maintaining diplomatic protocols. And somewhere in this mess, a killer walks free.”

  “Then identify your allies. Lady Sybilla showed wisdom today—she may support a moderate approach. Baron Gerlach’s loyalty to the crown is absolute, even if his methods are rigid.” Velten’s tail curled around her protectively. “Build coalitions while they squabble among themselves.”

  “And Lord Darius?”

  “Watch him carefully. His neutrality feels…calculated.”

  Elana straightened, smoothing her court robes. “The emergency session will be critical. They’ll push for immediate decisions on succession.”

  “And you must delay without appearing to delay.” Velten’s blue eyes met hers. “Buy time for Irmin’s investigation.”

  “For answers I’m not certain exist.” She turned to go, then paused. “Thank you. For being my anchor in this storm.”

  “Always.”

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