In the capital city of the Kingdom of Dawn, King Julian VI sat upon his throne, boredom etched across his face as he waited for the council of nobles to arrive. It was always the same. The council would schedule a meeting, knowing full well that the king would arrive promptly—only for them to show up late, without so much as an apology.
At this point, it was no longer just negligence, it was deliberate. The Prime Minister, Duke Romualdez, who also presided over the council, was clearly letting his pettiness get the better of him.
Beside the king stood General Romeus, the commander of the Royal Armed Forces. He sighed, glancing at Julian with a hint of pity in his eyes. The young king, for all his patience, deserved better than to be treated like an afterthought in his own court.
Breaking the silence, Julian finally spoke. “Let’s make a bet, General.” His voice carried a wry amusement. “I wager the council will march in, fists in the air, shouting about how they refuse to tolerate Prince Lane’s insubordination.”
General Romeus smirked at the thought but merely shook his head. “Tempting, Your Majesty,” he said, his tone dry. “But I think I’ll pass.”
The king chuckled, though there was little humor in it. The waiting continued.
As if right on cue, the double doors to the meeting hall burst open. The first to enter was Duke Romualdez, his fists raised in the air, his voice booming with righteous indignation.
“This will not stand, Your Majesty! Prince Lane’s insubordination has truly gone beyond tolerable limits! He defies royal authority, disregards the council’s decrees, and undermines the very stability of the kingdom! If we do not act swiftly, his rebellion will spread like wildfire!”
Behind him, the other nobles followed in a flurry of outrage, their expressions a mix of feigned concern and political opportunism.
King Julian VI merely leaned back, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he cast a glance at General Romeus. “Well,” the king whispered, “looks like I won the bet.”
The Duke sneered, clearly unimpressed by the king’s amusement, but he held his tongue. Instead, he pressed forward, his voice swelling with the practiced outrage of a man who relished the sound of his own rhetoric.
“This is not merely a matter of royal disobedience, Your Majesty,” he continued, his tone heavy with exaggerated gravitas. “It is a direct challenge to the very foundation of our kingdom! Prince Lane’s reckless defiance sets a dangerous precedent! If we allow this insolence to go unchecked, what message does that send to the other provinces? That a mere governor may dismiss the will of the crown as he pleases?”
A chorus of agreement rippled through the chamber, with several nobles nodding and murmuring their approval. Some pounded their fists on the table in support, while others exchanged knowing glances—this was exactly what they had come to hear. The Duke had long been their voice, and they trusted his judgment without question. Only a handful of council members hesitated, their expressions wary, but they were drowned out by the overwhelming tide of assent.
“The kingdom cannot afford such instability,” Romualdez pressed on, slamming his fist against his palm for emphasis. “Our armies must march immediately! We must remind the people that loyalty to the throne is not optional—it is absolute!”
With the council now firmly behind him, the Duke’s confidence swelled.
General Romeus finally broke his silence, his deep voice cutting through the room. “So, just to be clear, Duke… your proposed solution is to send soldiers into a town that has, until now, been one of the most stable economic hubs in the region?” He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Would you care to share your long-term strategy? Or are we just stirring chaos for the sake of it?”
The nobles fell into an uneasy silence, waiting to see how the Duke would counter. Romualdez straightened, his sneer returning. “A kingdom must sometimes make difficult choices, General,” he said smoothly. “Compromises must be made for the greater good.”
Julian sighed heavily, already knowing where this was headed. He remained silent, waiting for the Duke to finally say what he truly wanted.
As if on cue, Duke Romualdez straightened his posture, his voice commanding as he declared, “Your Majesty, the Royal Armed Forces must be mobilized at once! This insubordination cannot be allowed to fester any longer. We need swift, decisive action before Lane’s defiance spreads like a disease.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The nobles murmured in agreement, their support emboldening the Duke further. He pressed on, his tone edged with frustration.
“I have been warning this council about the dangers of leniency for months. And now, look where we stand! If we had acted earlier, we wouldn’t be dealing with this mess. And to make matters worse, we let that incompetent Count Orlon take command of our forces—and he failed spectacularly!”
His lip curled in disdain, his fists clenching at his sides. “Our forces deserve a leader who knows how to win! We cannot afford another blunder. The army must move under proper command—immediately!”
Julian exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. There it is, he thought. The Duke doesn't just want action—he wants control.
General Romeus stood firm, his tone steady as he addressed the council. “If this is truly the course the council wishes to take, then at the very least, give our forces two months to consolidate here in the capital.”
The Duke’s eyes widened, his temper flaring instantly. He shot up from his seat, slamming a fist onto the table with enough force to rattle the goblets and parchments before him.
“Two months?!” he bellowed. “Are they supposed to frolic their way back to the capital?! That timeframe is unacceptable!”
A tense silence filled the chamber as some of the nobles shifted uncomfortably. General Romeus exhaled slowly, his patience wearing thin, but his voice remained calm—almost weary.
“Your Grace,” he said, meeting the Duke’s glare without flinching. “It was your command that sent them away in the first place—to carry out the council’s will. It took them two months to march to their current posts. Surely, you do not expect them to miraculously return in half the time?”
The tension in the hall thickened, the weight of Romeus’s words settling over the gathered nobles. The Duke clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, but for once, he had no immediate retort. The reality of his own decisions was staring him in the face.
A few months ago, it had been Duke Romualdez himself who insisted on deploying the Royal Armed Forces—not to defend the kingdom from invasion or quell a true rebellion, but to strong-arm the baronies that had been "slacking" on their annual taxes.
The result? Some baronies, under military pressure, managed to squeeze out additional payments. But it came at a steep cost. Towns that had barely been surviving fell into famine, their food stores depleted to meet the crown’s demands. With hunger tightening its grip, entire villages emptied as desperate citizens fled—some to neighboring baronies, others escaping beyond the kingdom’s borders in search of a better fate.
The capital, for a time, breathed a sigh of relief, its coffers momentarily replenished. But that relief was fleeting. The baronies that had been drained to the brink were now simmering with unrest, some teetering on the edge of outright rebellion. Others had simply bled dry—losing their workforce, their farmers, their merchants—to foreign lands, strengthening rival kingdoms at Dawn’s expense.
And now, the very forces used to enforce the Duke’s short-sighted policy were needed elsewhere, and they were two months away. Duke Romualdez choked on his words, his face twisting in frustration. For a brief moment, it seemed like he would argue further, but instead, he straightened his posture, forcing a smirk onto his lips.
"Very well, Your Majesty," he said with feigned confidence, waving a dismissive hand. "If two months is the best the Royal Armed Forces can manage, then so be it. But I do hope we won’t be hearing any excuses when the situation spirals further out of control."
King Julian didn’t dignify the remark with a response. Instead, he exhaled sharply and turned to address the council.
“We have discussed everything that needed to be said,” the king stated, his voice steady but edged with quiet irritation. “The matter is settled.”
With that, he rose from his throne, preparing to leave. Yet, as he moved, only a handful of council members made any effort to stand in respect.
The rest—particularly those openly aligned with the Duke—remained seated, their expressions ranging from smug defiance to disinterest. It was a silent but deliberate insult, one that would have sent a clear message to any other monarch. But Julian had long since grown used to their pettiness.
Without a word, he turned away and strode toward a smaller, unassuming passage at the side of the chamber. Unlike the grand main doors, which were meant for processions and displays of authority, this passage was a private exit—one only the king and General Romeus were permitted to use.
Romeus followed closely behind, his heavy footsteps echoing through the narrow corridor as the door sealed shut behind them.
Back in the council chamber, the meeting was far from over. Those not loyal to the Duke found themselves swiftly surrounded by guards.
"You are dismissed," one of the Duke’s men said flatly, motioning toward the exit.
A few tried to protest. “The king may have left, but this is still an official council meeting—”
"You are not needed for what comes next," another guard interrupted.
It wasn’t a request—it was an order. One by one, those not in line with the Duke’s faction were forcibly escorted out of the chamber. Some left willingly, knowing resistance was futile. Others cast wary glances at the Duke as they were ushered through the doors.
The moment they were gone, Romualdez scoffed.
"The boy may wear the crown," he muttered to those remaining, his voice dripping with disdain, "but it is clear who truly holds the reins of this kingdom."
The nobles loyal to him chuckled in agreement.
What none of them realized, however, was that they were not alone. Hidden beyond the walls—concealed in the unseen corners of the chamber—two spies listened intently, their ears catching every treacherous word. Soon, what was spoken in arrogance and secrecy would reach ears beyond this room.
