I ended up grabbing most of the food before we moved on.

  Not in a dramatic royal redistribution of bread way, but more in a quiet, practical sweep of wrapped bundles and leftover chunks that would’ve otherwise been eaten later or carried back. I tucked them under one arm, ignoring the curious looks, and headed back toward the cart where Jabari still stood watch like a carved monument to professionalism.

  Gael walked beside me, the dirt crunching softly under our boots. “Here,” I said, handing the food up to him.

  He blinked. Once. Then again. “Majesty?”

  “Eat,” I ordered lightly. “You’ve been standing in the sun longer than I have.”

  He hesitated for exactly the amount of time it took for his training to wrestle with common sense, then accepted the food with a bow that was smaller than usual, like he didn’t want to make a scene out of it. He sat on the edge of the cart and unwrapped the bread, chewing carefully, eyes flicking between me and the fields like he was trying to solve a puzzle he hadn’t been given all the pieces to.

  “Thank you,” he said finally. Then, more cautiously, “May I ask… why?”

  “The last few days,” I said, “it was all paperwork.”

  I glanced back at the fields, the rows of Salaga shimmering faintly under the sun, men bent low and working with rhythm. “Don’t get me wrong,” I added quickly, “I hate paperwork as much as the next person.” I shuddered theatrically. “Like, genuinely. It’s a crime against joy.”

  Gael snorted despite himself.

  “But,” I continued, the humor fading just a notch, “I heard that the production of soap-makers is predicted to fall by fifty percent due to the previous export market being denied to us. And with the former slaves getting paid—rightfully, obviously—it’s no longer viable, and we’d only lose money.”

  I gestured vaguely, as if the concept itself offended me. “So the reports say our resources are better spent on a more profitable sector. Construction. Infrastructure… things that scale.”

  Jabari paused mid-bite, listening.

  I let out a heavy sigh; the sound dragged out of me like it had been waiting its turn. “And it is so easy to just say, yeah, let’s do that. It sounds clean. Numbers don’t lie.” I turned, looking out over the fields again, at the sweat-darkened shirts, the steady movements, the green mana mist curling around unearthed Salaga like breath.

  “But now being here,” I said, “good people would lose work.”

  Gael’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

  “And something may not bring profit right now,” I went on, “but… damn it, this isn’t capitalism.” I laughed under my breath, a little sharp around the edges. “And if Dmitry—your new ruler, by the way—can’t think of a way to keep the booze alive, I’ll kick his ass.”

  The laugh that followed was mine first, then Gael’s, then, hesitantly, Jabari’s. It wasn’t loud, but it was real enough to loosen something in the air.

  I turned back toward the work before the moment could turn heavy again.

  “Alright,” I said, clapping my hands once. “Enough philosophy. Let’s lift things.”

  There were already carts lining the edge of the field, sturdy wooden frames reinforced with iron bands, piled high with unearthed Salaga. The plants were heavier up close, dense with moisture and magic, and it took two men to hoist each one properly without damaging the base.

  I didn’t bother asking for permission, and I stepped in, grabbed one of the thick bases, and lifted.

  It was heavier than it looked. Not impossibly so, but enough to make my arms complain and my stance widen instinctively. The fibers were slick with sap, cool and faintly humming against my gloves.

  “This is kinda heavy,” I muttered, shifting my grip. “Do you have animals to pull these, or are we just… bullying physics?”

  Gael’s face lit up like I’d asked about his favorite hobby.

  “Oh! Yes, yes,” he blurted. “We use different animals for different tasks. Like your Tawnyx for transport, oxen for plows, but here—”

  He pointed down the field.

  “We use stone golems.”

  I paused mid-lift. “…You what.”

  As if summoned by the word, the ground vibrated.

  It started low, a distant rumble that crept up through the soles of my boots and into my knees. The farmers barely reacted, adjusting their stances and continuing to work like this was a perfectly normal day.

  I squinted toward the sound.

  Six figures emerged from behind a low rise, massive and unmistakable. Stone golems, each easily twice the height of a man, their bodies carved from layered rock etched with glowing runes that pulsed in slow, steady rhythms. Their steps were heavy, earth compacting under their weight without cracking.

  They approached the carts in a neat line, then, without instruction, each one bent slightly, grasped the yokes, and secured themselves in place with movements that were almost… polite.

  They stood there motionless, waiting.

  I stared.

  “So,” I said slowly, “I guess… we go with them?”

  Gael grinned, with the same proud, almost mischievous look from earlier. “If you don’t mind, Queen,” he said, “I would like to show you another field before that.”

  I eyed the golems, then the carts, then Gael.

  “Sure,” I shrugged. “Why not? Kidnap me responsibly.”

  He paled. “No—Majesty—”

  “I’m kidding,” I waved it off. “Mostly.”

  We headed back to the cart, and I climbed up again, settling onto the bench as the Tawnyx shifted beneath us.

  Gael navigated Jabari with quick directions, and as the cart rolled forward, I looked away from the fields, letting the wind cool my face, and my thoughts drifted, uninvited, back to the kingdom.

  My kingdom.

  I didn’t want to be a bad person. That felt like a low bar, but somehow terrifyingly easy to trip over. I thought about the farmers’ faces, the way gratitude and fear had mingled when I healed them.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Then I remembered Lola.

  Her voice, reminding me that I couldn’t just take people at face value. Unless it was poker night at Lola’s, where everyone lied badly and someone always brought snacks that mysteriously vanished.

  Had I just gotten played?

  Were they just normal workers, spinning a story they knew would hook me? I was so caught up in the moment, in the heat and the sweat and the human connection, that I hadn’t stopped, again, to think.

  I rubbed my temple, willing the thoughts away.

  No, I wasn’t doing this. I wasn’t turning into paranoid Charlie. That road led to bad decisions and worse nights.

  Then, because the universe has a sense of timing, an intrusive thought slipped in sideways.

  I was supposed to meet Riker tonight and we were supposed to talk about the kingdom. Prospects, or like Alliances and future plans. “I don’t wanna go to his party,” I blurted out loud.

  Gael turned, startled. “Whose party?”

  I waved it away, slumping back against the bench. “Someone else’s problem.”

  The road narrowed, the fields thinning until green gave way to trees.

  I sat up, peering out between the trunks. “Hey, Gael,” I said slowly, “is this kidnapping, or…?”

  The path was clear, well-maintained, cutting through the forest. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in broken patterns, the air cooler here, damp with moss and old wood.

  Gael twisted in his seat, eyes wide. “No! No, Majesty, no. This—this is where we make our casks.”

  I blinked. “Oh.”

  The building came into view moments later, nestled among the trees as if it had grown there rather than been built. Low and wide, with thick wooden walls darkened by age and resin, smoke curling lazily from vents along the roof.

  “So,” I said, hopping down as the cart stopped, “we explore the entire production chain?”

  Gael nodded, nervous but clearly proud. “Sallén can’t be made in anything else,” he said. “Only casks from here.”

  I smiled “Good. Then show me.” Gael nodded at my enthusiasm and I turned toward the building, but then, just as casually, he pointed the other way.

  I stopped mid-step.

  “…Of course,” I sighed, already pinching the bridge of my nose. “There’s always an other way.”

  I pivoted smoothly, and to hide my mistake, because Queens don’t do mistakes, frost already crawled up my fingers in lazy spirals. “Hey, Jabari,” I called over my shoulder, “wait here. I’ll go check the ambush point.”

  Gael made a sound that can only be described as a man reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.

  I may have done it because watching him panic was funny.

  What wasn’t funny was the part where I had to explain I was joking.

  Mostly.

  We walked for a few minutes along a narrow dirt path that cut deeper into the forest, the air cooling noticeably as the canopy thickened overhead. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in fractured patterns, dappling the ground in shifting gold and green. The forest smelled old, sap, moss, damp earth, and something deeper beneath it, like stored rain and patience.

  Eventually, a figure emerged ahead.

  A man stood between the trees, still as a carved post. He wore plain working clothes, no insignia, no ornament, his posture relaxed but alert. He didn’t wave. Didn’t speak. Just nodded once when he saw us.

  Gael immediately inclined his head respectfully. “Master,” he breathed.

  I raised an eyebrow. Master, huh? “That’s… ominous,” I muttered.

  Gael leaned closer, lowering his voice. “He is the Master of the Forest.”

  I looked around at the trees, then back at the man, who remained impressively silent. “Right. And let me guess, these are the only trees you’re allowed to use?”

  Gael nodded. The man nodded too, a short motion. Internally, I dubbed him Silencio. “Cool,” I said, rocking back on my heels. “So why is he… like this?”

  Silencio stared at me.

  I stared back.

  Then, because my impulse control is held together by duct tape and sarcasm, I let a bit more mana bleed into the surrounding air, frost curling outward with intent. Not aggressive. Just… present. The magical equivalent of leaning in too close.

  Silencio didn’t even blink.

  Gael nearly tackled me. “No—Majesty—please—”

  “He’s immune to intimidation,” Gael rushed on, hands waving slightly. “It’s not—his traits are unique. These trees are unique. They collect mana from the area over decades and store it in their bark. He listens to them.”

  I paused and… slowly dialed the frost back down. “…Huh,” I said. “Okay, that’s actually kind of metal.”

  Silencio’s lips twitched. Maybe. Hard to tell. He turned away from us and walked several paces into the trees, stopping in front of one tall, straight trunk. He tilted his head, staring at it for a long, quiet moment, as if he was listening to something we couldn’t hear.

  Then he lifted his axe.

  Three swings.

  That was it.

  Three perfectly placed strikes and the tree creaked, leaned, and fell exactly where he wanted it to, missing the surrounding growth by inches.

  As it hit the ground with a deep, satisfying thud Silencio turned back to us. There was no smile, but there was smugness.

  “That,” I said, nodding appreciatively, “was kinda impressive.” He inclined his head, accepting the compliment as if it were a tax he’d already paid. “What happens after that?” I asked.

  Silencio pointed behind us.

  I turned and spotted a cart already waiting, stacked with long logs, with no animals in sight. The path was clear though. I grinned. “Let me guess. Stone golems?”

  Silencio finally spoke.

  “Wooden.”

  “Oh!” I lit up, delighted. For some reason, that just… worked for me. I pivoted instantly into full chaos mode, because if Silencio wanted to be mysterious, I could absolutely be Gatei about it. “Hey, you want a cookie?”

  I held out one of the wrapped supplies from the reception last night. Mister Pancake’s work. Top-tier cookies.

  Silencio stared at me for several seconds.

  Then nodded.

  He took the cookie.

  Crunch.

  Gael looked like he might pass out.

  “Do you know,” Gael said carefully, “that you are speaking to a Queen?” I didn’t know if it was aimed at me for not behaving in Lola-approved way, or at Silencio.

  Silencio glanced at me, then nodded once more.

  Crunch.

  I beamed.

  “Can I try?” I asked, pointing toward another tree.

  Silencio studied me for a moment, then pointed, not at the nearest one, but at a tree further away. Probably some forest math I was not interest in, so I formed an ice spear in my hand, widening it slightly, reinforcing the edge until it gleamed like sharpened glass. Took aim.

  Threw.

  The spear hit perfectly, slicing clean through the trunk.

  The tree fell.

  …The wrong way.

  Straight toward us.

  “MAJESTY!” Gael screamed.

  I reacted on instinct, mana flaring as I snapped an ice construct into place, forming an improvised loader that caught the falling trunk mid-crash. The impact sent a jolt through my arms, but I held it, teeth clenched, and carefully rotated the log before lowering it to the ground in the correct direction.

  Silencio stared at me.

  I stared back.

  I was… very aware of how red my face felt.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “Uh. Let’s move on?”

  Silencio nodded, turned around, and walked away.

  Just like that.

  Gael sagged like a man who had narrowly avoided an early grave. “This way,” he wheezed. “Before I die. My heart…”

  I flicked a small heal his way, but it did nothing. “You’re fine,” I said.

  He muttered something that sounded like a prayer, and we headed back toward the buildings. The scent hit me before the structure came fully into view.

  Fresh-cut wood.

  Warm, resinous, layered with something almost sweet and alive. It filled my lungs and immediately pushed my mood several notches upward. Inside, workers moved like on third whiskey, stripping branches with magical machines that hummed softly, blades of energy shaving bark clean without splintering.

  “Efficient,” I murmured.

  Gael nodded. “The machines strip residual magic from the branches and inject it back into the core wood. It’s delicate. If the machine is made wrong, the cask becomes inert.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if all the skilled enchanters are still in Altandai after you forced the Enchater guild away.”

  That… snapped something in me.

  “I saved the city,” I said sharply. “It was disgusting how they treated slaves. Hell, I was one of them!”

  Frost flared before I could stop it, crawling along the floor in jagged lines.

  Gael stepped back. “I didn’t mean—”

  “The past few days,” I continued, words tumbling out, “everyone’s been like, Queen! Before you, we did this—but now we can’t! Or Queen, by killing the Grandmaster, the knowledge of this one pole in the square is gone forever! What do we do about water? I—”

  I stopped.

  Breathed.

  Let the frost melt.

  “…Sorry,” I whispered. “I disrupted a lot of things. But it is what it is.”

  Gael nodded, grateful for the de-escalation, and gestured toward a barrel of water nearby. “After the planks are cut, we sprinkle them. Makes the wood more workable.”

  Wow, he mastered the art of pretending the queen did nothing wrong? “Yeah,” I said, noticing the stares. “Okay. And then?”

  He moved quickly, grateful for the topic shift. “There.” He pointed near the back. “Here we burn it.”

  I blinked. “Burn? Like… why?”

  “Sallén is known for its high mana content,” Gael explained. “Not potion-grade, but that kick? That’s mana.”

  “Really?” I perked up, taking another sip. There it was, that faint, electric warmth I’d felt before but hadn’t placed.

  “Yes,” he said proudly, watching a worker light the inside of a finished cask with a wand. “As it ages, the cask mixes its mana into the drink. Combined with Salaga… it’s the highest mana content of any Altandai beverage.”

  I nodded, genuinely impressed. “Awesome. Too bad we need to wrap this up.” I sighed. “But let’s go see where we sent the Salagas.”

  Gael nodded, wisely not asking why I suddenly needed to hurry.

  Stupid Riker.

  Always ruining the fun.