By the time the court had thinned and the formal voices were replaced with hurried whispers in backrooms, the real game began.
High Chancellor Merwin leaned over a polished oak table in the west chamber, maps and coded letters laid bare before him. The candlelight danced against the metallic edges of his chain, but the man's thoughts were sharper than the blades it reflected.
Across from him sat Minister Elric Vance, young, ambitious, and increasingly dangerous. He was not of noble birth but had clawed his way through bureaucratic shadows and quiet betrayals.
"There's unrest at the southern borders," Merwin began without looking up.
"There's always unrest," Elric replied, too easily.
"Not like this," Merwin said, tapping a sealed letter. "The merchants whisper of a 'bidding war' for the grain fields. Foreign names. Foreign coins. And no oversight."
Elric narrowed his eyes. "You're suggesting there's internal collaboration?"
