The crown was heavier than it looked.
Not painfully so—but enough to remind him it wasn't decorative.
Gold pressed down against his temples as he sat alone at the long oak table, fingers resting against the arm of the throne. The wood smelled faintly of old polish and something sharper beneath it. Ink. Wax. History.
Yep, he thought. This thing has crushed better men than me.
Outside the chamber, the palace was quiet.
In fact, too quiet.
The kind of silence that didn't mean peace—just people listening carefully.
The doors opened without announcement.
A servant stepped in, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He carried a stack of parchment clutched so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
"Reports, Your Majesty."
His voice trembled. Fear and tension were visible on his face.
There it is
The servant expected a dead man.
Or worse—a replacement who didn't know the rules yet.
"Leave them on my desk," the king said.
The servant approached the table, placed the documents down, and hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.
Then he bowed too deeply and nearly fled the room.
The doors shut behind him.
Now, the silence felt a little heavier.
Rebellion meter just ticked up, the king thought dryly. Didn't even need a UI.
He flipped the first report open.
Treasury discrepancies. Common, Nothing dramatic—small numbers, scattered. Exactly the kind of thing that slipped past notice until it suddenly didn't.
The second parchment smelled faintly of smoke.
Border town unrest. There was a minor food riot. Result: Suppressed quickly and handled appropriately.
Too quickly. That was too quick.
He leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the neat handwriting, as if written leisurely while enjoying delicacies.
That wasn't there in my last playthrough.
His lips twitched.
Now that's Interesting, a new thing to look at.
The third report made him sigh.
A noble petition. Polite. Flowery. But in the end, absolutely pointless.
He tossed it aside.
Yep. Still the same idiots, just what I had expected from them.
The doors opened again.
This time, the sound was measured.
The queen entered without ceremony, her footsteps soft against stone. She wore no crown, no finery—only dark fabric and composure.
She stopped three steps away.
"You sent someone to call for me," she said.
"I didn't," he replied.
She arched an eyebrow slightly. "Then why am I here?"
He tapped the stack of parchments.
"Because you knew I'd be reading these."
There was a brief silence between them.
Then she stepped closer, eyes flicking briefly over the reports.
"Something caught your attention," she said.
"Several things," he replied. "But one in particular is interesting."
He slid the border-town report toward her.
She picked it up, reading quickly. Her expression didn't change—but her fingers tightened slightly on the page.
There it is again.
"That town is insignificant," she said. "It has no strategic value."
"In isolation," he agreed. "But patterns matter."
She looked at him now—not as a ruler addressing a recovering king, but as a mind assessing another.
"Say it," she said.
"Food riots don't happen three days after a royal assassination," he said. "They happen when people think authority is weak."
Silence stretched.
A candle nearby flickered, wax dripping slowly down its side.
The queen slowly placed the parchment back on the table.
"You're saying the court hasn't stabilized," she said.
"I'm saying it's pretending to," he replied. "Albeit, Poorly."
Her gaze sharpened. "Then what would you do?"
Ah, he thought. This is the real tutorial prompt.
"Nothing," he said.
She stared at him.
"Nothing?" she repeated.
"For now," he added. "We let it spread."
"That's reckless."
"That's bait."
She folded her arms. "People will suffer."
"They already are," he said. "The difference is whether we see who benefits."
Her jaw tightened.
"Be careful," she warned. "You're not playing with numbers."
"I am not," he replied calmly. "I'm playing with people. Which is why I'm being careful."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then she exhaled, seemingly not wanting to continue the topic.
"You're not ruling as you used to," she said quietly.
He smiled faintly. "Good. That got me stabbed."
A knock interrupted them.
The captain entered, his helmet tucked under one arm.
"Your Majesty," he said. "There's been an incident."
The queen didn't turn.
"What kind?" the king asked.
"A dispute between two guard units," the captain said. "Nothing violent....Yet."
Yet, the king noted.
"Where?" he asked.
"The eastern barracks."
He nodded once.
"Good."
The captain blinked. "Good?"
"Yes, it is good," the king replied. "Means they're choosing sides."
The captain's grip tightened on his helmet.
"And which side are they choosing?" he asked.
The king stood slowly, ignoring the protest of pain in his chest.
"That," he said, "is what we're about to find out."
As they walked, servants pressed themselves against the walls. Conversations died the moment he passed.
Fear followed him like a shadow.
Yep, he thought. Rebellion meter still climbing.
The barracks smelled of steel and sweat. Voices echoed inside—tense, angry and restrained.
The moment he entered, silence snapped into place.
Dozens of soldiers froze mid-movement
Some bowed immediately.
Others hesitated.
He just counted them without thinking.
That's new, he realized. They didn't hesitate last time.
He stopped in the center of the room.
"I hear there's a disagreement," he said.
No one spoke.
He let the silence stretch.
Then a young guard stepped forward, fists clenched.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty," the man said, voice tight, "we don't know who gives the orders anymore."
There it is.
The king nodded slowly.
"That's fair," he said.
The guard looked confused.
"So let me clarify," the king continued. "Until I say otherwise—I do."
The room held its breath, everyone shocked by his stunning declaration of his authority.
He turned to the captain.
"Dismiss the units," he said. "Separately."
The captain hesitated slightly,
But continued to obey his orders as always.
As the soldiers began to file out, the king felt it.
The shift.
That was not loyalty.
But recognition.
First ripple made successfully
Later, alone again, he leaned against the window overlooking the city.
Smoke curled faintly in the distance.
Not much.
Not yet.
"Alright," he muttered. "So that's how bad it is."
The city didn't answer.
But it didn't need to.
Three months, he thought. That's how long this kingdom has before it tears itself apart.
Unless—
He smiled faintly.
Unless the player knew the map.
And this time—
He did.