The Palace Treasury corridors were never meant to inspire awe.
They were narrow by design, paneled in plain oak rather than marble, lit by steady lamps instead of chandeliers. Sound carried poorly here—intentionally so. Whispers were swallowed. Footsteps muted. It was a place built for counting, not ceremony.
Quills scratched endlessly. Ledgers whispered secrets in neat columns of ink. Clerks moved with the quiet urgency of mice in a granary, each burdened with figures that could topple baronies or crown kings.
At the center of this controlled mundanity sat Auray Frankfort, Chancellor of Gab.
He was tall and gaunt, his spine straight despite his years, long white beard bound neatly at the base with silver thread. He wore white robes edged with ivory stitching, heavy with opal rings that caught lamplight like frozen moons. No sword hung at his hip. No sigils flared at his presence.
Yet more wars had ended at his desk than on any battlefield.
A precise knock broke the rhythm of quills.
Three even taps.
Auray did not look up.
"Enter."
A palace courier slipped inside, pale, sweating despite the cool air. His hands trembled—not from fatigue, but from the weight of what he carried.
"Lord Chancellor," the courier said, bowing deeply. "A sealed, cipher-stamped, priority letter has arrived. Direct."
Auray's pen paused.
That alone was unusual.
"From whom?" he asked.
The courier swallowed. "Baron Logos Laos."
Auray raised his head slowly.
The letter was placed into his hands—black wax seal, crow insignia, edges cut with unnerving mathematical precision. No flourish. No excess. Just intent.
Auray broke the seal.
And read.
Letter of Remittance
To Chancellor Auray Frankfort,
I hereby submit full repayment of outstanding debts held in the name of Laos Barony upon inheritance, totaling:
800,000 Gold Marks
(Eight hundred thousand Gold Marks, in entirety.)
Account documentation and verification are enclosed. Transaction executed under witness, merchant authority, and military guard.
Laos stands solvent.
— Logos Laos, Baron
For a long moment, the Treasury did not breathe.
"He paid it," Auray whispered at last.
The words tasted strange.
"No bargaining," he continued softly. "No postponement. No appeal."
He opened the envelope further.
Inside were merchant seals—Branta Caravans, Pilgrim Trade Roads, Ursa Freight, Red Silks Commission. Neutral bank stamps followed, three of them, all verified. Transfer ledgers. Witness signatures. Guard attestations.
Everything was clean.
Too clean.
The courier exhaled, relief bleeding into his posture. "We confirmed the coin transfer, my lord. It's real. Fully liquid."
Auray leaned back slowly, fingers steepled. "How?"
The courier shook his head. "We don't know. No land deeds were sold. No troop reductions recorded. No noble assets liquidated."
"No loans?" Auray pressed.
"None."
Auray's eyes narrowed. "Does anyone else know about this?"
"We… don't know, my lord."
"Then find out."
The courier froze, then snapped into a bow. "Yes, sir!"
When he was gone, Auray rose and crossed to the ledger wall—a massive iron-bound archive spanning centuries. He pulled the Laos family volume free with practiced ease.
He traced the entries with a thin finger:
211 years ago — First debt inception
182 years — Agricultural shortfall
164 years — Plague relief bond
71 years — Tax failure
Four generations.
Four generations had carried this burden.
Auray smiled faintly. "So," he murmured, "it seems I was not wrong."
He closed the book.
"Let's see how this turns out."
The following evening, in a secured chamber warded against sound and sight, Auray sat opposite Prince Adrean Gab.
Adrean greeted him stiffly. "I hope you are well, Chancellor."
Auray waved the formality aside as he accepted the offered tea. "This old man has plenty of years left, my prince. Try not to look disappointed."
Adrean snorted despite himself.
"Enough about me," Auray continued lightly. "I hear the banquet did not go well for you."
Adrean's jaw tightened, confirming the rumor. "You could say he tried to humiliate me in front of the King and half the court."
Auray's eyes sharpened—not with sympathy, but interest. "Did he?"
"He spoke of the Eastern Marches as if they were an accounting error," Adrean said, leaning forward. "Prestige aside, his ability to muster that much force is… concerning."
Auray hummed. "And was he incorrect?"
Silence fell.
Adrean's grip tightened on his cup. "That is not the point."
"No," Auray agreed gently. "It rarely is."
He sipped his tea. "But I sense something else troubles you."
Adrean exhaled. "The lack of warriors."
Auray nodded. "A rot of comfort. Children raised on luxury, trained for pageantry, not endurance. Vanity in place of vigilance."
"What does Father intend to do?" Adrean asked.
Auray smiled thinly. "Observe. Delay. Prevent the Church from panicking." He paused. "And ensure you do not act rashly."
Adrean scoffed. "You think I'd challenge him openly?"
Auray met his gaze. "He thinks you might try to harm the Baron."
Adrean stiffened. "He can't be trusted. Against someone like Talon, Laos only cares about results. He would backstab us if it suited him."
"You assume betrayal requires malice," Auray replied calmly. "It does not."
Adrean frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Auray said, "Baron Logos Laos will not betray you out of spite, ambition, or ideology."
"That doesn't make it better," Adrean muttered. "How did a sixteen-year-old repay eight hundred thousand gold marks without selling his soul?"
Auray smiled. "He redirected it."
"What?"
"Future production," Auray explained. "Exclusive logistics agreements. He did not pay us with what Laos had—but with what Laos will produce."
Adrean's eyes widened. "That would take confidence bordering on madness."
Auray's gaze turned distant. "Or certainty."
Adrean leaned back slowly. "Let's hope he can supply us when Faros attacks."
"You won't bring him onto the War Council?" Auray asked.
"He lacks martial pedigree," Adrean replied. "The council already chafes at Sous's presence. Logos would shatter it."
Auray chuckled softly. "So you'll let him operate independently."
"Yes," Adrean said. "If he wishes to maul the fools on the council from the shadows, I won't stop him."
Auray raised his cup. "Then pray his calculations remain aligned with the kingdom."
Outside the chamber, bells chimed faintly.
And far from the ledgers and whispers, a black-clad boy was already building something that would make those numbers obsolete.