The Dirrium nobility act 8: The banquet
The Banquet of Hollow Victories
The Great Hall of the Dirrium Palace was a spectacle of calculated irony. Banners of the Kutomia family hung high, freshly laundered and vibrant, yet the air felt like a funeral. The scent of roasted meats and expensive wine couldn't mask the cold, metallic tang of the Deep-Iron Golems standing behind every chair like silent executioners.
At the head of the table sat Prince Kaelen. He wore his crown, but it felt like a lead weight. His hands, hidden beneath the table, were still raw from the Golem's grip. To his left sat Viscountess Mishima, her eyes fixed on her plate, and to his right, the former Merchant Lords of the Gilded Syndicate—now dressed in simple, drab wool, their finery confiscated.
Leornars sat at the center of the long table, leaning back with a glass of vintage red. He looked like the only man in the room who was actually breathing.
"A toast," Leornars announced, his voice carrying effortlessly. He didn't stand; he didn't need to. "To the New Dirrium. A nation finally free from the 'instability' of choice."
The Theater of Compliance
Kaelen raised his glass, his movements jerky. "To... the prosperity of the people," he managed to choke out.
"Exactly," Leornars nodded. "And speaking of prosperity, Lord Maerone, how are the salt mines? I hear the mineral density there is quite... educational for a man of your financial background."
Maerone, his face gaunt and his hands blistered, didn't look up. "The work is... fair, Lord Administrator. We are paying our debts."
"Good. Balance is everything." Leornars turned his gaze back to Kaelen. "Prince, I have prepared the first 'State Decree' for your signature tonight. It officially reorganizes the Dirrium Royal Guard into the Avangard Peacekeepers. They will no longer report to you, of course. That would be a conflict of interest for a 'True King' focused on his people's spirit."
"You've taken everything," Kaelen whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "The money, the army, the docks. What is left?"
"The image," Leornars replied, taking a slow sip of wine. "The people need to see a Kutomia on the throne so they don't riot. You are the face of the transition. You provide the illusion of continuity, while I provide the reality of progress."
Leornars waved a hand, and a shimmering projection appeared above the table for all to see. It wasn't a map of the kingdom, but a structural diagram of the new power hierarchy.
"As you can see," Leornars explained as if he were teaching a primary school class, "the Prince remains at the peak of the civilian pyramid. But the civilian pyramid is encased within the Administrative Shell. Every coin minted, every law passed, and every calorie consumed passes through the Auditor's filter. You aren't being erased, Kaelen. You're being... optimized."
Stacian stood behind Leornars, her silver hair reflecting the candlelight. She placed a stack of papers in front of each guest.
"These are your new 'Operational Guidelines'," Stacian said. "Viscountess, you will oversee the textile quotas. Merchant Lords, you will manage the logistics of the salt and iron distribution. If any of you fail to meet your targets by even a fraction of a percent..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. The Golem behind Lord Maerone shifted its weight, the floorboards groaning under its obsidian feet.
"Eat, everyone," Leornars encouraged, gestured toward the feast. "The food is excellent. It was grown in the new communal farms we've established on the Duke's former hunting grounds."
The guests began to eat, the sound of silver cutlery against porcelain echoing like a slow-motion collapse. They ate the food of their own conquered lands, served by the man who had stolen it using nothing but their own greed against them.
Leornars leaned over to Kaelen, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "Don't look so grim, Prince. You wanted to be a legend. And you will be. In a hundred years, the history books will say that Prince Kaelen was the one who ushered Dirrium into an age of perfect order. They'll leave out the parts about the Golems and the debt. They'll just remember the peace."
Kaelen looked at the silver pen sitting next to his plate. He picked it up.
"The audit of the Old World," Leornars whispered, "is finally, officially, closed."
Leornars stood up and walked toward the exit, Stacian trailing a step behind. He didn't look back at the "winners" of the banquet. He was already looking toward the horizon, where the next kingdom waited to be balanced.