The unified council was a theory. The reality was a torrent of logistical nightmares. Integrating two populations—each with their own customs, hierarchies, and traumas—was like trying to merge two rivers. Disputes over housing assignments, work details, and the fair distribution of rations landed on Rex's desk, a growing pile of parchment that felt heavier than stone.
He spent the day as a mediator, a quartermaster, and a foreman, his voice growing hoarse from giving orders and settling arguments. The grand vision of a nation was being bogged down in the mud of mundane reality.
That night, he retreated to the Lord's solar, the weight of the crown he had never asked for pressing down on him. He stared at the ledger, the numbers blurring. He was a strategist, a warrior, a builder. He was not a bureaucrat.
The door opened without a knock. Elara entered, carrying a tray with a bowl of stew and a mug of bitter herbal tea. She took one look at his hunched shoulders and the untouched ledgers and set the tray down.
"You cannot carry it all," she said, her voice not chiding, but factual.
"I have to," he replied, the fatigue evident in his voice. "If I don't, it falls apart."
"No," she corrected gently. "You have to lead. Not do." She picked up the housing ledger. "Madame Dubois ran a library. She can manage this. Monsieur Dubois was an accountant. These supply tallies are his domain, not yours. You are trying to be the brain, the heart, and the hands of Avalon. You will break."
Her words were a key turning in a locked door. He had been so focused on control, on being the sole architect, that he had failed to fully delegate.
As if on cue, Kaelen entered, her boots dusty from the forge. She saw the scene and crossed her arms. "You look like you tried to stop a charging bull with your face. What's wrong?"
"The king is drowning in paperwork," Elara said, a faint smile touching her lips.
Kaelen snorted. "Then stop swimming in it. Delegate. That's what you have a council for. And if people complain, they can answer to me." She said it with such blunt, unshakable confidence that Rex felt a knot in his chest loosen.
A moment later, a small, quiet presence appeared at the door. Liana. She held a single sheet of parchment. She walked to the table and placed it in front of Rex.
It was a beautifully rendered organizational chart. At the top was his name. Below, branching out like a tree, were the heads of each department: Jean for Construction, Kaelen for the Forge and Defense, Elara for Medicine and Welfare, Monsieur Dubois for Logistics, Madame Dubois for Records, Marius for Security and Scouting, Henrik for Engineering. Below them were the names of their key assistants.
It was a visual representation of the kingdom's structure. His kingdom. She had given him the blueprint not for a wall, but for a government.
He looked from the chart to the three women standing before him. The Healer, who tended his spirit. The Warrior, who defended his will. The Chronicler, who gave his vision form.
He wasn't alone. The crown was heavy, but he did not have to wear it by himself.
"Tomorrow," Rex said, his voice finding its strength again, "we restructure. You're right. I've been a foreman, not a king."
He had built the walls, forged the weapons, and won the battles. Now, with their help, he would learn to rule.