By noon, the complaints had become organized.
That was how KingAldric Vaelor knew things were progressing—though not necessarily nicely.
From his chamber, he could hear raised voices echoing faintly down the marble corridors. Measured. Indignant. Carefully respectful. The sound of men who believed procedure was still on their side.
Good, Aldric thought. They've stopped reacting and started planning.
He rose slowly, adjusting the dark coat draped over his shoulders. His chest protested—dull, persistent pain—but he welcomed it. It grounded him. Made his movements cautious in a way others could see… and misinterpret.
When the doors opened, the council chamber revealed itself in full.
A circular hall of pale stone, built so that no seat appeared dominant.
Aurelion liked pretending power was shared.
The Kingdom of Aurelion — vast in land, rich in harvests, and perpetually divided against itself.
Men who ruled pieces of it sat waiting.
Marquis Tolen, Master of the Treasury — thin, precise, and deeply uncomfortable with uncertainty.
Duke Haveron, Lord of the Eastern March — broad-shouldered, impatient, convinced force solved most problems.
Count Velis, Speaker of the Council — soft-voiced, smooth-faced, and dangerous because he sounded reasonable.
They rose when the king entered.
A heartbeat too late.
Noted, so that was how they saw him.
Aldric Vaelor took his seat without ceremony.
"Your Majesty," Count Velis began, concern arranged carefully across his features, "we are relieved to see your health improving."
"Improving enough," Aldric replied.
The answer unsettled them. He saw it immediately, even if they were trying hard to hide it.
Marquis Tolen cleared his throat and started the conversation.
"We must address the situation in the southern provinces. Grain prices have risen by twelve percent in less than a week."
"I've read the reports," Aldric said calmly.
Duke Haveron leaned forward.
"Merchants are agitated. Escorts are being hired. This instability—"
"—is inconvenient," Aldric finished. "Yes, I know that."
That was not the reaction they had prepared for.
Count Velis exchanged a glance with Tolen before continuing.
"In light of these developments, the council proposes temporary authority to intervene directly in regional logistics. Only until stability is restored."
There it was.
Temporary authority.
In Aurelion, those words had outlived kings, and also the cause and effect of many instabilities.
Aldric let the silence stretch—not as a tactic, but because he was listening.
To breathing.To their body language.
To their expectation, which can all be seen on their faces clearly.
This is the branch point, he thought.
Aloud, he said, "Granted."
The chamber suddenly froze.
Duke Haveron blinked. Marquis Tolen's pen stopped mid-motion.
Count Velis recovered first, and asked cautiously,
"You… agree?"
"For now," Aldric replied.
Tolen frowned. "For how long?"
"You'll manage distribution," Aldric continued evenly. "Stabilize prices. Submit weekly summaries."
"And the crown?" Velis asked carefully.
"I will observe," the king said. ".....Closely."
After him completing his words, relief followed.
Subtle—but unmistakable.
Too subtle.
Tolen allowed himself a small smile.
"A wise decision, Your Majesty. This should reassure the markets."
And reassure you, Aldric thought, that I'm not watching the same things you are.
Out loud, he said, "See that it does."
The meeting ended soon after.
The meeting ended too cleanly. All parties with their own motives left satisfied thinking they were the one with biggest benefits.
As the council members departed, the air shifted—not with danger, but with confidence.
That's your biggest mistake, Aldric thought. You think authority is the goal.
Queen Lysenne Vaelor was waiting for him in the adjoining chamber.
She stood near the tall windows overlooking the inner city, hands clasped behind her back—composed, precise, and quietly unreadable. Not a symbol. Not an ornament.
A constant.
"You gave them authority," she said.
"Yes."
"Over food."
"Yes."
"That will hurt people."
Aldric stepped beside her, gaze following the city below. Stone and smoke. Wealth balanced on habit and denial.
"They were already hurting," he said. "Now we'll see who profits from it."
Lysenne turned then, studying him—not as a queen, but as someone weighing consequences.
"You're letting them tighten the noose."
"No, I'm letting them choose the rope," Aldric corrected.
Her eyes searched his face.
"Are you certain?" she asked.
"No," he said honestly. "I'm prepared."
That answer unsettled her more than confidence ever could.
After a moment, she nodded once.
"I'll make sure their authority is… visible."
"Please do," Aldric replied. "Visibility matters."
That night, the reports returned.
Grain slowed further.
Prices adjusted again.
Council directives multiplied—layered, overlapping, cautious.
And beneath them all, patterns began to surface.
Names repeated.
Signatures clustered.
Approvals flowed through familiar hands.
There was no proof.
At least, not yet.
But pressure still left fingerprints.
Aldric circled one name.
Paused. Then circled another.
His chest ached as he leaned back, eyes closing briefly.
Too early, he thought. Or too confident.
He wasn't sure which worried him more.
He picked up a fresh parchment and wrote a single instruction.
A delay.
Just minor. Justified. Almost invisible in the vast amount of things.
By morning, one shipment would arrive late.
Not enough to alarm.
But is enough to test.
"They think this is control," King Aldric murmured.
Outside, the bells of Aurelion rang the hour—steady, untroubled, unaware.
The envoy would arrive soon.
And by then, he would know whether the board was reacting—
Or watching him back.