Alpheo sat in his study, sunlight pouring through the tall windows and pooling over the stacks of parchment and ledgers cluttering the wooden desk. His steward had just handed him the latest inventory report from the royal warehouses, and Alpheo's sharp eyes scanned the document with growing satisfaction.
"Three thousand six hundred bushels of grain," he murmured to himself, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. "Five thousand bushels of oats. Four thousand bushels of barley." He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head and exhaling a pleased sigh.
The numbers were better than he'd expected. His diligent oversight of the kingdom's agriculture—and the crown's relatively lighter taxation policies—apparently did not weighted down on the total by a lot . Now, the coffers of the warehouses brimmed with the sustenance needed to fuel his next plans.