Chapter 17: The Game Begins

High Council Chamber, Trade Assembly

The Council Chamber was not built for warmth. Vaulted ceilings and stone arches lent the place a cold, echoing formality, as if the very walls judged each word spoken.

Elira entered in silence, her steps deliberate. She wore no crown—only a deep blue gown embroidered with silver threads that shimmered under the lantern light. Not flashy. Not timid. Measured.

The council rose as she approached. Kaelion wasn't here—not physically, at least. But his shadow loomed over every bowed head.

"Crown Princess Elira," Chancellor Durnan greeted. His tone was neutral, but his eyes were full of expectation. "We welcome your insight on trade matters today."

"I thank the council," Elira replied. "I come not as a ruler, but as someone who understands what poverty does to people when power forgets them."

A few nobles shifted in their seats. Others watched with interest.

"I've reviewed the prior year's trade records. The tariffs placed on border towns have strangled local economies and forced farmers into debt. Meanwhile, the aristocracy profits from waivers handed out to favored houses."

Baron Therel—still bitter from their last encounter—scoffed. "You speak of mercy, but business requires discipline. Weak trade regions will drain the empire."

Elira didn't flinch. "Weak trade regions are already part of the empire. You don't discard a limb because it's wounded—you heal it."

Lady Saelinne chimed in, voice as sweet as spiced wine. "And yet, healing costs. Shall we pour our coffers into compassion, Crown Princess?"

Elira smiled—gently, dangerously. "You seem worried we'll run out of gold. But perhaps the real concern is your family losing its grip on the spice routes."

Saelinne's fan snapped shut with a quiet clack.

Chancellor Durnan cleared his throat. "Princess Elira's observations will be recorded. We'll reconvene next week to discuss implementation."

"Will the Crown Prince attend?" someone asked.

Elira's smile didn't falter. "He trusts me to speak in his place."

And just like that, silence settled. No one dared argue.

Later That Afternoon, Council Archives

Elira traced her fingers along the dusty ledgers in the archives, pages heavy with half-truths. Her thoughts raced—she had planted seeds, but now came the real battle.

"You made waves."

She turned.