The Queen's voice rang clear through the marble chamber.
"We shall first deal with the matter of food shortage—and the rising prices of goods."
Silence held for a breath. Then, she asked with the gentleness of a serpent, "What do you suggest?"
Lord Masquien, ever swift, stood and gave a respectful bow.
"If I may, Your Grace," he said, "the merchants of the realm have hoarded great stores of food, waiting to profit from these... challenging times. If we were to lower their taxes or offer trade incentives—"
He threw a glance at Venara.
"—they might be... incentivized to release their stockpiles at more reasonable prices."
Venara didn't bother hiding her disdain. Of course. Masquien always made his policies in favor of the circle he belonged to—rich merchants, powerful friends, and lords fattened by trade.
She interrupted, calm but firm. "Lowering taxes on the merchant elite would deal a blow to the treasury, my lord. We're already operating under a deficit. That would worsen it."
Lord Eleazar added his voice, measured and cool. "Offering land or privileges might tempt merchants to act. But it solves little in the long run—if it solves anything at all. Such a move teaches them that, in times of crisis, delay and hoarding earns them reward. It gives them leverage over the crown."
Lord Talen snorted. "Unnecessary complexity," he said. "Why not just give an order? Force the merchants to release their stores, cap the prices. My men—" he looked to Faron "—and the inner city guards can enforce it. The law, Your Grace, is your sword."
Masquien leaned forward. "That would be outrageous, Your Grace. The merchants are driven by profit. Take that away, and they'll stop moving goods altogether. It's their hunger for gain that fuels our economy. Without trade, this kingdom falls."
Talen was ready to answer, but the Queen raised her hand.
"I appreciate your offers, my lords."
She paused, contemplative, then looked to Masquien.
"I believe we must intervene directly—though for a short while. Lord Masquien, your connections stretch far and wide, do they not?"
Masquien bowed slightly. "A negligible talent and humble experience, Your Grace. Yours to command."
"Good," said the Queen. "Choose no more than ten merchants. I want them young, ambitious, and unrenowned. Not the top. Not the known."
That made Masquien blink. His discomfort was thinly veiled.
"Provide them with government stockpiles—grains and goods. More than half of what we have."
Masquien stiffened. "Your Grace, might I suggest… entrusting these reserves to experienced lords I know personally. Honorable men. This—"
Venara almost laughed. He tried so hard, always. He could dress a bribe in silk and make it seem like wisdom.
But the Queen did not flinch.
"I understand your concern. But this is not about distributing favors. It's about breaking monopoly. These new merchants will flood the market. Their stock will seem to come from nowhere. It will spook the old guard. They'll wait, hoping to squeeze more—but half our stores are enough to sustain this long enough for fear to set in. When it does, they'll release what they've hoarded."
Venara saw it clearly — the Queen had cornered Masquien with the elegance of a serpent coiling around a slow prey. By placing him at the helm of this market-breaking scheme, Selene was not granting him power, but cutting him from it. He would be the face of a threat to the old merchant houses — his own allies, drinking companions, backroom co-conspirators in price-fixing and hidden stockpiles. Now he would be the one flooding their tables, undercutting their hoards, and triggering the very panic he once profited from.
In obeying the Queen, he would burn his bridges. In resisting, he would defy her. Either way, the Queen stripped him of his grip on the guild without raising a sword. It was not punishment. It was surgery — bloodless, precise, and final.
And in doing so, she left Masquien with fewer loyalties, fewer options. She was narrowing the path behind him, ensuring that when all others abandoned him, there would be only one direction left to kneel — back to her.
After all, no one should become a bigger name than Ruler of the Realm. Something to always keep in mind.
Venara saw through this deliberate scheme, smart and elegant. And so did Masquien.
He frowned. "Competition? Forgive me, Your Grace... but how would that work?"
She leaned forward slightly.
"We make it look like there's plenty. People see bread on the street again. Not cheap, no—but cheaper than the prices now. And when the Guild sees their prices undercut, they panic. They can't afford to lose market control. So they follow suit."
"They may retaliate," she added, eyes gleaming. "If they do—assassinations, sabotage—let them. Put two or three of them to the sword. Publicly. A clear message."
Her eyes landed on Eleazar.
"I'm sure," she said softly, "you already have proof of their... past misdeeds."
Eleazar inclined his head. "As always, Your Grace."
"Good. And lower border tariffs. Ease travel from abroad—Virelia, especially. Lord Faron, ensure our guards protect traders and caravans. Lord Bloom will aid in building more caravanserais."
Masquien tried again. "Your Grace... Wouldn't this put coin in foreign hands?"
Before the Queen could answer, Bloom shrugged.
"Well, where are our homeland merchants now? In their villas? Stockpiling food while children starve? Selling salt at the price of silver? If foreigners can do better—why not?"
Masquien said nothing. His jaw clenched as sweat glistened on his brow.
"This is only the beginning," the Queen said. "A mid-term fix. It buys us time. But the deeper problem must be solved before that time runs out."
She turned to Masquien and Eleazar.
"Our fields are plagued. Insects and rot. Use mages sparingly—they're few and crystals are rare. But research, cures, prevention—that's your task now. Convince the lords to invest. Their own revenues depend on it."
They nodded.
Then she faced Talen.
"You'll have a role too."
He straightened, eager.
"The price of medical herbs has soared. Their habitats are unnatural and hard to reach. Take experts from Goldmere and House Tenebor in your next campaigns. The North and South hold many rare herbs."
Talen bowed slightly, the glimmer in his eye dimmed. But orders were orders.
Venara watched silently. The Queen played a long game, as always. Many called her ruthless. Some called her illegitimate. The King, sick for fifteen years, was all but forgotten. Some whispered he was poisoned. Others said he'd been dead for a decade.
Venara did not care. The Queen ruled—and ruled well.
But... the Colosseum, Caelvir. No. She shook the thought. Focus.
"We've addressed food and goods," the Queen said, voice still sharp. "Now... Lord Bloom."
"My Queen?"
"Continue assisting your fellow keepers. And begin building ten thousand more homes in Velray."
Bloom blinked. "But... there are already a thousand homes unused. The poor cannot afford them, and the nobles aren't interested."
He paused, more serious now. "Constructing ten thousand more? We'd need more skilled hands, more workers—perhaps slaves. And we'd strip the land of trees and stone."
The Queen smiled. "They may be empty now. But build them anyway. A long-term plan. It needn't be finished next year."
"But—"
"There are forests in the northeast. Plunder them."
Eleazar spoke carefully. "The northeast holds Elvish tribes. Sacred forests. If we cut them down, we may provoke wrath... not just theirs. The land itself may turn on us."
Faron waved a hand. "Superstition. Nature is a tool. Meant for our convenience."
Eleazar's voice sharpened. "A tool, yes. But a tool must be used wisely. Timely. Rightly."
Silence fell.
The Queen turned to Marnes.
"And now, the Colosseum."
She tapped the arm of her throne. "Two enter. One leaves. That law has cost us hundreds of thousands of lives. A reason for our shortage of men."
Marnes flinched. "But Your Grace, the crowds call for blood. It's why they come. You've already introduced reforms—team fights, mercy rules in higher tiers."
"The reforms start from above," she said. "The Dust remains unchanged. If every fight ends in a corpse, how can we hope to replenish our ranks?"
"Reform the lower tiers," she commanded. "Reduce deaths. Be creative."
Marnes nodded, though his face betrayed reluctance.
She turned to Venara. "How much does the Colosseum contribute to our treasury?"
Venara replied, "Roughly one-tenth of our income. When considering indirect expenditures—food, construction, labor—it adds significantly to the costs."
The Queen looked between her and Marnes.
"Cap gambling. Let it scale with wealth and background."
The chamber tensed. That was new.
"But Your Grace—" Marnes began.
"Yes," said the Queen. "Restrict the poor. If they can't afford to lose, they shouldn't gamble. It's not just about revenue. It's about sustainability."
Marnes still frowned. "But implementing such a system—verifying income, tracking background—"
Faron chuckled. "We already have the data. Thanks to years of reforms. Lord Eleazar?"
Eleazar nodded.
"Then let it be done," said the Queen. Her smile turned sly. "And raise the tax rate on gambling."
Marnes sighed. "Won't that discourage it?"
"No," she said simply. "Gambling is addiction. The tax is invisible. And if it deters the poor, so be it. That's a public service."
Venara acknowledged the order. "As you command."
The Queen turned to Talen.
"For gladiators—we need bodies. Half-giants, Ishans. Take them alive when possible."
Talen nodded.
Then to Faron: "Put bounties on criminals. Funnel the captured into the pits."
"How many prisoners do we already have?" she asked.
"Too few," Faron replied. "Many are slated for execution. Nobles demand it."
"Show restraint," she said. "Tell them the Queen has offered mercy. Let those sentenced to die fight instead."
She turned to Eleazar. "Let the priests speak of mercy. Of redemption."
Eleazar smiled. "A wise move."
And then to Bloom once more: "Upgrade the lower arenas. Sewage, shelter, safety. Even the damned deserve dignity."
Just as the Queen leaned back, Masquien spoke again.
"Why not pay peasants to fight?"
Marnes responded, "We already pay higher-tier fighters. The Dust holds hundreds of thousands. Too costly to pay them. And no one will risk their life for a copper in filth."
"Let them enter the Iron arenas," Masquien offered. "They can come and go."
"Too weak. Too untrained," Marnes said flatly. "The crowd won't watch weaklings in Iron. It defeats the point."
Masquien sighed.
"We didn't have these problems when slavery was... more common."
The chamber stiffened.
Lord Talen's voice dropped, harsh and final.
"Slavery is not the issue. Enslaving our people is. That is illegal. But criminals, rebels, outsiders? Fair game."