The air in the chamber had grown heavier, not with heat, but with weight—of words, of numbers, of decisions.
Discussions had moved on. Lord Dearan had taken the floor for a time, discussing matters of mines and exploration, the delving into old dwarven paths, and reports from the rockbreakers and ore appraisers. The Queen listened, leaning into every sentence. She asked few questions—only the right ones.
Then came the matters of the High Cathedral.
Lord Eleazar, ever steady in voice, had presented updates from the Faith. New sermons. Shifts in clergy. Hidden whispers. And then seamlessly, he transitioned into the status of the Academy's scholars and the Kingdom's archives. Research, theory, astral readings.
Quiet nods and soft sounds of agreement passed through the chamber. All was orderly.
The Queen emphasized the interdependence of ministries—the need for correlated branches to operate closely, solving issues not in isolation, but in union.
There was no debate.
Only acceptance.
The numbers followed. Reports. Estimates. Words like "preliminary" and "subject to revision" echoed off the marble walls. Nothing final. All matters left to the upcoming Small Council—where bureaucracy would devour the details like a sea of parchment and ink.
The Queen was about to rise. Her fingers shifted along the edge of the table, the sign that all present knew well.
But then—
Lord Bloom, ever unpredictable, tilted in his seat with a grin and said in his casual, irreverent tone:
"My Queen, dear lords. Productive, this meeting was."
Clap Clap
A few heads turned. A few blinked. She had not yet dismissed them.
Bloom continued without pause.
"However," he said, stretching the word out with mock gravity, "I feel we're not making full use of our resources."
He twirled a finger in the air, vaguely.
"I know the magical crystals are limited. Hard to mine, cursed to refine, and all that. But don't we have an abundance of talented people?"
He let the sentence hang. Then, looking toward one of the empty seats:
"I guess having no Minister of Magic leaves an affect…"
It was like a stone thrown into still water.
Faces itched. Twisted. Eyes flinched, then steadied.
He had said it. The topic which must not be mentioned.
And yet.
He had.
The Queen smiled. Then chuckled, light as silk. "We have a Ministry of Magic," she replied. "Ruled by me, in absence of the King—and my husband, may the Gods restore his health—with the help and wisdom of Lord Eleazar."
Then, coolly, as if swatting a fly with her words: "And also to remind you—"
But Bloom interjected, with that grin again.
Interrupting the Queen? That took some guts.
"But your grace... hasn't Lord Eleazar been... too busy nowadays?" he asked with mock concern. "He should be tired, no?"
A slight chuckle.
"Being in charge of governing faith... and, well…" He gestured vaguely with both hands, "disappearing people from light into shadows."
A beat.
"Of course, I praise thee, Lord Eleazar. The kingdom's security and stability comes through your hard work. Not to forget Lord Faron, Lord Talen, and all the rest of the honorable lords and nobles... anyways..."
He waved it off like dust.
"That, along with keeping knowledge and research in check, is a tedious work."
He turned, looking now at the other lords and ministers.
"I'm sure the work can be distributed, right?"
Silence.
He smiled wider. "I'm sure everyone here agrees, Your Grace."
Venara thought to herself then—Bloom, the reckless one. A crude man. Unrefined, careless with tone and posture. He was rarely taken seriously.
And yet…
Sometimes, he said things others didn't dare say aloud.
She thought of the pillars.
Religion and faith—one pillar of a kingdom.
Intelligence, security, the shadows—another.
Magic—power that warped reality itself, for better or worse.
The Crown—sovereignty embodied.
And the rest? Grain, roads, military, colosseum, natural resources, trade? A single pillar in comparison.
Selene, the Queen, held a strict monopoly on the first four.
And Lord Eleazar? He bore the weight of three.
Silence.
Then more.
The Queen's voice broke the stillness, unhurried.
"Lord Bloom. As I had earlier mentioned, you noble lords may have an abundance of mages and talented people at hand. But to solve issues in large scales… it's not enough to purely rely on magic."
She leaned back slightly.
"At long last, magic only goes as far as one's will. Limited by flesh. And numbers."
Bloom smiled again. "Surely that is the case, my Queen."
His eyes returned to the empty seat.
"I guess the past Magi didn't realize Her Majesty the Queen's wisdom and insight."
Another silence.
"However," Bloom added lightly, "it also didn't help when many magically and elementally mastered men came out to be rebels."
A pause.
"It was worse when they were put to death. A purge, a waste... I guess their will only went on so far..."
He shook his head gently, theatrically. "If not for that, we would not have some of today's issues, my Queen."
The Queen's smile remained, untouched by the thorns in his voice.
"Why is it," she asked softly, "that now, all of a sudden, the matters of a far and buried past linger in your thoughts, Lord Bloom?"
There was no malice in her tone. Only curiosity. That delicate, precise curiosity that could slice cleaner than any blade.
"Do you doubt the decisions crafted through long and meticulous deliberation in this very council?" Her eyes shimmered, still smiling. "Do you question the majority who stood in agreement?"
She adjusted in her seat—barely. "You are but one voice among many, Lord Bloom. And while all voices here hold value, it is not your voice alone that steers the Kingdom's future. The prosperity and welfare of the realm—and of its people—must be prioritized above... well, personal grievances and distant ghosts."
A silence stretched. Bloom's eyes narrowed, then flickered with amusement.
He dipped his head, his grin widening. "Indeed, my Queen. Who am I, after all, to dictate my opinions, or impose my will?"
The way he said it drew a second layer of meaning—thinly veiled, but not hidden. A jest, a jab. An acknowledgment, perhaps, that Her Majesty was rarely seen issuing commands. Only suggestions. Consensus. Council-driven resolutions—yet somehow always in line with her original intent.
He raised a hand, quick. "Of course, I'm not doubting your judgment, by any means, Your Grace. Traitors only deserve the worst of punishments."
Then he looked toward the other empty seats.
"Someone should report the news to the Adventurer Guild," he mused. "Lots of quests will be delivered to them soon. Sad the head of the guild is not present."
His eyes flicked back to Eleazar, playful, unblinking.
"I wonder… should he be afraid too?"
Now he looked at them both. The Queen. Eleazar. And again, the empty seat.
"Your Grace. Lord Eleazar. Should we be worried too?"
He let the question hang.
"I don't like to lose my shadow in light of a candle," he said finally. "I like to spend my time at dens, brothels, gamble, toast for fun."
A grin.
"Would be a shame… if suddenly this seat became empty."
A beat.
"Good materials, by the way," he added. "We've been talking for hours, but my butt feels no pain!"
The Queen smiled.
Lord Eleazar chuckled, low and brief.
"You needn't be worried, Lord Bloom," the Queen said, voice soft as ever. "A man of such commitment. Loyal and helpful to the kingdom. The builder of homes and houses for the masses, of mansions and castles for the nobles. The one who erects our barracks and walls, strengthening the bones of our defense... Surely such a man has nothing to fear."
"Of course, Your Grace," Bloom replied, bowing his head slightly. "We all have nothing to fear. Right?"
He turned his head slightly—slowly—scanning the chamber with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
"Such honorable lords here. Loyal to the crown. No corruption in sight. I envy you all."
A pause.
Then, a glance toward the throne. A subtle tilt of the chin.
"May your life be eternal," Bloom said. "And your reign be... everlasting... my Queen."
Silence descended.
The air thickened, stilled—every breath a silent prayer not to be noticed.
A battle of stares unfolded between Lord Bloom and the Queen. No weapons drawn. No words spoken. But every soul in the chamber felt it, down to the marrow.
The Queen's gaze—quiet, smiling, serene—was more lethal than any sword. More final than any sentence.
And Lord Bloom... held it. Smiling.
No one dared to move. But they all sweated—inwardly, in the silence of their minds.
Then finally, Selene rose.
"The meeting is over, my lords. You may take your leave."
She paused, eyes resting briefly on Bloom.
"And Lord Bloom," she added, her tone unreadable—half jest, half decree. "The kingdom needs your... services, and is thankful for them. May your seat remain... long-lasting."
A beat of silence. A few glances exchanged. But Bloom simply grinned wider, bowing low with theatrical flourish.
"Your Grace."
He was the first to leave the chamber.
The rest followed.
Venara moved quickly, catching Vermon by the wrist, pulling him gently but firmly out the door.
But behind her, a voice rang out.
"Not you."
The words were not meant for her.
They were for Eleazar.
He halted. Turned.
And stayed.
As the others departed, Queen Selene dismissed even her personal guards with a flick of her fingers.
Venara stepped forward, leading Vermon away from the chamber, but her thoughts remained behind.
What matter could possibly require Lord Eleazar's presence alone? A private audience, without guards. Without witnesses. A secret meeting between two of the most influential figures in the kingdom.
Whatever it was, it was cloaked in mystery.
It had to be about the most important of secrets, so much that the Queen could only discuss them with one man.