The royal study was quiet that morning, save for the faint ticking of the longcase clock nestled beside the bookcase. Prince Lancelot stood by the window, arms behind his back, watching the smoke trails of chimneys spiral into the clear sky. Below, the capital stirred—merchants rolled carts through muddy streets, scribes posted new decrees, and guards stood watch over the plazas. But Lancelot's eyes were fixed far beyond the city's borders.
He had won the political gamble. The coalition was shattered, the Church silenced, and order restored. But now came the true battle—reshaping the realm into a modern nation. That meant steel, power, machines, and above all, minds sharp enough to build them.
He turned to Alicia, who stood waiting by the desk, notes and ink ready.
"I need names," he said.
"Names, Your Highness?" she asked.
