Chapter 28 : When the prime Minister Speaks.
The Prime Minister now commanded the hall.
The air itself seemed to tilt in his favor as he began to set his design in motion—a reward shaped like death for Rynvaris.
“Dravemund is a great city of the Orimvess Empire,” the Prime Minister began, his voice smooth and unhurried—the kind of calm that compelled attention rather than demanded it. “Its walls guard our western trade arteries. Its ports sustain three provinces. And yet… its lord has met an unacceptable end.”
“And his heir,” he continued, folding his hands neatly within his sleeves, “is far too young to shoulder the burdens of governance.”
The court remained silent. No one missed the phrasing.
Unacceptable death.
“I therefore propose,” he said, raising his gaze to the throne at last, “that the title of City Lord of Dravemund be granted to Princess Rynvaris.”
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was impact.
Even those seated on the Queen’s side stiffened. A few exchanged careful glances. The proposal had not been discussed beforehand. That alone made it dangerous.
On the throne, Queen Calista did not move.
But her fingers stopped against the armrest.
“Prime Minister,” she said at last, her voice controlled—unyielding, absolute. “Such a reward cannot be granted to her.”
She chose the word deliberately.
“She is still a child. Dravemund is no ceremonial estate—it commands fleets, treasury, and men who bow only to strength. How, then, is she to bear such a burden?”
The Prime Minister inclined his head slightly — not submission, but acknowledgment.
“Heavy crowns strengthen the neck, Your Majesty.”
A few nobles shifted uncomfortably.
Rynvaris lowered her gaze, her posture carefully arranged into something obedient—almost fragile.
Heh…
Is he on my side?
Why would the Prime Minister offer me authority… power?
The title of City Lord?
A quiet thrill brushed the edge of her thoughts.
He may come to regret this later.
And yet—
Why does this reward feel like danger?
“Your Majesty,” the Prime Minister continued, his tone patient—persuasive without ever seeming to press, “Princess Rynvaris has displayed an uncommon clarity for one of her years. Her judgment during the recent court examination was… precise.”
He did not praise her openly.
He positioned her.
“She has also commenced formal sword training under Princess Sylvaris’s supervision. Her rate of growth has already surpassed expectation.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“There are other princes and princesses far more seasoned in matters of governance,” she replied coolly. “Why, then, has the Eleventh Princess suddenly become the Empire’s most suitable administrator?”
A faint smile touched the Prime Minister’s lips.
Because that is the question you truly wish to ask.
“Because,” he said softly—and this time his voice carried farther than before—“she has stepped into the Taboo of the First King.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The words did not echo.
They fell—
And shattered.
So nothing about Rynvaris had escaped the Prime Minister’s sight.
Several nobles drew in sharp breaths. One councilor nearly dropped the scroll in his hands.
The Taboo.
A sealed chamber hidden beyond the ancestral forest.
The Queen’s expression did not change.
But the air did.
“That,” she said slowly, her gaze steady and unblinking, “is a serious claim.”
“It is not a claim,” the Prime Minister replied evenly. “It is fact.”
Murmurs spread — contained, but alive.
No one had known.
Not even most of the royal faction.
What is happening?
Sylvaris said it was a secret—one no one must ever know.
Yet the Prime Minister knows.
Does he have spies inside the First Princess’s villa?
Or was this merely deduction?
If it was only guesswork… then he is far more dangerous than I imagined.
Because no one would ever believe that a princess deemed weak—useless—had been acknowledged by the Taboo.
Rynvaris kept her head lowered.
But her thoughts sharpened.
The Prime Minister turned slightly, addressing the hall rather than the throne.
“Dravemund requires authority strong enough to subdue its factions. Send an ordinary noble, and the city will test him. Send a royal child, and it will mock her.”
He paused.
“But sending a princess acknowledged by the First King’s Taboo—”
His eyes gleamed, faint and calculating.
“—is the most suitable course.”
The Queen’s gaze rested on Rynvaris.
Long. Measuring.
“You would entrust a volatile provincial stronghold,” she asked coolly, “to a girl who possesses neither experience nor proven authority?”
The Prime Minister did not flinch.
“Your Majesty,” he said calmly, “cities do not fall for lack of experience alone. They fall when rulers grow complacent… and when hidden gems are left buried instead of given the chance to shine.”
A subtle statement.
But close enough to be remembered.
“Princess Rynvaris,” he said softly, each word deliberate, “is that hidden gem.”
Silence tightened again.
Rynvaris kept her expression gentle. Slightly confused. Almost hesitant.
Inside, her thoughts turned cold.
What is happening?
The Queen is resisting him at every turn… yet each objection only seems to strengthen his position.
What is wrong with this city?
And why is Her Majesty so determined not to let me have it?
Or perhaps closer to one carefully prepared.
The Prime Minister bowed his head once more.
“Dravemund is unstable. Its factions are divided. Its treasury is… irregular.”
There it is.
Something is wrong with that city.
“But instability,” he continued smoothly, “is also opportunity. If the Princess succeeds, the Empire gains a loyal stronghold shaped by her own hand.”
A faint pause followed.
“And if she fails…”
He did not finish the sentence.
He did not need to.
The Queen understood the rest.
Failure would solve many complications quietly.
Calista leaned back against the throne.
The court waited.
After a long moment, she spoke.
“This matter will not be decided in haste.”
Her tone brought the immediate debate to an abrupt end.
“We will deliberate.”
The Prime Minister inclined his head once more, perfectly composed.
“As Your Majesty commands.”
Rynvaris lowered her gaze.
-------
“Ray…” Sylvaris whispered softly, her voice barely audible beneath the hush of the hall. “Why do you keep walking into danger… again and again?”
“Prime Minister,” the Queen said, her voice steady and unyielding, “before I consider this proposal, do you possess any proof that Princess Rynvaris entered the Taboo of the First King?”
The question was not loud.
But it pressed.
The Prime Minister inclined his head slightly.
“Proof, Your Majesty?”
He let the word linger—measured, deliberate.
“The court has already witnessed her transformation over the past five days. Her physical recovery. The steadiness of her blade. The precision of her reactions during the evaluation.”
He turned just enough for his gaze to settle upon Sylvaris.
“And the First Princess herself can attest that Princess Rynvaris mastered the Flowing Moon Sword in a mere two months.”
A ripple moved through the nobles.
"Two months."
Elara Nightshade’s blade was not something one “learned.”
Is that how he deduced it? Rynvaris thought.
It was endurance.
Sylvaris straightened.
The court’s attention shifted to her at once.
When she spoke, her voice was clear. Formal. Unshaken.
And she did not lie—because she knew the Prime Minister far too well.
“Your Majesty,” she said evenly, “it is true.”
The hall grew heavier.
The Queen’s fingers tapped once against the armrest of the throne.
Slow. Measured.
Are the nobles moving already?
Are they attempting to remove her… before she grows to stand beside Sylvaris?
“Prime Minister,” the Queen said, her tone smooth and composed, “the First Princess, Sylvaris, has also entered the Taboo.”
Her eyes did not leave him.
“If entry into that Taboo is your measure of qualification,” she continued evenly, “then why not appoint her instead?”
A dangerous question.
The Prime Minister did not hesitate.
“Because, Your Majesty,” he replied calmly, “Princess Sylvaris is the Empire’s declared successor.”
It was a statement of fact.
Not flattery.
“She trains under Elara Nightshade—the strongest swordsman of this era.”
A murmur of agreement moved through the hall.
“She already commands a portion of the imperial knights.”
Subtle emphasis.
“Her presence in the capital stabilizes the military.”
He paused, then continued, voice softer.
“To relocate her would create imbalance.”
The meaning was clear.
Removing Sylvaris weakens the throne.
Removing Rynvaris… does not.
The Queen’s expression remained flawless.
I only assigned her limited military authority so she could defend herself.
Not to make her irreplaceable.
Not to let it be used as leverage against me.
Politics is not about strength.
It is about positioning.
“Furthermore,” the Prime Minister continued evenly, “Dravemund does not require overwhelming force.”
His eyes flicked — briefly — toward Rynvaris.
“It requires intelligence.”
A deliberate contrast.
Not the strongest blade.
The sharpest mind.
It was an insult delivered without appearing to wound.
By implication, the First Princess was strength without subtlety.
And the Eleventh Princess—
Weak, perhaps.
But useful.
“Princess Rynvaris has no established faction within the capital. She maintains no entrenched alliances.”
His tone remained gentle.
The implication was precise.
“She can therefore act without inherited bias.”
Meaning—
She possesses no power base with which to threaten anyone.
Rynvaris felt her thoughts sharpen.
So this is the narrative you are constructing.
A neutral royal.
A useful exile.
The Queen leaned slightly forward.
“And if Dravemund consumes her?”
The hall fell silent once more.
The Prime Minister met the Queen’s gaze without the slightest hesitation.
“Then the Empire will have tested its future… without endangering its heir.”
The words were delivered so calmly they almost sounded merciful.
Across the chamber, Draven lowered his eyes, concealing the curve of his smile.
Efficient.
Sylvaris remained upright, but her jaw tightened slightly.
The Queen exhaled slowly.
“So,” she said, her voice steady as still water, “you propose sending a princess without divine protection, without factional support, and without military reinforcement… to govern a destabilized border city.”
The Prime Minister inclined his head in a measured bow.
“I suggest, Your Majesty,” he repeated with quiet certainty, “that we grant her the opportunity to prove whether destiny truly requires divine favor.”
The Queen found no opening left from which to counter him.
Every objection had already been turned, reshaped, and returned to her hands.
She had little choice but to accept.
The Princess had taken her first step forward—
And that step would now lead her to Dravemund.
To a city divided.
To a city waiting.
To a city where she was meant to die.
