Ruling a continent, Kaia was quickly discovering, consisted mostly of glaring at older men until they stopped talking.
She sat on the Queen's throne in the Great Hall, her spine perfectly straight against the gilded oak. She wore a day dress of impenetrable, dark charcoal wool—a subtle, visual alignment with the absent King's preferred colors.
It had been four days since Aeron rode east. The capital was a powder keg of anxiety. The Emperor was rallying his loyalists in the Eastern Marches, Valerius's Southern Alchemists were reportedly rigging the continent, and the High Council was restless.
"Your Majesty," Lord Hastings drawled, stepping forward from the semi-circle of aristocrats. He was a nervous man, but Aeron's absence had emboldened him. "We merely suggest that funneling the entire spring tax revenue to the Vanguard's supply lines leaves the capital's treasury dangerously depleted. Should the Eastern Rebellion march on us..."
