The nobles shuffled in, their ornate robes rustling against the polished floor of the council chamber, where murmurs filled the air. The stained-glass windows cast colorful patterns on the room with the morning sun, but the atmosphere was anything but cheerful.
I sat at the head of the table, my hands folded in front of me, awaiting their entrance. Their faces ranged from interested to outright skeptical. None of them knew a thing about why I called the meeting, and I could see the unease building up in their eyes.
Good. Let them squirm.
"Your Majesty," one of the nobles began as he settled into his chair. Lord Marwin, a portly man with a receding hairline and a penchant for stating the obvious. "This is most unusual. A council meeting without prior notice? Surely there's no crisis that requires such haste."
"No crisis," I said, my voice calm but firm. "But there is a matter that requires immediate attention. The western district."
The murmurs grew louder, a ripple of discomfort passing through the room.
"The western district?" another noble asked, his tone laced with disdain. Lord Halvern, thin and wiry, with a face that always seemed on the verge of sneering. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, the western district has been in decline for decades. It's hardly a priority."
"It is now," I said, fixing him with a steady gaze. "The housing conditions there are unacceptable. Families are packed into crumbling buildings. Disease is rampant. If we don't act, we'll be facing riots—or worse."
Halvern scoffed. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, the treasury cannot support such. altruistic endeavors. The funds simply aren't there."
I leaned forward, letting the silence stretch for a moment before replying. "The funds are there. I've reviewed the treasury reports personally."
That shut him up.
The room fell silent as I reached into the stack of papers in front of me, pulling out a detailed sketch of my proposed housing reforms. I spread it across the table, revealing a series of plans for new buildings, improved sanitation, and better infrastructure.
"This is what I'm proposing," I said, gesturing to the plans. "We'll start with the western district. New housing, proper sewage systems, and road repairs. Once that's stabilized, we'll expand to other areas in need."
The nobles stared at the plans, their expressions ranging from shock to incredulity.
"Your Majesty," Marwin began hesitantly, "this. this is ambitious. But the cost—"
"Will be covered by reallocating funds from the royal coffers," I said. "Specifically, the excess spending on court luxuries and unnecessary military procurement."
Several nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats. I didn't miss the flicker of indignation in Halvern's eyes.
"You mean to take funds from the nobility?" he asked, his voice low and tight.
I met his gaze without flinching. "I mean to use the kingdom's resources for the benefit of its people. If that requires adjustments to the way we spend, so be it."
The tension in the room was palpable. For a moment, I thought Halvern might argue further, but he clenched his jaw and fell silent.
"Does anyone else have objections?" I asked, my tone leaving little room for debate.
No one spoke.
"Good," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Then the western district reforms will proceed immediately. I expect full cooperation from this council."
As the meeting adjourned, the nobles filed out one by one, their expressions carefully guarded. Only a few lingered, their curiosity piqued by the plans I'd laid out.
Lady Ceryna was among them, her emerald gown shimmering in the sunlight as she approached me. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice soft but sharp. "A bold move. But not everyone will take kindly to their luxuries being trimmed."
"I'm counting on it," I said, glancing up at her.
She smiled faintly, her eyes gleaming with something I couldn't quite place—approval, perhaps, or amusement. "If you need allies, you know where to find me."
With that, she swept out of the chamber, leaving me alone with the pile of plans and the weight of what I'd just set in motion.
Later that afternoon, I found myself in the western district, surrounded by a handful of guards. The streets were as thronged and disorganized as I had led myself to expect—kids darting between crumbling structures, merchants shouting over themselves in a desperate competition to be heard, and a stench of unwashed bodies hanging heavy in the air.
The people stared as I passed, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Kings didn't come here. Not unless they had an army at their back.
But I wasn't here to posture or intimidate. I was here to listen.
I stopped by a small group of workers repairing a broken cart, their tools worn and rusted.
"Your Majesty," one of them stammered, bowing hastily. "We. we weren't expecting—"
"I'm not here for formalities," I said, cutting him off gently. "Tell me—what do you need most?"
The man hesitated, glancing at his companions before replying. "Housing, sire. The roofs leak, the walls crumble. half the buildings here aren't fit to live in."
"And the tools?" I asked, nodding toward the battered hammer in his hand.
He grimaced. "Barely hold together, sire. We make do, but it's not enough."
I nodded, a plan already forming in my head.
That evening, back at the castle, I called for the head of the builders' guild. Orders were issued by nightfall, funds allocated and the first steps of this transformation set in motion upon the western district.
I knew it would take some time—months, maybe even years—but I could already see this future taking shape.
Let's see if we can build something worth fighting for, I muttered to myself, looking away to the next set of plans.