He pats my shoulder again and crosses in front of me to speak to Captain Petrea, whose soldiers are positioned along the left and right walls. Nobody seems concerned by the hefty military presence, or the not-for-decoration rifles they’re holding. They’ve all become so comfortable in their roles, the poor bastards don’t even see it coming. Troi must be pleased with whatever the captain says because he claps the male on the back and steps up onto the dais to take his seat in the smaller of two golden thrones, facing the crowd.
I clasp my hands in front of me and watch as everyone gets settled in their seats.
A trumpet sounds, scaring the shit out of half the fae in attendance, and a herald announces the queen’s entrance. Queen Diane strolls onto the dais, looking every bit the royal draped in layers of red and gold. She stops in front of her throne, facing the gathered crowd, and holds her hands out in a welcoming gesture. “My Lords and representatives of the Great Houses. Thank you all for coming here on such short notice.”
Not that they had any choice, but the gesture is nice, I guess.
The queen continues, “It was our late king, and my beloved husband, Trajon—
Ah yes, the king who beat her on the regular, and she likely poisoned to make it look like his heart gave out—most beloved.
“—who saw the corruption festering in Ajir and Elterra and fought to free the people of their rulers’ tyranny. And in the twenty years since the Three-Nation War came to an end, we have worked diligently to keep our promises to the people of Solstyr. In allthree provinces—Ajir, Elterra and our very own Feridas—we have created jobs.”
And by created, she means stole from the humans and shifters they killed or ran out of these lands.
“We have developed programs to keep our people fed, and housed and as a result, our provinces are thriving.”
Lie, lie and another lie.
“And in reverence to Father Solis and Mother Nochte, we have supported the Great Houses and the services they provide in the name of the nine children gods. As such, and in keeping with the Treaty of 1870, the management, pricing and distribution of spelled gems has been left to the discretion of the nine Great Houses, and over these twenty years, we have seen an unbridled gluttony in their leadership, resulting in gem hoarding, inflated prices and spelled gems not getting to those fae most in need.”
Here it comes.
“This abuse of power goes against every principle Trajon and I built this nation on. Therefore….” She clasps her hands behind her back and begins to pace like we’re talking about military procedures here and not policy changes—then again, this announcement is practically a declaration of war. “From this point forward, all sales of spelled gems will be under the strict authority of the crown.”
A few murmurs sound but no big clamor as of yet. I suspect it’ll take a moment for all of this to sink in.
The queen continues, “I have set up a committee under the leadership of Prince Troi, whose job will be to set prices and oversee distribution.”
Now the muttering is getting louder, and the queen has to raise her voice to say this last little bit. “Any dom found to be in violation of the committee’s dictates will have all access to sythra cut off, at the committee’s discretion. Each principal magi will be supplied with a booklet outlining the new rules and regulations. Read it carefully. You will be expected to sign it before you leave tomorrow. Any further questions can be directed toward your prince. Thank you and gods bless.”
And with that earth-shattering declaration, she pivots around and exits the room the same way she came, leaving a veritable cyclone in her wake. Chairs squeal and crash to the floor as the fae leadership she just stripped of all their powers leap to their feet, shouting and clamoring for her to return. A book flies from the crowd, followed by some pens, a biscuit, and a half-eaten apple that misses Troi’s head by centimeters. It doesn’t faze the prince in the slightest. If anything, Troi looks downright gleeful. He always got a thrill out of creating chaos, even when we were children. Luckily for him, the soldiers have moved from their positions against the walls to stand in front of the dais, creating a wall of bodies between the rioting masses and the prince.
Troi asks, “Questions?”
“Fuck you,” someone shouts.
“Not a question,” the prince chides. He’s enjoying himself way too much. It’s time to end this debacle.
I catch the captain’s eye and nod. He returns the gesture, pulls his pistol from his belt and fires two shots into the air.
The entire room freezes. “Sit down or get out,” the captain shouts, his voice booming.
Slowly, resignedly, the crowd begins to pick up overturned chairs and settle back into their seats.
“Excellent,” Troi says, once things have settled a bit. “As I was saying, does anyone have any questions?”
Almost every hand in the room goes up. Troi points to a magi in the yellow robes of Dom Nymn, “Principal Magi Anders. Go ahead.”
Anders shoots to his feet and points a finger accusingly at the prince. “You can’t do this. The Great Houses are sovereign entities and—”
The prince raises a hand. “Magi Anders, let me ask you a question, if you don’t mind.” Troi doesn’t wait for a response. “Who supplies your precious gems, hmm?” he asks, brows raised expectantly.
Smarmy bastard.
Anders’ face twists in fury, but he doesn’t respond. He already knows the answer. They all do. The only place in the country sythra can be mined is deep within the Cregeis mountains—blood fae territory—and their agreement is with the crown. Even if the magi could get in to see the blood fae’s king, there’s no way they’d have the funds to steer him away from what is an exceedingly lucrative agreement with the crown.
Troi gives him that condescending smirk, and Anders sinks into his seat in stunned silence. “I see you’re beginning to understand.” He turns his attention back to the other shocked faces in attendance. “Next.”
