Page 167 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

Nervous laughter scattered around the chamber.

Across from the podium, Snow sat poised, her expression neutral but her gaze fixed on Rain with quiet intensity.

Azrien gestured to the war map unfurled across the table; dozens of pins marking their southern advance. Rain leaned forward, examining the damage with a tightening jaw.

“As I was saying,” Azrien continued, “while some of us were absent—”

His eyes flickered toward Rain.

“—our armies marched. The southern territories are ours. The South Region has fallen, and from it we will dig our roots deep. Their people will labour until they break, until they bow before me and accept themselves as citizens of our mighty Blue Kingdom.”

A general slammed his fist against the table in approval. The army officers straightened proudly, exchanging satisfied looks.

“Majesty,” one general said eagerly, “with the South Region within our grasp, Carminia will soon follow. Burgundy may be where their king hides, but Carminia has always been their stronghold. We take that, and their nation crumbles.”

Another chimed in, “The Reds are fractured. Now is the time to strike hard and finish them.”

Unease rippled through the councillors. They whispered among themselves, their discomfort palpable. Snow leaned toward them, absorbing their concerns before clearing her throat.

“Majesty,” she said, voice clear and firm, “we are concerned with the troubling reports. Civilians have been packed into holding camps. Families starved. Entire villages stripped of supplies. There are even reports of violations of the worst kind.”

She grimaced toward the generals, her glare sharp and condemning.

“This is unacceptable. This is not how we should be represented. To treat them as prisoners while demanding they accept your reign is preposterous. It will spark rebellion and fuel the Red people’s hatred—”

“Enough.”

Azrien’s palm struck the table with a violent thud. The sound echoed through the hall, silencing her instantly. His next words were delivered with a chilling composure, laced with venom. “Mercy is a weakness, daughter. The red people respond only to violence and threat, they must be broken, only then will they bow their heads into submission.”

The council stilled, stricken. They were not military minds, they were representatives of the people, meant to offer reason. But their voices rarely mattered when they differed from the king’s.

Rain rose from his chair.

His presence sliced through the room like a drawn blade.

“Weakness,” he said, voice cutting cleanly across the silence, “is mistaking cruelty for control.”

Every head turned toward him.

“The Red people are not animals for you to whip into obedience. They are innocents you are starving. Families of young and old. Children forced into hardships they cannot understand. Men forced to defend their neighbours when they should be providing for their loved ones.”

He stepped forward, gaze locked on the king.

“You shackle the people. You bind our fates to endless, meaningless bloodshed without honour.”

A hush fell over the hall.

“Withdraw the troops,” Rain commanded. “Release the prisoners. Before you light a fire none of us can put out. Believe me when I say; the Red people will not bend. It is not in their nature. What you are doing is genocide.”

The officers erupted in outrage.

“You can’t be serious!” one shouted. “First you kidnap the princesses and keep them from us, and now you demand we give them back their land?”

The lieutenant general slapped the table, disbelief twisting his features.

Rain’s gaze snapped to him; sharp as steel, cold as winter.

The room froze.