My husband calls it waste.
While he once inherited a northern realm, his expansion of the empire has been a sight to behold. He took the river valleys first, where trade runs thick and resistance fractures easily when enough money is offered. He broke the hill-lords next, not with force, but with law, binding them by oaths they cannot later deny.
In the West, he put down rebellion in a single, terrible season. The lords there do not rise again.
The eastern plains take longer. They always do. Borders shift, retreat, harden. Fortresses rise where forests once stood. Charles does not chase enemies—he absorbs them, piece by piece, until resistance becomes administration.
He leaves some rulers in place. Dukes. Counts. Men who still believe they govern.
They do not.
Everything bends toward the crown now. Coin. Justice.War. Even faith, when it must.
He does not call it conquest; he calls it unity.
But at what cost?
I stand beside him as this world reshapes itself, as men kneel who once stood equal, as old freedoms become privileges granted at royal discretion. I am his wife, his Queen, and his witness.
And I know this much, even now: The kingdom he is building will not stop at borders.
It will stop only when there is nothing left that refuses him.
Charles is sitting, deep in thought, bent over a map. As if he is playing a game, trying to decide which kingdom to conquer next, always hungry for more.
I scribble down my own notes.
Placitum is a new word I have learned since becoming more involved in the running of this kingdom. It is the assembly of the Duke’s, bishops and nobles in spring, where important political matters are being discussed. I was surprised when Charles had announced that we would be traveling to Passberg for the spring and summer. Now it makes sense. He is planning something and he needs the assembly to happen here, in between the semi-independent dukedoms at the southern border. He wants them to know he is already here, taking up residence, staking a claim to the land, getting comfortable in their home territory.
One by one, the assembly members arrive. They shake hands and exchange pleasantries. They show their independence in small ways: no crowns, no kneeling, no waiting to be spoken to. Their lands lie south of the old rivers, beyond the forests and passes that once protected them from northern kings. They have ruled themselves for generations and theydo not intend on changing the status any time soon.
Charles stands at the head of the table and closes the ledger in front of him with force, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. While the Dukes and nobles take their places at the table, Charles signals for the servants to bring in the wine.
At once, servers appear with bottles upon bottles of the finest wine, beautifully crafted glasses appearing on the table, accompanied by breads and cheese. A show of generosity from the King.
“Welcome, members of the esteemedPlacitum,” Charles finally says, his voice carrying easily across the hall. “You have traveled far, and I would much rather be welcoming you at a feast than keeping you from your hearths. Unfortunately, borders do not wait for better seasons.”
A ripple of quiet laughter moves through the room. Even the stiffest of the southern dukes smiles despite themselves.
“I promise,” he adds, glancing down at the maps laid before him, “that nothing I place on this table today will require you to surrender your titles, your sons, or your gods. If it does, you have my permission to throw me into the river.”
This time, the laughter is real.
I watch the tension loosen, just slightly. Charles has always known how to do this—how to make men forget they are being charmed.
“We are here,” he continues, more warmly now, “because the world around us is changing faster than any of us would like. Old threats return. New ones learn our names. And while I would love to believe that tradition alone will keep our borders safe, I have yet to see a spear impressed by ancestry.”
A few nods. A few murmurs of agreement.
Charles leans lightly against the table, utterly at ease. “Solet us speak plainly, as allies and neighbors. No declarations. No demands. Only what must be done to ensure that all our lands still exist to be argued over next year.”
He smiles then—not sharp, not cruel, but confident.
“This is, after all, a council of dukes. Not a court of prisoners.”
The room settles, and only then does the bartering begin.
* * *
