Page 23 of Crash Landed with My Weredragon

"One broken ship on Ceylara doesn't constitute a fleet," Khrelan observed from the end of the table.

"One broken ship is a prototype. Their planet has thousands. The alliance gives us access to a civilization that's been building spacecraft longer than we've been tracking the destabilization."

"Access given can be access revoked," Khrelan replied. "What they share today, they can withhold tomorrow."

"And what we refuse today, we bury tomorrow," Goruth shot back. "You can't eat sovereignty, Khrelan."

Verath who was a younger councillor, with green-scales, representing the outer settlement liaisons, spoke for the first time. Her voice was quieter than the others, but it carried the weight of someone speaking for people who weren't in the room.

"The settlements have been at critical food levels for two cycles," Verath said. "My people aren't debating abstractions. They're rationing meals. They're watching their children get thinner. When I go back and tell them that this council debated whether to accept food from people who were offering it freely, they're going to ask me why we spent more time arguing about the gift than feeding our families."

The chamber was quiet for a moment. Verath's words had the power of lived experience. She wasn't theorizing about hunger, she was reporting it.

The debate went back and forth for another thirty minutes. Voices rising and falling, positions hardening and occasionally cracking. There was a fissure of doubt in a councillor's certainty, a concession wrapped in a qualification. Toren listened to all of it and kept his mouth shut.

The discipline was costing him. Every argument against the alliance had a counter he could make. Every fear had data that addressed it. He'd spent three weeks with these humans. He'd watched Marina organize a rescue operation, present data to a king, and fall asleep over a research console at three a.m. because the science mattered more than sleep. He knew things about their species that no councillor in this room could know, because he'd lived alongside them rather than theorizing about them.

But the prince who inserted himself into the council's debate uninvited was the prince who confirmed Khrelan's accusation; that emotion was driving strategy. So, he sat at his father's right hand and kept his mouth shut, and it was the hardest thing he'd done since landing on Ceylara.

* * *

Khrelan made his move an hour in.

He stood. In a seated council, standing was a formal gesture. It was a demand for attention that signaled what followed was not casual opinion but formal declaration. Every head turned.

"I've spent three weeks with the humans," Khrelan said. His voice was controlled; each word placed with precision. "I've observed their behavior, their technology, their social patterns. I've fought beside them against the Drogs. I've flown their personnel to this Colony. I am not speaking from ignorance."

The room was his and every councillor was listening. Even Goruth, who disagreed with everything Khrelan stood for, recognized the authority of someone who'd actually been there.

"The humans are not our enemies. I want to be clear about that. They are resourceful, courageous, and their lead scientist is genuinely brilliant. The alliance she proposes would provide real benefits to Dobromia." He paused. The pause was theatrical and effective; the silence before the blade. "But the alliance is being driven by emotion, not strategy. The prince's attachment to the human scientist is visible to anyone who cares to look. The decisions that brought us to this moment; the unauthorized contact, the truce, the invitation to the Colony , were made by a man whose judgment is compromised by personal feelings."

The words landed in the chamber like stones dropped from height. Toren felt each one. Not because they were unfair; that would have been easier to bear. Because they were partly true, and partial truth was the most dangerous kind.

"I propose a formal assessment period," Khrelan continued. "Sixty days, supervised by the council, with specific benchmarks for the humans to meet. Food exchange viability, scientific collaboration results, a formal diplomatic framework reviewed and approved by this body. If the humans meet the benchmarks, we proceed. If they don't, they leave." He looked directly at Toren for the first time. "And the prince recuses himself from the negotiations, to ensure that the evaluation is conducted on merit rather than feeling."

Several councillors nodded. Draeth looked thoughtful. She was not convinced, but considering it. Goruth looked frustrated, his brown scales darkening with the stress response of someone watching a good argument being undermined by a better one. Boradrith's expression was stone.

"My son will speak," the D'Karr said.

Toren stood. He looked at Khrelan across the full length of the obsidian table and felt two things simultaneously; respect for the man's skill and determination to dismantle his argument.

"Khrelan is right about one thing," Toren said. "I do have personal feelings for Marina Livingstone. I won't insult this council by denying it."

The honesty created a ripple. Toren could see it move around the table; surprise, discomfort, a grudging respect from Draeth and visible satisfaction from Khrelan. Nobody had expected the prince to admit it. That was the point. The admission took Khrelan's blade and turned it; not deflecting it, but accepting the cut and showing that the wound didn't change the argument.

"But Khrelan is wrong about the conclusion he draws from that fact. My feelings didn't create the food crisis. They didn't destabilize the twin suns. They didn't produce the agricultural data, the atmospheric models, or the supply chain projections that Marina presented to this council. Those are facts. They exist independently of how I feel about the woman who presented them."

He paused. He'd learned this from Marina; the value of letting an argument settle before adding weight to it. The council needed a moment to separate the personal admission from the political argument. He gave them the moment.

"Sixty days is too long. The collapse timeline doesn't give us the luxury of caution that extensive. Our own scientists; Dr. Melessra, who has served this Colony's research program for fifteen years, identified two new atmospheric variables last night by collaborating with a human scientist for four hours. Four hours of cooperation produced results that fifteen years of isolation couldn't achieve. That's not emotion talking. That's data."

He looked at Khrelan. "I support a formal assessment. Khrelan's benchmarks are reasonable and I endorse them. But I propose thirty days, not sixty, with full council oversight. And I don't recuse myself. The person who knows these humans best; who's lived beside them, fought beside them, studied them for years before he ever met them, is the person best qualified to evaluate whether the alliance serves Dobromia."

The chamber absorbed his argument. Toren could see it working through the room. The councillors were recalculating and adjusting positions. Some were nodding reluctantly; others were holding firm. Draeth was watching him with an expression he couldn't read. Goruth was nodding openly. Verath had her hands flat on the table; the same gesture Boradrith used when processing something important.

Khrelan stood at the far end of the table, arms at his sides, his expression controlled. He didn't rebut. The absence of rebuttal was itself a concession. Khrelan always rebutted when he believed he was right. The silence meant he was calculating rather than arguing, which meant Toren's words had landed somewhere that mattered.

Boradrith looked between his son and Khrelan. The D'Karr's amber eyes held the calculation of a king who'd been navigating politics longer than either of them had been alive and who was weighing the arguments not for their logic but for their utility.