Damon was halfway through reviewing Lord Gareth's updated ledgers when the door to the royal study cracked open—no knock, no herald, just a breeze of fresh air and the unmistakable voice of Kaelith as she strolled in.
"Goodness, I can smell the boredom from the hall." Kaelith said, stepping fully into the study, her riding cloak trailing behind her like a streak of green flame. She looked like she'd just stepped off the saddle, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing.
"I've come to collect you," she announced. "As promised. Eastvale square, remember? You said you'd take me to the marchant by the fountain. You swore, Damon. And a King swears only when he means it."
Damon finally looked up, lifting a brow. "I did?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Kaelith said with exaggeration. She then pouted. "If I don't get my violet ink, I shall wither and die."
Ethan murmured, "Tragic."
"I heard that," Kaelith said over her shoulder, but her smile curled like she was mildly entertained.
Damon stood and moved behind his desk, scanning the next agenda. "I wish I could go, Kaelith. Truly. But I have Corrin coming in less than an hour to discuss treasury reallocations."
Kaelith groaned. "That's so tedious."
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Can't you send Gareth instead?" Kaelith suggested.
Lord Gareth lifted his head and said calmly, "I would rather wrestle a lion blindfolded."
"Delightful," she muttered, folding her arms.
Damon considered her, then gestured to Leon. "Take Leon. He'll escort you."
But Kaelith's smile faltered. Her gaze shifted—quick, assessing—toward Leon, and something flickered across her face. Not quite disdain. But irritation.
"No," she said plainly. "I don't want Leon."
The room froze.
Ethan glanced at Gareth. Gareth blinked once, then looked down at his papers like they had suddenly become more interesting.
Leon's face didn't change, but his gaze sharpened subtly.
Damon was taken aback. "You don't want… Leon?"
Kaelith turned her attention back to Damon. "He's not in the mood, clearly. I'll manage on my own."
Leon said nothing. Just kept his arms folded, his expression unreadable.
Damon looked between the two of them. The tension was subtle, but present—like a string pulled too tight.
Damon's brows knit. "You two usually get along. What's going on?"
"Nothing," they said at the same time. Kaelith's tone was too bright, and Leon's too quiet.
Ethan cleared his throat and busied himself with a quill. Gareth turned the page of his notes unnecessarily loudly.
Damon eyed both of them. "I trust Leon. If I can't go, he goes."
Kaelith exhaled sharply. "Fine," she said, spinning on her heel. "Whatever."
The door shut a little louder than necessary.
Damon then turned to Leon. "Did you offend her?"
Leon didn't flinch. "Not that I'm aware of."
Ethan, biting his lip, looked like he wanted to laugh but wasn't suicidal enough to try.
Damon eyed him suspiciously. "Is there something I should know?"
Leon busied himself straightening the stack of parchments on the table.
"Leon?" Damon asked.
Leon cleared his throat. "All is well, Your Majesty."
Damon raised a brow. "Are you sure? Because Kaelith looked like she'd rather ride through a blightstorm than be near you."
"She always looks like that," Leon replied coolly. "I assumed it was her default expression."
Ethan choked slightly. Damon narrowed his eyes at both of them.
"Leon, I'm going to ask you again. Is there anything I should know?"
Leon paused, then said with great formality, "No, sire."
Damon stared at him. "Is that so?"
Leon nodded once, perfectly composed.
Ethan coughed, slightly amused.
"You want to join her on that ride instead?" Damon asked Ethan.
Ethan straightened immediately. "No, no—I have a terrible allergy to Kaelith's sarcasm."
Gareth, who had been quietly flipping through the treasury ledgers, looked up with a dry expression. "As amusing as this is, perhaps we can hold off on Kaelith's dramatics until after we determine why the eastern roads are bleeding coin."
Before Damon could reply, the guards outside knocked once and a steward stepped in.
"My lords," the steward announced, bowing deeply, "Lord Vael Corrin has arrived."
Damon went to his seat, his face schooling into something more regal. "Let him in."
The double doors creaked open once more, and in strode Lord Vael Corrin like a man arriving to collect taxes from the gods themselves.
He was dressed in fine dark green velvet with gold clasps shaped like little coin purses, his cloak lined with sable, his steps clipped and theatrical. A signet ring twinkled on his finger. His smile was sharp, too confident, and entirely too pleased with itself.
"Your Majesty," he said with a bow more dramatic than respectful, "forgive my tardiness. I was detained by a most horrifying discovery — someone in the lower treasury left a lantern burning far too close to the new ledger sheets."
Damon raised a brow, "And you ran late to save the paper?"
"Naturally," Corrin replied, placing a hand to his chest. "Do you know how expensive parchment is these days? I nearly wept."
"You weep for parchment," Ethan muttered. "But not when half the court freezes waiting on winter allowances."
Corrin tsked, strolling into the room like he owned half of it. "Firewood is expensive. People should layer their clothes. That's what cloaks are for."
Damon smirked, already regretting inviting Corrin in. "Sit, Vael. You're not here to deliver clothing advice."
"Tragically," Corrin sighed as he sank into the offered seat. "Though I would be excellent at it."
Gareth cleared his throat pointedly. "We were just reviewing the irregular reports from Braemorin and the missing eastern ledgers. I'm sure you've brought your usual… explanations."
Corrin held up a finger, reached into his satchel, and pulled out a stack of perfectly arranged parchment tied in gold ribbon. "Behold. The treasury's official response, balanced, notarized, and triple-sealed."
Leon narrowed his eyes. "You triple-sealed forged reports before."
Corrin clutched the papers in mock offense. "How dare you. That was a misunderstanding."
"That was a lie," Ethan corrected.
"A creative truth."
Damon sighed, rubbing his brow. "Corrin."
"Yes, yes," Corrin said, straightening and offering the bundle to Gareth. "I reviewed the discrepancies. A few coin chests were delayed, and the Braemorin route was redirected due to the Duskwood people. Everything's accounted for. Though I must ask—" He turned to Damon with a knowing glint in his eye, "—why must you insist on transparency? Do you know how hard it is to be secretive under your reign?"
"Good," Damon said dryly.
Corrin said. "Gods, I miss the days of vague numbers and vague Kings."
Leon said. "Well, you have neither now."
"It's a lament." Corrin waved a hand. "Back in the old days—well, not your days, obviously—one could sneak a coin chest or two into a side fund without anyone noticing."
Ethan snorted from where he sat. "You just admitted to theft."
"Hypothetical theft," Corrin said quickly, then turned back to Damon with a glint in his eye. "But not under you, Your Majesty. No, you've made it absolutely impossible to move a single coin without someone ringing a bell."
Damon finally looked up, "I wouldn't have it any other way"
Corrin clucked his tongue. "It's exhausting. I weep for the art of subtle mischief. But," he leaned forward slightly, voice lowering with mock gravity, "you're a very rich King. Gold flows in this castle like spring wine."
"That's because I don't let you hoard it like a dragon," Damon replied.
Corrin tilted his head in appreciation. "A compliment. I shall take it."
Damon reached for another set of scrolls. "What you'll do is finish the treasury reports. I want the Braemorin correction and the eastern border funds cleared by week's end."
Corrin made a face. "Week's end? Can't we pretend numbers are flexible?"
"No, we can't." Damon said.
Corrin sighed dramatically. "Of course, Your Majesty." He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves.
He made his way to the door, but just before leaving, he turned back, finger raised.
"You may not like my frugality, but someday you'll thank me when this kingdom still has coin to its name after a siege or a wedding or... gods forbid, a festival."
Ethan muttered, "Still convinced you'd charge people for rainwater if you could."
Corrin only grinned. "If I could bottle it, I would."
Damon waved him off. "You are dismissed."
"Your Majesty." Corrin gave an elaborate bow, then disappeared through the door, whistling some merry tune that sounded suspiciously like a market jingle.
Gareth watched the door close behind him. "You know he's probably going to find a way to charge the scribes for ink refills next."
Damon replied, "Let him try. Then I'll double their budget out of spite."
Ethan said. "You are a rich king, after all."
Damon only smirked, already reaching for the next scroll.