The noon bell rang, and Martha's servants carried in silver trays heavy with roasted fowl, spiced meats, sugared fruits, and fresh bread glistening with butter. The long table groaned with delicacies meant for a prince.
I swallowed. The scent of roasted meat, honeyed bread, and simmering stew made my stomach clench. I could feast like a king today… I thought. A single bite, and no one would know… yet they would see me gorging while they starve. A single bite, and I could lose everything.
Their eyes met mine—hungry, wary, resentful even—and the thought of indulging in luxury turned my stomach. Not now. Not yet.
I set down the knife. "Martha."
She bowed. "Yes, my lord?"
"What do the villagers eat today?"
"Barley gruel, boiled turnips… perhaps beans, if they have any left."
I pushed the trays away. There it is. The choice between my comfort and their loyalty. "Then I will eat as they do. Strip this table of its waste. No more of these feasts. Prepare for me what the common folk eat. Nothing more."
Martha flinched. "But, my lord… a prince must keep his strength—"
"Strength lies not in buttered venison," I said sharply, "but in the trust of those I rule. If they see me feast while they starve, they will rise against me. France burned because its kings ignored bread and equality. I will not repeat that mistake here."
Her lips pressed thin, but she bowed. "Then I will make their humble dishes taste the finest I can, using the recipes of our own land."
"That is enough," I said softly.
Moments later, the plain barley stew and hard bread arrived. I motioned for the servants forward. They hesitated, then knelt, murmuring thanks. Their smiles, timid but real, warmed me more than any golden platter could. Perhaps in time, once this town grows, I will return to those feasts. But today… today, survival comes first.
I raised the bowl. "Hear me well—in my land, no soul shall go hungry."
The words seemed to root themselves in their hearts. I swallowed a piece of bread, coarse and flavorless, but somehow satisfying. Sacrifice now. Reward later. This is the cost of leadership. France rose in flames because kings ignored hunger. I will not give my people that excuse.
Later that afternoon, I walked with Garreth and Oswin toward the town circle. Two men hammered a stout wooden frame upright, the smell of sawdust sharp in the air.
Garreth frowned. "What is this contraption?"
"An employment board," I said. "All tasks, orders, and news will be posted here. Everyone will know their duty."
Oswin raised a brow. "An unusual idea, my lord."
I smiled faintly. Unusual, perhaps, but necessary. And once the town grows, perhaps I will reward them… and myself.
By evening, the circle brimmed with townsfolk—miners with soot-stained hands, farmers weary from the fields, women clutching children close. Lanterns flickered above their heads.
I climbed the old fountain steps. "People of orshek!"
The murmurs hushed.
"You have toiled through winters that starved your children, wars that stole your sons, and rulers who looked away. No more. Under my rule, none shall hunger, none shall flee, none shall bow in humiliation."
Faces lifted, skeptical but desperate.
"Yes, the road ahead is harsh," I continued. "Our stores hold but two—perhaps three—months of grain. Hunger waits beyond that. But I will buy and distribute food, enough for every soul."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"In return, every able hand shall work. The smith, the farmer, the hunter, the mason. Wages may be small—coin is scarce—but bread shall be yours. And security. Safety. No hoarding. No deceit."
I scanned their faces. I could order feasts now… my own table heavy with meat… but it would undo all this. Patience, Leonard. Survival first, indulgence later. Remember France. Kings feasted while the people starved—they fell. I will not.
The square roared, uncertain but hopeful.
After the crowd dispersed, Garreth drew close, his eyes narrow. "You spoke as though every word had been carved days ago. Yet none of us advised you. How did you devise such plans?"
I met his gaze calmly. "Survival does not wait for council. I saw what must be done."
He bowed, unease lingering in his gaze. They will test me soon… patience, Leonard. Keep your desires in check. Feast when the town thrives. Until then… bread, not wine. France's lessons are alive in my mind.
Night draped the castle. I summoned Natalia and Elias to the granary, where sacks of barley and rye waited.
Natalia tilted her head. "Why bring us here?"
"Because these seeds must not fail. Winter will claim them unless they grow stronger. You can make them so."
Elias stiffened. "That is witchcraft."
Natalia hesitated. "Dangerous magic…"
I stepped closer, voice low. "Not in daylight. The villagers would never eat grain born in a moment. You will bless the seeds in secret—make them hardy, fast, able to survive cold , even yield two or four shoots from one stalk. Not sorcery, but survival. Trust me, your secret is safe. With your power, and Elias's watchful eyes, we protect them all."
Natalia raised her hands, faint light tracing through the grain. Elias muttered a prayer but remained silent.
When finished, I rested a hand on Natalia's shoulder. "You've given them more than bread. You've given them tomorrow."
I glanced at the sacks of seed, and for a fleeting moment, I imagined the future—tables heavy with lavish food once the town thrived. Soon… patience, Leonard. Feast will come. But never again will hunger rule, as it did in France.
I shall act as an imperialist until I secure the survival of my people. Only then… then perhaps we can speak of