Rhosyn had been called both a bitch and a loyalist in the same night, yet she was sure that everyone whispered both under their breath when she wasn't near. So, improvement. But at least the conversations with dukes were done, though nothing was ever easy when it came to going up the rung.
Climbing the stair dais, Rhosyn curtsied, Edrien jumping the steps two at a time to stand next to her.
"Your Majesty," she greeted, straightening.
"What is it that you two want this time?" King Alestan fixed his hard dark eyes on them.
Edrien shrunk slightly, where Rhosyn stood taller, chin up.
"Crown Prince Edrien has a brilliant proposition, Your Majesty," she announced.
Alestan's eyes slid to Edrien. "Then why does he not speak it himself?"
He was always like this, prickly and sour. Rhosyn wasn't sure if the man just despised her or if he just had no regard for women at all. Edrien glanced at her and she gave him an encouraging nod.
He swallowed and stepped forward. "We can reform the taxation—" the king's brow twitched, Edrien stuttered.
Rhosyn interceded. "The realm is forced to raise taxes every year, Your Majesty, to fill empty coffers and because every year we gather less and less," she began, Alestan's eyes taking her in with new regard. "Edrien has initialised duchy-wide charters that will maintain taxation on its populace, import and export tax that'll be managed at low rates."
"I don't see how this would fill my coffers..." Alestan glared at the two of them, but it washed off Rhosyn.
Clearly the king couldn't see the beauty of it. He lacked vision, and without her guidance Edrien would've missed it too.
"Well, Your Majesty, if you lower taxes overall and maintain reliable prices, people will become more productive and have more to sell which would result in more money for you."
He remained quiet a moment too long and she wondered if she should continue explaining, he didn't seem to understand. That, or he loved to wear a scowl when lords and ladies asked anything from him.
She could see he couldn't fully comprehend why lowering tax would make more money and she resisted rolling her eyes.
"If you lower tax, people would spend more, make more, breed more, build more—it's just basic growth, Your Majesty," Rhosyn clarified. "Lords will still be paying you taxes, but at the beginning it might take time for fruition to show. If taxes were marginalised a little, the kingdom will prosper and profit margins will rise."
"And what do I do in the meantime?" he finally bit—perfect.
"Well, Your Majesty, I have a substantial dowry, but I can't touch any of it as it's for my future husband," she started, Edrien blinking at her questioningly. "If my guardian would be so gracious as to allow me to access a small amount, I could donate it to the crown to ensure the realm is stable while we're becoming accustomed to the new charter."
Alestan hummed—a good sign, he only hummed when he's interested.
"Fine, give me a write up of this charter and see if the other dukes are on board—I won't force dukes to adopt something they don't wish to." Alestan waved his hand as if he was never intrigued by it.
Together, Rhosyn and Edrien bowed and retreated back down the stairs, mutual silence between them until their feet met the marble floor. His hand glossed her waist and his mouth dipped close to her ear.
"I can't believe that actually worked," he whispered with all the excitement of victory hot on his tongue.
"Thanks for having faith," Rhosyn bantered, a light laugh escaping her throat and a humoured roll of the eyes.
"Right," Edrien led them toward the garden exit, slipping a bottle of wine from a chiller with a grin and a completely different plan to what Rhosyn was used to creating. "Celebrate time."
The night air already had a chill in it and Rhosyn wondered if winter would start before they were ready. A shiver rang through her and she couldn't stop involuntarily shaking. Then a jacket was being set around her arms, chasing away the cold and she looked up at Edrien now standing in just a shirt and waistcoat.
"I forgot you don't like the cold," Edrien said, almost awkwardly, "...or the gardens."
"It's not that I don't like the gardens..." But she couldn't complete the sentence, because she didn't know how to.
It had been so long since her eighth birthday, so much had changed, but there were whispers of doubt and pain that vibrated on those lonely memories. Edrien watched her trying to figure out what thoughts she was lost on and what ones he shouldn't bring back up. They walked in the quiet for a few painful beats.
"Your birthday is coming soon," Edrien took a hopeful stab. "I'll make it up to this year, I promise, Rhos." And he sounded sincere.
"Thank you, Ed, but you don't have to," she assured, hugging his coat closer to fight off the early winter chill.
"So..." Edrien kicked at the floor before taking a long swig from the bottle. "The big 21st birthday..."
Rhosyn knew what he was implying. When an unattached lady turns twenty-one, they are fast-tracked to be married. A duty that was taken up by the king—and whoever was close enough to give helpful advice. They weren't allowed to marry the lady down, but once the king made a decision, there was no changing her destination.
By the end of winter, she'd be betrothed and soon after that, married. But she still couldn't imagine it—her future, or her future husband.
"I hated when you turned fourteen," Edrien complained, pulling Rhosyn from a thought she didn't know she was lost in and thankful to Edrien for dragging her out. "Uncle Halvar stopped you from playing ball with me."
"You're only upset because you used to kick it into the trees and were too scared to climb them—so I had to," Rhosyn swung her hip into him, sending him off balance and spilling most of the bottle down himself.
They laughed despite it all.
"He said you needed to look presentable to potential suitors..." He gave her an oddly serious look. "I wonder who he had in mind," he continued, staring out at the stars and finding only two bright enough to be seen. "Imagine if he stayed alive until you were sixteen—just two more years—you'd be married by now."
The words crawled over her arms uncomfortably. Rhosyn couldn't imagine a life where she wasn't here standing next to the Crown Prince.
"Sorry," he said apologetically, reading the discomfort on her face. "Don't worry, nothing will change even after you're married."
Strangely, those words didn't ease her completely.
"Is there anyone you had in mind, maybe I can convince father—"
"I don't know Ed," she cut him short, his words just stoked more questions inside her head and she couldn't think straight. "I've not planned this far and I haven't even looked at anyone eligible."
Edrien offered the bottle and Rhosyn stared at it for a heartbeat before accepting it and taking a large gulp. The bubbles hit the top of her mouth and her head spun before she'd even swallowed it down. But at least her mind stopped screaming.
"I'm eligible," Edrien appealed, his childish pleading eyes and mocking smirk.
She shook her head in humour, handing back his bottle and smiled despite herself.
"I don't want to be used to appease some lord's desires for gold or land," she explained, ignoring his joking comment—it did its job, it cheered her up. "I want someone who'd be smart enough to let me run my own region in any sort of way."
Rhosyn sighed, her mind drifting on another mood and not being able to grasp any of her thoughts, worries, concerns. It was unusually pleasant, though she knew she'd regret it.
"You should announce your engagement on your birthday, make it public before you're forced to marry someone you don't like," Edrien suggested, and it didn't sound terrible.
"Force the king's hand through public pressure...?' Rhosyn elaborated.
It sounded all and well, but she needed someone to propose marriage to—and she felt strangely unconventional.