Droha sat at the end of the round table.
The chamber was built for mornings like this.
High windows admitted pale winter light that spilled across foreign carpets woven in distant kingdoms—deep blues from the coastlands of Fountain Bay, gold-threaded reds from Taal. Tall stone pillars framed the room, each carved with the history of White Haven: victories, treaties, harvest festivals, and wars best forgotten. Braziers burned low along the walls, filling the air with cedar smoke. Maps lay pinned beneath glass upon a central sideboard. Shelves of bound records lined the far wall, each volume carrying the weight of years. This was where the country was decided.
Around him sat his advisers—the High Counselors, the excellencies of White Haven.
Lord Takoda, Grand Commander and General of the Dalmeer, stood to Droha's right. Fair-skinned, deep blue-eyed, broad shouldered beneath heavy armor, his black hair was drawn into a wolf-tail style down his back. His beard, streaked with white, was trimmed with military precision. He carried himself like a fortress given flesh.
Beside him sat Lord Handau, Minister of Works. Lean, rigid, dressed in the red-and-gold imagery of House Tamura. Hellebores were embroidered along his sleeves and high collar. His short black hair was perfumed and styled, his face clean-shaven, his dark eyes sharp enough to unsettle lesser men.
Next was Lord Ko, Minister of the Masses. Age had rounded him, softened his features, but not his mind. His receding hairline and salt-and-pepper hair framed a face often warmed by a gentle smile. His heavy surcoat bore the sigil of the Boar, bright and proud across wide sleeves.
The table before them before them stood massive and round, continous and unbroken, each seat identical in height and spacing, books, cups and papers scattered on the table. Above it hangs a circular iron chandelier mirroring the table below. Lord Takoda cleared his throat and unfolded a letter. He read aloud.
"Reports from the North Pass. Several settlements along the boundary have been raided by unknown men. Commoners attacked. Supplies taken. Livestock scattered."
Droha folded his hands.
"Unknown men?" he asked. "They cannot be identified?"
"They wield no banners, my Lord," Takoda replied. "No sigils. No house markings. They move quickly and leave little behind. By all accounts, they are simple pillagers."
Droha lifted his gaze.
"But they come through the North Pass. South of the Dreywoods."
Takoda nodded. Before he could continue, Lord Ko spoke, his tone respectful.
"My Lord, are you assuming they must be of the Northern tribes?"
"Yes," Droha said simply. He did not wait for an answer. "What of the soldiers on watch?"
Takoda drew in a breath.
"The nearest watch lies far from those settlements. Beyond effective response. The commoners chose to settle outside the guarded zones."
Lord Handau gave a small, dismissive tilt of his head. "They should have known better."
Lord Ko sighed. "The land there is rich," he said. "Good for crops. Good for grazers. I can understand why they chose be reside. Hunger persuades more firmly than law."
Takoda's voice hardened. "The land is still within our boundaries. Trespass is an act of war."
Droha leaned back slightly. "A war we cannot afford," he said. "You all remember how the last one ended."
Silence followed. Even the braziers seemed to burn quieter. Droha straightened.
"Mount another watch near the settlements," he said. "Arm them. Swords and archers."
Takoda reached for his quill. Lord Ko lifted a hand.
"Pardon me, my Lord."
Droha looked to him. Lord Ko leaned forward, fingers resting on the edge of the table.
"Our civil forces are already stretched thin across the country. Supplies are limited, as I have been informed. Establishing another watch will strain both treasury and manpower."
Lord Handau turned toward him. "What do you suggest? We allow enemies to roam our borders freely?"
Ko met his gaze without flinching.
"The Northern tribes know better than to trespass into hostile territory—especially ours. These men carry no banners. Our reports speak only of raids. They do not kill. They do not take captives."
Takoda frowned. "You place much faith in restraint."
Ko nodded once. "I place faith in patterns. This does not resemble organized invasion."
Droha studied him. "So what do you suggest?"
Ko drew a slow breath.
"Villagers attract pillagers," he said. "Withdraw the common folk from the boundary lands. Move them closer to the city watches. Let us see how far these raiders are willing to come."
Droha's fingers tightened together, then shifted his gaze back to Lord Takoda.
"And you, Grand Commander," he said. "What is your view on Lord Ko's proposal?"
Takoda paused, weighing the matter as soldiers were trained to do—briefly, but thoroughly.
"At first, I favored fortifying the boundary," he admitted. "But Lord Ko makes a sound point. If these men are only raiders, then drawing the people closer to our watches protects both civilians and troops. It reduces exposure and buys us time."
He inclined his head. "It is good for the people. And it is good for the soldiers."
Lord Handau gave a short nod. "I agree."
Droha studied them both, then straightened. "Then it is settled."
He turned to Takoda.
"Pen the order. Have it written on scroll and dispatched to the watch nearest the boundaries. Begin preparations for relocation at once."
Takoda drew out his quill. "At once, my Lord."
They moved on. Lord Ko unrolled another scroll, smoothing its edges against the table.
"Our next matter concerns the Season's End," he said. "The first celebration begins tomorrow night."
Droha leaned forward slightly. "Proceed."
"The provisions have been secured," Ko continued. "Food stores have been opened. Wine from the cellars has been allocated. The statue of the Painted Lady will be brought through the city gate at dawn tomorrow, escorted by ceremonial guard."
He lifted his eyes. "The major houses have confirmed attendance. Lords and Ladies of House Naha. House Izuri. House Tamura. And House Sanada."
Droha nodded. "Will Lady Sow be in attendance this time?"
"I believe so, my Lord," Ko replied. "Good news arrived earlier this week. She has recovered from her long illness."
Droha exhaled softly. "A terrible one."
"For her age, she is very strong," Lord Handau said.
"The family of House Sanada are resilient," Takoda added.
Handau gave a thin smile. "Stubborn would be more accurate. That word is often confused with resilience. Usually alongside ignorance."
Ko chuckled quietly, choosing peace over debate.
"On brighter news," he said, "Lady Eno has delivered safely. I will now celebrate my days as a Grand Sire."
The room warmed at once. Takoda offered a firm nod. Handau inclined his head. Droha allowed himself a genuine smile.
"My congratulations, Lord Ko."
"You have my congratulations as well," Handau added.
Takoda raised a hand slightly. "A blessing upon your household."
Ko bowed his head, visibly pleased. Droha's smile lingered.
"I also wish the same for our Lady Mehra," he said. "May her labor be gentle." Ko nodded.
"The White Sisters say she still has more days to go." Droha affirmed.
Takoda clasped his hands. "I pray to our Lady-Mother that it is a boy," he said. "A true heir. To continue the bloodline of House Fey."
Droha returned the smile. But it did not reach his eyes. Takoda's words stirred an old, familiar tension in his chest. A son. An heir. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Miyo. His daughter was presumed heir to the royal house. She had been raised for it, shaped for it, prepared for it. Yet one child—one boy—could redraw that future entirely.
Politics had little patience for sentiment.
Just as he felt himself slipping into those thoughts, the chamber door slid open.
A soldier entered quietly and crossed the room to Lord Takoda. He leaned in and whispered. Takoda listened, then nodded.
The soldier withdrew at once. Takoda turned to Droha.
"My Lord," he said, his voice steady, "reports have come in."
Droha lifted his gaze.
"Lady Miyo has wandered off the palace again."