Chapter 5: Identifying Some Problem of the State
The sun had shifted by the time Lancelot finished the third tray.
Its rays no longer poured through the tall windows but angled low across the chamber, casting long shadows over the stacks of paper now dominating the office. Books lay open with corners folded. Scrolls rested half-unfurled atop maps. Empty teacups sat abandoned beside ink-smudged ledgers.
Lancelot leaned forward with both elbows on the desk, fingers steepled against his lips.
He had read for five hours straight.
Not leisurely. Not out of curiosity. But with intent.
He skimmed the poetic preambles, ignored the flattering bureaucratic niceties, and went straight for the numbers—grain yields, tariffs collected, troop logs, naval inventories, tax exemptions, court expenditures. The summaries were outdated and sanitized. So, whenever something didn’t add up, he pulled the raw files.
And it was worse than he expected.
Far worse.
"This place is bleeding out," he muttered to himself.
Alicia stood across from him, arms crossed, observing quietly. She hadn’t interrupted much—only answered his clarifying questions when needed, fetched an extra report here and there, or corrected the occasional figure with startling precision.
Now she finally spoke.