Chapter 18: The Third Rail
The rain fell steadily outside the palace, tapping against the arched windows of the Regent’s office like a ticking clock. It was late in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the gray sky made the room appear colder than it was. Logs burned in the marble hearth, but Lancelot barely noticed the warmth. He sat behind his desk, quill in hand, ink pot open, and a mountain of papers spread before him.
This would be the most delicate maneuver of his regency yet.
Across from him sat Alicia Viremont, her boots damp from their earlier walk across the palace grounds. She had already taken off her coat and was now waiting patiently, holding a clean scroll and her pen ready. She had seen that look in his eyes before. Calculation. That dangerous glint that meant something monumental was being prepared behind the veil of bureaucracy.
Lancelot didn’t look up as he spoke. "Alicia. You remember our talk from earlier... about taxes."
"Yes, Your Highness," she replied, her tone even.
"I’ve come to a decision. We’re moving forward."
Alicia blinked. "With reforming the tax code?"
"No," he said. "With upending it."
She straightened. "You intend to tax the nobility and the clergy?"
"I intend to make them irrelevant," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "But I can’t do it by sword or decree alone. I have to outthink them. Outmaneuver them. One privilege at a time."
He rose from his seat and paced toward the map of Aragon mounted on the wall. With a gloved hand, he traced the key cities they planned to link by macadamized roads, then circled back to Madrid with his finger.