Chapter 22: Let’s Make a Vote
The doors to the Royal Council Chamber creaked open slowly, pulled by two guards. Inside, the nobles were already seated. Velvet robes and feathered hats filled the long chamber, but the mood was tense, with silence heavier than any fabric worn that day.
Crown Regent Lancelot entered without a single escort, his boots thudding against the marbled floor. Behind him, Alicia followed, holding a leather folder of reports. Every eye in the room turned to him—some with scorn, others with calculation, and a few with quiet respect.
He didn’t bow. He didn’t greet anyone. He simply walked to the central platform and stood still, meeting their stares.
"You summoned me," Lancelot said, breaking the silence. "Here I am."
Count Figueres was the first to rise, his aging face red with anger. "This is no ordinary meeting, Your Highness. This council demands an explanation. Your decrees have upended centuries of custom. You’ve declared war on the nobility and the Church!"
"No," Lancelot said calmly. "I’ve declared war on stagnation."
Murmurs spread through the room. Duke Reynard stood next, his gloved hands clenched behind his back.
"You tax the untouchables. You seize lands once gifted by kings. You strip titles of their economic rights. What gives you this authority?"
"The law," Lancelot replied flatly. "The law passed by this very Council, which granted emergency regency powers during His Majesty’s illness."
"That was to preserve the Crown," Countess Elvira snapped. "Not dismantle its very spine."
"I am not dismantling the Crown," Lancelot said, raising his voice just slightly. "I am reforging it. You see an attack on tradition. I see an infection being treated before it kills the host."