Chapter 23: Nope, Not Actually
A cold, tense silence settled across the Council chamber after Lancelot’s last words. The nobles, still surrounded by armed musketeers, watched him with a mix of disbelief and dread. His calmness was unsettling—too composed, too deliberate. He stood among them like a surgeon before an incision.
Then, unexpectedly, Lancelot laughed.
Not a mocking laugh, nor one born of madness—but a short, dry chuckle that echoed oddly in the chamber.
"A vote?" he said, shaking his head slightly. "You actually thought I meant that?"
He turned toward Count Figueres, who sat stiffly with his jaw clenched.
"Come now," Lancelot added, his tone almost casual. "Did you truly think I’d leave the fate of the nation in the hands of people whose only achievement is being born into the right bed?"
A few brows furrowed. Others shifted uncomfortably. Even Bishop Alvaro narrowed his eyes.
Lancelot stepped back onto the central platform, his boots once again thudding against the stone with steady weight.
"No. There will be no vote," he said firmly. "Not today. Not until I say so."
He let that hang in the air, before continuing in a colder tone.
"And let me be clear," he said, scanning the room. "Any man or woman in this chamber who dares to sabotage, obstruct, or defy the Crown’s reforms from this point forward will be declared an enemy of the state."