Reincarnated as the Crown Prince
Chapter 19: Another Decrees

Chapter 19: Another Decrees

The bells of San Miguel tolled nine times before the first town crier took his place on the steps of Madrid’s Grand Plaza.

"By order of His Royal Highness the Regent of Aragon!" the crier bellowed, holding up a parchment sealed in crimson wax. A small crowd of citizens, merchants, and curious children had begun to gather, murmuring among themselves.

The crier raised his voice. "Let it be known that, effective immediately, a royal audit is declared across all provinces. Any individual, estate, or institution claiming exemption from taxation or holding hereditary privileges must submit documented proof within thirty days. Failure to do so shall result in the forfeiture of said rights to the Crown."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. One baker muttered, "Thirty days? That’s barely enough time for them to finish their morning prayers."

"There’s more," the crier continued, reading from the next section. "The Crown shall assume direct control over strategic industries—salt, iron, grain, and textiles—under the Crown Nationalization Act. And henceforth, the Aragon Modern Tax Act shall begin its implementation within the year."

At that, a few of the merchants exchanged glances. One elderly man with a gray mustache chuckled. "I always knew the day would come. They taxed the poor long enough. Now the rich get their turn."

In a lavish estate just outside Zaragoza, Count Ernesto de Villacampa slammed his goblet down, sloshing red wine across a stack of old scrolls.

"This is tyranny!" he barked. "Who does that boy think he is, threatening centuries of noble inheritance with ink and parchment?"

Across the table, his cousin Don Mateo looked more pensive than angry. "They say the Regent has secured support from the Trust Bank... and Monforte stands behind him."

"That traitor," Ernesto hissed. "He was supposed to speak for us at court, not for some jumped-up bureaucrat in royal robes."

"We could contest it," Mateo suggested. "Send a petition through the Council of State."

"And give them proof we can’t provide?" Ernesto snapped. "Half our toll rights were granted verbally by Queen Carlota during the war. You think we still have parchment from forty years ago?"

A silence fell over the room.

Ernesto exhaled heavily. "Damn him. Damn this... audit. If we don’t act now, we’ll be commoners before winter."

In the cathedral of Toledo, the morning sun filtered through stained glass, casting colored light over the silent chamber. Bishop Alvaro sat in his robe of crimson and gold, his face ashen as he reread the decree a fourth time.

"’National Contribution to Morality and Infrastructure,’" he muttered under his breath. "A tax. He dares tax the Church and dresses it in rhetoric."

Father Remigio, his younger aide, stood awkwardly nearby. "The parishioners will not understand, Your Grace. They already suspect the Crown is meddling in the divine."

"Because it is!" Alvaro said, rising from his chair. "First the investment acts, then the knights, and now this. What’s next—censoring sermons?"

"We... we could delay. Request an exemption," Remigio offered.

Alvaro shook his head. "He would love that. If we protest, we look guilty. If we comply, we lose face. It’s a trap, and he’s laid it well."

He looked toward the altar, where the Virgin Mary stared back in serene indifference. "We need Rome. The Holy Father must be informed."

***

Back in Madrid, the Royal Council of State had convened in one of the tall, wood-paneled chambers of the old palace. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and irritation.

"This decree will shatter our political equilibrium," Duke Reynard of Castile snapped, gesturing at the parchment. "It touches everything—commerce, land, divine authority!"

"And yet it is legal," Monforte said, his voice steady. "His Royal Highness issued it under emergency fiscal powers ratified by the Regency Act of last year. You all voted for it."

"We didn’t think he’d use it like this!" Countess Elvira retorted.

One of the older members, a retired general with a limp, cleared his throat. "This is madness. The nobility funds the army. The clergy runs our schools. He cannot alienate every pillar of the kingdom."

Monforte’s eyes narrowed. "The army now has a separate budget line thanks to the Trust Bank. And public education will soon fall under the Ministry of Education, not the Church."

The room fell into tense silence.

"You misunderstand the Regent," Monforte said after a moment. "He doesn’t seek your destruction. He seeks a modern nation. Either you adapt, or you become fossils in his museum."

Outside the capital, among the narrow alleys of Lavapiés, a group of laundresses huddled beneath an awning, avoiding the rain and gossiping about the decree they’d just overheard.

"Did you hear? They say the bishops have to pay taxes now, too!" one of them said, laughing.

"About time," another grumbled. "They own half the land but won’t pay a copper for bread."

"I don’t know..." a younger girl said. "If they tax everyone, won’t the prices go up?"

"The prices already go up, María," the first one replied. "At least now it’s not just us breaking our backs while they sip wine in marble halls."

They laughed again, though quietly, casting glances at a passing patrol of guards.

At the royal palace, Lancelot stood on the terrace overlooking the gray cityscape. Rain slicked the marble floor, and clouds gathered over the far hills.

Alicia stepped beside him, wrapping her shawl tighter. "The nobles are furious. Reports from the south say Bishop Alvaro has already written to Rome."

Lancelot nodded. "Let him. The Pope is thousands of miles away. My roads will reach every town before a single papal letter lands in my inbox."

She smirked. "Still confident, I see."

"No. Just committed," he replied. "Change never starts with approval. It starts with resistance."

Monforte arrived moments later, removing his gloves as he entered the chamber. "The Council is shaken, but I believe they’ll toe the line for now."

"Good," Lancelot said. "Now we wait. They have one month."

Alicia opened a fresh folder. "And after that?"

"After that," he said, eyes fixed on the horizon, "we take what they couldn’t defend. We strip away the fiction, and build the real Aragon."