Reincarnated as the Crown Prince
Chapter 20: Angered Nobles

Chapter 20: Angered Nobles

The doors to the Council of State slammed shut behind Monforte with a cold finality, sealing him inside the lion’s den.

The chamber, circular and windowless, was built to echo authority—tall vaulted ceilings, thick tapestries bearing the sigils of ancient houses, and heavy iron chandeliers that dangled like the swords of Damocles. Yet today, all the grandeur did nothing to contain the fury that had gathered inside.

Voices erupted before he even reached the central floor.

"You expect us to sit still while a boy declares war on our bloodlines?" thundered Count Figueres, his scarlet robes rustling as he rose from his high-backed chair. "Monforte, this audit is a provocation!"

Duke Reynard of Castile slammed a gloved fist on the table. "The Regent insults every family in this room—my family. My sons came to me asking if we would lose our estate because the charter was damaged in a fire. A fire, mind you, in 1684!"

"And what of the guilds?" barked Don Luis Ronda of Valencia. "Merchants are being accused of extortion, of price fixing—do you realize the instability this causes? They talk of a tariff revolt!"

Monforte reached the center of the circle, still and quiet. He did not speak. Not yet.

Countess Elvira of Segovia leaned forward, eyes sharp as blades. "You’ve stood beside this boy-tyrant as he declared war on tradition. First, he mocked our rites. Then, he seized Church property under ’infrastructure reform.’ Now, he audits us as if we are smugglers and criminals."

"Enough!" Monforte finally spoke. His voice did not rise—but it cut. "This is the Council of State, not a tavern in Zaragoza. Sit. Down."

A few nobles hesitated before grudgingly returning to their seats. Others remained standing, visibly seething.

Monforte scanned their faces one by one. "Three days ago, the Regent issued a decree—a legal, binding decree—that every estate, guild, and ecclesiastical body claiming tax exemptions or hereditary privileges must submit documentation within one month. This decree was countersigned by myself and reviewed by the royal legal corps. It is constitutional."

"Constitutional?" Figueres barked. "Since when does legality equate to righteousness?"

"Since the law stopped being your personal plaything," Monforte answered coldly.

Whispers followed—angry, alarmed.

Reynard stood again. "Do you not understand what you’re playing with, Monforte? This will shatter the nobility’s loyalty."

"Then perhaps their loyalty was never to the Crown," Monforte shot back. "But to their coin purses."

"You go too far," Villanueva, the oldest among them, warned. His voice was softer, but no less stern. "Even for a man in your station."

"I do what must be done," Monforte said. "Aragon is drowning in the rot of its own privileges. We are ruled by ghosts—charters older than the roads they claim. A farmer pays coin to send his grain across land granted to some bishop three hundred years ago, and none of you see the madness in that?"

"You cannot expect centuries of tradition to vanish with a signature," Elvira hissed.

"No," Monforte replied. "But I can expect them to be justified. With documents. With proof. If your rights are just, then show them. If they are not—then they are theft."

That silenced the room for a moment.

Then came the shift.

Count Figueres narrowed his eyes. "We demand an audience with the Regent."

Several nodded, murmuring in agreement.

"We will not be dictated to through you, Monforte," Reynard added. "Let him face us himself. Let him explain his vision to the very class he now seeks to unmake."

Monforte chuckled darkly. "You wish to face him, do you? You think him a child hiding behind a desk?"

The Countess scoffed. "Is he not?"

"No," Monforte said. "He is the Regent of Aragon. And he does not fear you."

"Then summon him," Villanueva said. "Let the court see what kind of man rules in a king’s stead."

Monforte’s smile faded. He walked toward the head of the table, slowly.

"You want to corner him, intimidate him, bully him into withdrawing the audit? Let me be clear—he expected this. Every one of you is playing a game he’s already studied."

He leaned forward, hands on the table.

"If you demand a confrontation, you’ll get one. But don’t be so certain you’ll leave the same men who walked in."

"You threaten us now?" Figueres asked.

"I warn you," Monforte said. "This is not a bluff, nor a tantrum from a prince. This is the beginning of a state that no longer serves the dead weight of privilege. The Audit is just the first cut. There will be more. Nationalization. Land value taxes. Income transparency. And if you fight it, you won’t just lose your voice in court—you’ll lose your place in history."

Reynard’s nostrils flared. "We will not stand idle. If he will not meet us within three days, we will summon the Estates. The Church. The Army. Let us see who rules this kingdom then."

"Very well," Monforte said. "Three days. Prepare your speeches. Sharpen your blades."

He turned, cloak flaring behind him as he marched toward the door.

"And when the Regent enters this chamber," he added, without looking back, "pray that your legacies are heavier than your titles."

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