Reincarnated as the Crown Prince
Chapter 24: Going All In

Chapter 24: Going All In

The heavy doors to the Crown Regent’s office swung open with a groan, and Lancelot stepped inside with a slow exhale. The confrontation in the council chamber still echoed in his mind—the sneering faces, the clenched fists, the startled expressions when the guards had marched in with muskets aimed. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself a small, tired grin.

Alicia followed behind him, setting a fresh stack of documents on the corner of his long oak desk.

"I assume you won’t be sleeping tonight," she said, half teasing.

"Probably not," Lancelot replied, loosening the collar of his coat and walking toward the large map of Aragon mounted on the wall. The map was dotted with ink markings—some fresh, others faded. Red circles showed areas of unrest. Blue ones marked recent tax audits. Green flags indicated new schools and clinics being built in the provinces. His eyes rested on the wide swaths of land labeled under noble names. Names that had ruled regions for centuries without question.

"Something’s missing," he muttered, almost to himself.

Alicia raised an eyebrow. "What is?"

He turned around. "I’ve struck at their power. I’ve put the law over their titles. I’ve reclaimed trade. But the structure that gives them their control... that’s still there."

Alicia crossed her arms. "You mean feudalism."

He nodded. "Yes. That."

She tilted her head slightly. "Are you really planning to go after the whole system?"

He didn’t answer right away. He walked over to his desk, pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, and dipped his quill into the inkwell. The first words he wrote across the top were bold and final.

"A Royal Edict: The Abolishment of Feudal Privilege and the Formation of a Unified Civil Code."

He paused, tapping the quill lightly against the side of the inkpot. The office was quiet now—only the faint wind pressing against the stained-glass windows and the distant echo of footsteps in the palace halls could be heard.

Feudalism. The word itself carried weight—centuries of hierarchy, of lands held in exchange for loyalty, of peasants tied to the soil like livestock. In Aragon, entire provinces were still governed not by elected magistrates or royal officials, but by dukes, counts, and barons who ruled their estates like personal kingdoms. Justice was inconsistent. Laws varied from region to region. A man could be sentenced to hang in one province for a crime that earned only a fine in another.

Lancelot dipped the quill again and continued to write.

"Let it be declared by the authority of the Crown Regent, with the full power vested upon the Regency, that all feudal bonds and hereditary privileges that grant legal or administrative control over land and subjects shall be dissolved. Henceforth, no man shall own the rights to jurisdiction over another by birth."

He looked up at Alicia. "Do you know why feudalism must die?"

She said nothing, waiting for him to explain.

"It’s a cage," he continued. "A slow, rusting cage we’ve all lived in for so long that we forgot what freedom looks like. A man is born in a village owned by a noble. He pays rent to farm land his family has worked for generations. If he has a dispute, he must appeal to that same noble—judge, landlord, and master rolled into one."

He leaned forward, hands pressed flat against the table. "That’s not governance. That’s ownership."

Alicia took a few steps closer, watching his words form into paragraphs across the page.

"You think people will understand this?" she asked. "I mean... the common folk?"

"They already do," he said. "They’ve lived under it. They don’t need scholars to tell them it’s unfair."

He scribbled again.

"No citizen of Aragon shall be bound to labor, tax, or military obligation under a noble house by birthright. Land shall be owned, taxed, and administered under the jurisdiction of the Crown and its appointed civil authorities."

He scratched his chin and then began outlining the next part—his real vision.

The laws.

The legal system of Aragon was a tangled mess of contradictions. Old kingdom laws from the days of King Aldric. Local customs in mountain villages. Ecclesiastical courts controlled by bishops. Merchant courts in port cities. Even military officers sometimes acted as local magistrates. A man could travel fifty leagues and find himself under an entirely different set of rules.

That had to end.

He started writing the introduction for what would be a new code of laws—uniform, consistent, and fair across all lands and classes.

"Let a Royal Commission be established, consisting of legal scholars, magistrates, civil administrators, and representatives of the citizenry. Their purpose: to draft a Unified Civil Code. This code shall become the supreme standard of law in the realm, abolishing all regional, religious, or hereditary discrepancies in legal interpretation."

Alicia’s eyes widened slightly. "That... that’s going to shake the country. More than the audit. More than the taxes."

"Good," Lancelot replied. "It should."

He sat down now, the words flowing faster. His quill moved with purpose.

"The Unified Civil Code shall guarantee the following:– Equal protection under the law for all citizens, regardless of birth.– The right to property, without interference by hereditary claims.– The right to due process under a standardized legal framework.– The clear definition of crimes, penalties, and procedures.– The abolishment of legal privileges granted to any class by bloodline or religious office."

He paused and underlined that last sentence.

"It’s time to end legal nobility," he said. "They’ll always have money. They’ll always have land. But the law must no longer serve them first."

He signed the bottom of the page and blew gently to dry the ink. Then he looked at Alicia.

"Have copies made. I want this prepared for the printers within two days. We’ll announce it during the next public address."

Alicia hesitated. "Do you think the King will approve?"

Lancelot looked toward the window, where the last rays of daylight painted the city in gold and gray. Somewhere out there, merchants were closing their stalls. Farmers were returning home. Soldiers patrolled the streets. And high above them all sat the weight of centuries.

"No," he said. "I think he’ll be afraid. But that’s what leadership demands sometimes. Moving ahead even when the old world begs you to stop."

He stood and walked over to the window, watching the carriages roll through the main boulevard below.

"I was born into power," he said quietly. "But I refuse to die chained to it. Let them scream. Let them threaten. I’m not stopping."

Behind him, Alicia rolled the parchment neatly and tied it with a royal ribbon. She said nothing, but her silence was not doubt. It was loyalty.

The old order had ruled long enough.

Now, the pen had drawn its death sentence.

And the Regent of Aragon was writing a new world into being—line by line.