The Princess' Harem
Chapter 72: The Council Meeting

Chapter 72: The Council Meeting

The grand council chamber was filled with the murmurs of nobles and advisors, their voices blending with the steady rustle of parchment and the faint scent of polished wood and burning incense.

Tall windows lined the room, allowing golden rays of morning light to filter in, casting a long shadows against the gleaming marble floors.

Viana stepped into the chamber, her emerald-green with golden embroideries gown flowing effortlessly as she moved toward the long table at the center. Her expression was composed, but the weight of what she was about to present settled deep in her chest.

Arden was already seated, stacks of revised reports neatly arranged before him. The royal treasurer, Lord Callius, adjusted his spectacles as he glanced over documents related to the kingdom’s financial distributions.

Across the table, Duke Lirian of the Eastern Province sat stiffly, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if anticipating a challenge. Several other council members watched Viana closely, their expressions ranging from curiosity to quiet calculation.

At the head of the table sat King Clive Yanis and Queen Issabella—her parents.

They had ruled Elysia for decades, balancing diplomacy and military strength with careful precision. And now, Viana had to convince them, as well as the council, that they faced a looming threat far greater than petty trade disputes or regional tax adjusments.

She took her seat, smoothing out the parchment in front of her.

King Clive leaned forward slightly. "Princess Viana," he began, his voice deep and steady, "you called for this early meeting. I assume it is urgent."

Viana met his gaze directly. "It is."

She motioned to Arden, who promptly began distributing copies of the finalized reports.

"These documents contain revisions to our tax policies and infrastructure plans," Arden explained, his tone composed. "As Her Highness requested, we have adjusted allocations to better support working-class citizens and smaller traders, ensuring that wealth does not remain disproportionately in the hands of large merchant guilds."

A murmur rippled through the chamber.

Duke Lirian exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against the table. "You are asking us to cut funding from prosperous regions and redirect it elsewhere," he said with measured calm. "This will not be well received."

"The western regions still struggle infrastructure," Viana countered. "Access to clean water, functioning roads, and agricultural development are priorities. If we continue favoring trade-rich areas, the gap between noble wealth and common livelihood will grow wider."

Lord Callius adjusted his spectacles again, considering. "A progressive tax policy could stabilize the economy long-term, but the merchant houses will fight it."

"They already have too much control," Viana stated. "This kingdom belongs to all of Elysia, not just who can afford influence."

The discussion continued, shifting between economic adjustments and noble resistance, until Viana steered the meeting toward the real danger—the one Arden’s reports had uncovered.

She took a measured breath before speaking. "There is something else," she said, allowing the weight in her voice to settle over the room. "Prince Arin has begun mobilizing forces."

Silence.

Queen Issabella’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Arin?" she echoed.

"The exiled prince of Valendale Empire," Arden added, sliding another set of documents forward. "He has resurfaced, using slave trade profits to strengthen his army."

Viana scanned the room. The reaction was as she expected—concern, disbelief, tension.

Duke Lirian frowned. "You have proof of this?"

"Yes," Viana answered. "Shane, a scout we encountered at the border, had been tracking Arin’s supply routes. The Shadow Clan is involved—mercenaries and informants who operate beyond conventional military alliances."

King Clive exchanged a look with his advisors, his expression unreadable. "If this is true, Valendale will not remain stable."

"No," Viana agreed. "And if Arin consolidates power, he will not stop at reclaiming Valendale. Elysia’s borders are at risk."

Queen Issabella folded her hands, her gaze sharp with calculation. "What do you propose?"

Viana straightened. "Strengthen our intelligence network along the border. Track supply movements, infiltrate trade hubs known to harbor Shadow Clan operatives. And most importantly, establish diplomatic caution—we do not annouce this threat publicly, but we prepare."

A tense pause settled over the chamber.

Finally, King Aldric nodded. "We will discuss this further. But I trust you will continue gathering information."

Viana exhaled, relief barely reaching her expression. "I will."

She glanced at Arden, who had remained composed throughout. The council would not act immediately, but this was a start. The seeds of awareness had been planted.

Joel and Reyes, standing near the entrance as her guards, caught her eye briefly, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them.

***

The candlelight flickered against the polished mahogany desk, castling long shadows along the edges of parchment stacked neatly beside an ornate quill.

The chamber was quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric as Viana adjusted her sleeves. Outside her window, the palace grounds stretched into the distance, bathed in the silver glow of the moon.

She had spent the day preparing for the council, dealing with the ever-present whispers of court politics, but now—now it was time for something far more important.

Viana uncapped the ink bottle, dipping the quill with careful precision before pressing it against the parchment’s surface. yet as she began the letter to Prince Rayne, a different kind of tension settled over her.

She had to word this carefully.

*To His Highness, Prince Rayne of Valendale,*

She exhaled, collecting her thoughts before continuing.

*I write to you with urgency, for what I have uncovered within Elysia’s borders has far-reaching consequences—not only for my kingdom but for yours.*

Her grip tightened on the quill as she thought back to their last meeting. Not the council negotiations, not the formal exchanges over trade agreements—but the banquet. The dance. The balcony.

That night had been nothing but courtly tradition at first, playful banter shared over goblets of wine and whispers of diplomacy. She had navigated the evening with ease, brushing off the calculated glances of nobles, keeping the conversation with Rayne light and teasing.

But then she had tripped.

Her pulse quickened at the memory—the way her foot had slipped, the way he had caught her, the unintentional brush of lips. It had lasted only a heartbeat, a fleeting mistake tangled in fabric and shadows, yet it lingered in her mind with a ridiculous amount of weight.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself back to the present.

It was irrelevant. Meaningless. It wasn’t a kiss.

She ignored the flicker of warmth in her chest and focused on the letter again.

*Prince Arin is no longer merely lingering in exile. He has begun to move. What was once whispers of his return has solidified into something tangible—an army, built from the profits of a slave trade that extends through Elysia’s border territories. His reach has spread deeper into Valendale than we previously believed. The Shadow Clan supports him.*

Her strokes were sharp against the parchment, her thoughts laced with frustration.

Rayne was a distraction. That moment on the balcony was insignificant compared to what was at stake.

*If you have any loyal eyes within Valendale who still serve your father, I urge you to press for further confirmation. Trade routes that once seemed legitimate have been compromised, shipments marked under guilds with falsified origins, all linked to Shadow Clan operatives. They are preparing something greater than scattered raids.*

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to remain composed.

*I do not know if Arin seeks only Valendale’s throne or if his ambitions stretch beyond it, but I will not wait until his forces reach our gates to act. Elysia has begun tracking his movements, though we must tread carefully. Those who fund his efforts hide well, some even within my own kingdom’s court.*

Viana leaned back, scanning the words.

Reyes shifted near the doorway, standing just inside the room, his arms crossed as he watched her write. His presence was quiet, but it weighed on her like an unsaid thought.

He had been tense ever since they returned to the palace, and now, as she sat before the flickering candle, penning words to another man—a prince—his silence carried an edge she couldn’t ignore.

Joel, on the other hand, leaned near the fireplace, more relaxed but still observant. He had seen the evidence himself, had fought beside her when they uncovered it.

Now, as she wrote to Rayne, his gaze lingered on her hands, as if he knew she was hesitating.

She leaned back slightly, letting the ink dry.

Joel spoke first, breaking the silence. "You think he’ll respond quickly?"

"He’ll have no choice," she murmured.

Reyes remained silent, but Viana could feel his gaze on her. She had known him long enough to recognize when he was holding something back.

She reached for the sealing wax, tipping the candle just enough to let the golden liquid pool onto the parchment’s edge. The royal emblem pressed into the wax, solidifying the message.

She hesitated, fingers resting against the folded letter.

Would Rayne remember that night? Had he already forgotten?

Did she care?

Reyes finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "You’re telling him everything."

Viana turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

"I need him to know the risks," she said simply.

Reyes’s jaw tensed. "And what if he does nothing?"

"Then we prepare for that too."

Joel stepped forward, taking the letter from her grasp. "I’ll ensure this reaches Rayne directly," he said. "No intermediaries."

Viana nodded but didn’t move immediately.

Reyes exhaled sharply. "You trust him that much?"

Viana paused, choosing her words carefully. "I trust that he understands what’s at stake."

A flicker of something passed through Reyes’s expression, but he said nothing more.

Joel cast a glance between them before turning toward the door, the letter tucked into his coat.

Viana stood slowly, watching the candlelight dance across the desk, her thoughts tangled in the past, the present, and what lay ahead.

Reyes didn’t move. He remained near the doorway, unmoving, still watching her.

She sighed. "I should sleep."

He finally looked away, nodding.

"Yeah," Reyes muttered. "You should."

But they both knew she wouldn’t—not yet.

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