Darragh’s stomach dropped. The Northern Collective didn’t send urgent correspondence. They sent scheduled reports, routine updates, and the occasional polite letter about minor adjustments to shipping schedules - urgent meant crisis.
He took the sealed envelope, broke the wax, and scanned the contents.
Fuck.
“Clear the room,” he said quietly.
The trade ministers exchanged glances but obeyed, gathering their papers. Helena stayed, reading his expression correctly. Once the door closed behind the last minister, she spoke.
“How bad?”
“They’re threatening to suspend our trade agreement.” Darragh handed her the letter. “They’ve been ‘encouraged’ by the Kingdom of Valdis to reconsider their partnership with Safe Harbor. Effective immediately unless we can demonstrate” - he gestured at the letter - “our capacity for sophisticated diplomatic engagement.”
Helena read, her face paling. “Forty percent of our export market.”
“Gone.” Darragh moved to the window, staring out at the harbor. Ships dotted the water, loading and unloading cargo that might soon have nowhere to go. “Lost jobs. Failed businesses. We import grain from them every winter. Without that agreement...”
“Food shortages.” Helena set the letter down carefully. “What’s their real concern? This language about ‘sophisticated diplomatic engagement…’”
“The summit.” Darragh’s jaw clenched. “Valdis has been running a quiet campaign for months, telling anyone who’ll listen that Safe Harbor is too rough, too unpolished to be taken seriously. Now they’ve convinced the Northern Collective that our hosting the World Council summit will embarrass the entire region.”
“So if we prove them wrong…”
“The Northern Collective won’t dare pull out. But if we fail...” Darragh turned from the window. “Get Aldric, Thomas, and Marvin. Emergency council meeting. Now.”
/~/~/~/~/
Twenty minutes later, his four advisers sat around the council table, the letter from the Northern Collective laid out between them like a death sentence.
“We need to respond immediately,” Marvin said. “Reassure them that…”
“Reassure them with what?” Aldric interrupted. “Pretty words? They want proof. Actual evidence that we can host the summit without humiliating ourselves.”
Thomas leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Perhaps we could invite a Northern Collective representative to observe our preparations. Show them we’re taking this seriously.”
“That might work.” Helena made a note. “It would demonstrate transparency, let them see the level of planning we’ve…”
“It won’t matter if the summit itself fails.” Aldric’s voice was flat. “We can show them perfect planning documents all day long. If the actual event is anything less than flawless, Valdis wins, and we lose everything.”
Silence fell around the table.
Darragh felt the weight of their stares, waiting for him to solve this. He’d spent five years as king navigating crises, finding solutions, and protecting his people. But this threat was different. This threat had a timer attached - four months until the summit. Four months to prove Safe Harbor belonged among the world’s political powers, not just as a convenient harbor for ships needing repairs.
“What are our weak points?” he asked. “Specifically.”
Helena consulted her notes. “The venue is solid. The Grand Hall renovations are on schedule. Catering contracts are established with the finest suppliers. Security protocols are being coordinated with the World Council’s requirements. Accommodation for delegates is arranged…”
“The problem isn’t logistics,” Thomas spoke quietly, and everyone turned to him. “Logistically, we can execute a perfect summit. The concern is perception.”
“Meaning?” Darragh kept his voice even.
Thomas chose his words with visible care. “Meaning that Valdis’s propaganda isn’t about our organizational capabilities. It’s about whether Safe Harbor and its leadership can projectthe sophistication and refinement expected at this level of diplomacy.”
Marvin shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve discussed this before. The king’s hands-on approach to governance is unusual, but…”
“Not the king.” Aldric’s voice cut through. “The king has established himself over the last five years. The world knows Darragh. They might find him unconventional, but they respect him.” He paused. “The concern is newer elements of our presentation.”
Darragh’s hands clenched under the table. “Say what you mean, Aldric.”
