Hassamir’s moustache quivered as his smile thinned.
“Of course, family reunions are invaluable. Still, I look forward to moments when we can all share in such joys. It is in these moments that Asadia’s strength and unity shine most clearly.”
Kaelen caught the barb, though the High Chancellor’s expression remained polished. He knew better than to rise to it—especially with the king’s smooth deflection.
Alarik, ever the diplomat, responded before the tension could stretch too thin.
“Your loyalty and service to the Crown are deeply valued. I’m certain there will be many more opportunities to celebrate together.”
Hassamir inclined his head. “Indeed, my Tazahriv. One can onlyhope that future events will be more . . . inclusive of all who hold Asadia’s interests at heart.”
“The princess will be pleased to meet you,” the king interjected smoothly. “This afternoon, at the picnic. You must bring your daughter, of course.”
Hassamir straightened, his thin smile sharpening. He and his daughter needed no invitation, yet the king extended one all the same, ensuring there’d be no complaints later.
“Annaïs is looking forward to it. She’s already selecting a gown worthy of the occasion. She only ever wishes to make herself agreeable to you, Your Majesty.”
The words, innocent on the surface, carried an undertone Kaelen couldn’t ignore. He schooled his features into polite indifference. Hassamir’s talent for cloaking intent beneath a veil of deference was an art form, and he wasn’t about to give the man the satisfaction of a visible reaction.
Instead, he let his thoughts churn. Annaïs had always known how to command a room, wielding her beauty and charm like a finely honed weapon.
Hassamir’s mention of her ‘agreeableness’—directed at the king, no less—seemed like a calculated move.
Was this another attempt to position Annaïs closer to the Crown, or a veiled challenge to Reiya’s place as Tazahrina?
The meeting started with Zahalyar, Asadia’s northern territory. Maps unfurled across the table, detailing the arid region and its scattered settlements.
Advisor Arman spoke first. “The drought worsens each season. The brackish wells are failing, leaving villages entirely reliant on water caravans. It’s costly, unsustainable, and risks unrest.”
Kaelen studied the map, gaze lingering on the dried salt basins where wells had once sustained life. Zahalyar bore the scars of ancient seas, their ghosts lingering in the form of mineral-crusted plains. The brackish wells, once a lifeline, were now rendered useless as the water table dropped.
“Villages are emptying,” Arman continued, frustration heavy in his tone. “The looms in Zahalyar—once the heart of our silk trade—sitquiet. Without weavers, silk industry collapses, and with it, Asadia’s standing as the finest silk producer in the nine kingdoms.”
Marzius crossed his arms. “Bandits are targeting water supply routes. Even with increased patrols, we’re stretched thin.”
Kaelen’s gaze flicked to the Suhadrin River on the map. “What if we diverted it to replenish the wells?”
Arman sighed. “Suhadrin already irrigates our farmlands and sustains our orange groves, which nourish the desert silkworms. Drawing more could risk both our harvestandour trade.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. A new aqueduct project was already underway to secure water from Nafara Oasis for larger towns, but Zahalyar’s settlements had been left behind.
“What about extending the aqueducts? Adding branches north?”
The king replied, “Where would we get the funds? The current aqueduct plan is stretching the treasury thin as it is.”
“A temporary levy on luxury goods—spices, oils, silk—would generate the necessary funds without burdening the working class,” Kaelen mused, tapping his chin. “Merchants rely on Zahalyar’s silk trade. If the drought continues, their industries will crumble, and so will their profits. A levy ensures they contribute to the solution without breaking their own foundation.”
Arman frowned. “The merchants won’t see it that way. They’ll resist.”
“Which is why this must be framed as a shared investment, not a tax. The funds will be earmarked for water infrastructure, and the merchants will have a seat on the committee overseeing the projects. They won’t just pay—they’ll be part of the solution.”
Hassamir’s quiet voice cut through the room. “What stops them from taking their business elsewhere?”
The High Chancellor steepled his fingers, his tone measured yet pointed. “Dravuniel and Aquris also produce silks. If we impose this levy, what’s to stop our merchants from turning to them instead? They’ve long sought to undermine Asadia’s hold on the trade. And now”—his gaze flicked to Kaelen, something sharp behind his eyes—“we’ve given them every reason to do so.”
Silence settled over the chamber.
“They once sought alliances with us—alliances that would have solidified trade and secured our dominance.” Hassamir’s voice remained smooth, but the deliberate weight behind his words was palpable. “But those negotiations have failed, haven’t they?” He let the question hang before adding, “A royal marriage would have ensured their cooperation. Instead, we’ve taken . . . a different path.”
