Majesty of Obsession

13

Elizabeth

As part of the king duties, he sat on the throne room with his appointees and started discussing matters over the kingdom economy.

The sitting throne room was alive with murmurs, where silk sleeves brushing against polished oak and the nervous rustle of parchment surrounded the room. Sunlight poured in through the tall arched windows, gilding the King's throne in gold and shadow.

And there he was, the king, who sat upon his chair as if it were carved for him alone. Whilst I, sitting in the tall room, where I was ordered to remain, looked as if I was an anomaly in the ever rustling room full of men.

The kings fingers idly tapping against the lion-headed hilt of his sword as the council droned on about grain shortages, coin circulation, and failing trade routes in the southern ports.

His council spoke in careful circles, each man weighing his words as though they might cost him his life. The King listened in silence, chin resting against his knuckles, eyes half-lidded, unreadable. To anyone else, he appeared uninterested.

If it were me in front of him, he would appear like a begging dog. What was I thinking, I blushed at the thought.

"The deficit widens," One man has stated, his hair was growing thin and his neck reminds me of a chicken rooster. He seems very saggy and old but very cunning. It appears he was the Treasurer in the council.

"If we do not open the western ports to foreign lenders, the crown will—"

"—lose control," the King finished quietly. The casual slouchiness of his body was finally leaving at once. "You've been repeating that suggestion for three sessions now," he said. "Always the same ports. Always the same lenders."

"I found it curious," he continued, pacing slowly, "that every time our grain shipments are delayed, those same lenders arrive early—with generous terms." His eyes lifted at last and looked as sharp as steel. "As if they already knew."

Silence rippled through the council but to ease the tension, the Treasurer laughed nervously. "H-haha, isn't this kingdom bestowed by fortune from our foreign associates? Your Majesty, I assure you—"

"Bring the ledgers."

A guard stepped forward, presenting a bundle of books sealed in red wax. The King broke the seal with his thumb and flipped through the pages with practiced ease.

"Hidden accounts," he said calmly. "Offshore exchanges. Payments routed through a shell guild registered under a dead man's name." He looked up. "Clever and almost successful."

The Treasurer's face drained of color.

"You sold our shortages. Fed our enemies information while pretending to save us."

"N-no, your majesty! I did it for the kingdom! We needed the coin—"

"For the kingdom," the King echoed, tasting the word as if it was a savory. Then, without warning, his hand dropped.

A thin smile curved the King's lips, and I cannot help but feel admiration, that his face is as attractive as his wickedness. He gestured once.

The guards seized the Treasurer, dragging him to the center of the room.

"Your Majesty—!" the Treasurer cried. "This is a council matter—"

"This," the King said, taking his own blade, "is treason." I was so nervous about the turn of events that I was practically gulping under my breath.