"Marcel, what are you going to do about this?" I asked, trying to gauge his state of mind.
"In all honesty, Kael, I couldn't tell you," Marcel replied, his voice carrying a weight I hadn't heard before. "I don't regret killing that man, but it's damn annoying that he just happened to be so high up in a monarch's hierarchy. Now I have to worry about retaliation from a Monarch." He exhaled deeply, leaning back fully against the pillow that propped him up.
"You know what, Marcel?" I said, standing and brushing off my trousers. "You need rest. We can discuss this once you've gotten some sleep and can actually think straight." I reached over, ruffling his hair in a way I knew would irritate him. He slapped my hand away, a scowl on his face.
"It's moments like this that make you look just like Master," he grumbled, annoyance sharpening his features.
"Not much I can do about that," I chuckled, heading for the door. "Get some rest. We'll talk more once you're up to it. See you later, Marcel."
"Yeah, yeah. No problem, Kael," he muttered, already closing his eyes as Thorpe gently shut the door behind us.
As we walked down the dimly lit corridor, Thorpe's voice broke the silence. "My Lord, nothing good will come from this. Now that Lord Raven has killed someone designated to become a monarch's representative..."
"If there's one thing I know," I interrupted, "it's that all the Monarchs are petty and hold grudges like no other. Marcel will have to expect serious retaliation." My mind churned over past encounters, the horrors of dealing with the Monarchs' ire.
"While eliminating a potential threat is a merit," Thorpe continued, "the repercussions could be far more dangerous than the threat itself."
I nodded, the weight of reality settling on my shoulders. "You're right. Not only was that bastard's city a human trafficking hub, but he was also preparing to become a vampire for a monarch. Honestly, I'm glad Marcel put him down before he could mature into a real problem."
As we reached my office, I pushed open the heavy wooden door, its old hinges groaning in protest. The room was dim, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth. I set my sword hilt on the desk and sank into my chair, pulling the stack of documents toward me.
"Norman and John sent letters?" I murmured, breaking the seal on Norman's envelope. My eyes scanned the parchment, taking in the neatly penned report. "It seems the rumors were true. There's barely any forestry around the city. We'll need to establish consistent lumber transfers if we want it to thrive."
"An outpost often lacks one resource and thrives with another," Thorpe commented, his arms crossed as he stood by the window.
"True enough." I opened John's letter, absorbing the details of his report. The situation wasn't ideal, but if we managed resources wisely, the city could be upgraded without too much strain. "I'll have to pull resources from both outposts during the first few months. Once the city is more developed, I'll establish a trade route to ensure a steady flow of supplies."
Thorpe's brow furrowed. "A sound strategy, my Lord. However, the troops stationed there now exceed the food production capacity. I suspect we'll receive requests for food shipments soon. Perhaps we should prioritize upgrading farmhouses and mills to boost wheat and meat production?"
He had a point. "You're right. If we can't feed our soldiers, nothing else will matter." I grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, my quill scratching swiftly over the surface as I outlined new orders. "First, expand the farmhouses and mills. Then, a marketplace can be constructed to facilitate a transportation network. I'll send fixed shipments of lumber, stone, and food weekly to support the development."
I read over the finished draft, nodding in satisfaction before writing duplicate copies one for Norman and one for John. Sealing the letters, I set them aside and turned to the remaining documents.
One letter bore the elegant insignia of Count Malcray. I opened it, revealing a transfer note for a hefty sum of two thousand gold coins. "At least some good news," I muttered, setting it aside.
I penned another letter to the Gin Merchant Company, requesting fifteen hundred units each of lumber and stone, along with ten thousand pounds of wheat, grain, and meat. I attached a promissory note for four thousand five hundred gold coins, ensuring the supplies would be delivered without delay.
Finally, I reached the last two letters, both bearing the mark of the Alliance. My mood soured as I opened them. My hand drifted to my face, rubbing away the exhaustion that hit me like a wave.
"What's wrong, my Lord?" Thorpe asked, his voice laced with concern.
I let out a hollow laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "War Marshal Greychild is coming to see me in three days."
Thorpe stiffened, his knuckles white against the windowsill. "That… does not bode well."
"No, it doesn't," I said, staring into the smoldering hearth. "Not at all."