The summons arrived on gilded parchment bearing the king's crest.
"The Crown invites Master Sharath Darsha and the Duke of Kelrath to the Winter Court for discussion of trade regulation."
Translation: the monarchy wanted answers. And control.
Inside the great marble hall, gold chandeliers cast flickering light upon polished granite. Court ministers flanked the dais like vultures around a feast.
Sharath entered unbothered, dressed in neutral gray. He brought no guards, no gifts.
King Haral the Third leaned forward on his throne. "Tell me, young Master… what is your asking price to share your process?"
Sharath bowed with perfect precision. "Respectfully, Your Majesty, SK Paper is not for sale. But it is for purchase."
A ripple of laughter followed—mostly forced. But the King's eyes did not laugh.
"And should the Crown… nationalize your operation?"
Sharath tilted his head. "Then the Crown would find itself unable to replicate results, and dependent on foreign parchment within a fortnight."
It was a gamble—a bold, audacious bluff.
And it worked.
Three days later, the Royal Archives placed a standing order for 500 crates a month.
SK Paper had defeated the throne without a single rebellion