The court had barely adjourned and whispers slipped through the halls of marble like snakes stalking their prey.
Some nobles whispered revenge. Others whispered… business.
"Why not lease them?" Marquis Roldan proposed cunningly in the salon by candlelight later that night. "If Count Sharath wants to keep the slime balloons under oath, then so be it. But leasing… ah, that is not selling. It would circumvent his obstinate refusal and still have these devices under our banners."
Some of the lords nodded enthusiastically. "A network of balloon taxis! Think of the prestige. We do not need to own them — just show them off. And if he wants money, then we subtract the rent first before passing on to him his share."
Their plan caught on. A noble-owned empire-wide taxi fleet, with Sharath's balloons powering it. To them, it was the best compromise: profit for him, power for them.
But not everyone was satisfied. "The boy is too clever," one grumbled. "He will uncover our schemes. And the Princess is already too close to him. If she serves as mediator, the crown itself will benefit while we are left with leftovers."
Which was how the plotting branched in two directions: rent if you can, kill if you must. And so, while some nobles wrote up contracts, others contracted killers.
That night, the assassins crept into Sharath's chambers. The moment their boots crossed the rune-woven carpets, they were shackled by glowing chains, caught like rats in a trap.
Sharath sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Really? Negotiation and assassination in the same day? Talk about efficiency."
"You've officially become a noble buffet," 🐧NeuroBoop quipped. "They're trying every flavor of betrayal at once."
Guards dragged the assassins off, but the shadow of "rent" dogged Sharath into dawn.
The Grand Meeting Hall the following day was heavy with foreboding. The Emperor sat like a tempest tenuously held back, the Empress at his side cold as steel.
"Your assassins failed," the Emperor bellowed at the quaking nobles. "Now you crawl with plots of renting, marching, profiting from what doesn't belong to you!
The nobles stammered, attempting to spin their offer into devotion. "Your Majesty, if the Count insists upon retaining them, perhaps it is a boon to the Empire if they are employed throughout every province as transport? Just consider—air taxis under noble crests, carrying out the crown's will—"
"Carrying out your pockets," the Emperor snapped, quieting the chamber.
It was the Empress who stepped in once more, her tone gentle but biting. "Not exactly treason, maybe, but their timing reeks of greed. Still… there is value. A crown-operated rental system, with regulation to preserve the Count's oath and keep the Empire on the move.
Sharath raised his chin. "If it is on behalf of the Empire, I do not object to renting balloons — but under strict conditions. No noble ownership, no alteration. Rentals alone, and every coin accounted for. The crown manages it. My house maintains it. No loopholes."
The Princess smiled, evidently pleased at his position. The Emperor scowled, but eventually nodded. "So be it. But," he continued, voice as hard as rock, "after your daggers in the night, you will dearly pay."
The Empress's solution insinuated itself like a dagger in silk: "Tax them. Heavily. Let their greed pay for the very defense they attempted to subvert."
And so it was decreed. The guilty nobles would pay crippling levies. Their attempted assassinations cost them gold instead of Sharath's life.
Basanna was practically glowing as they left the hall. "First profits from balloon rentals, now a tax draining our rivals! Boy, this is better than any trade deal I've struck in thirty years."
Sharath, however, was less cheerful. His gaze turned south, toward Unnatirajya. "They won't stop here," he muttered.
"Of course not," 🐧NeuroBoop said. "They've tasted balloon rides and humiliation in the same week. Trust me, Count, you're on every noble's hate list. Congratulations."
Sharath just sighed, already planning his next move as their convoy lifted into the skies, returning home.