The fortnight passed swiftly, and with it came the High Crown's envoy once more. But this time, he was not alone.
Two royal examiners accompanied him—gray-robed, sharp-eyed men whose quills seemed sharper than blades. They carried satchels heavy with scrolls, seals, and ledgers of their own. When they stepped into the manor hall, the air seemed to grow colder.
"Lord Mendez," the envoy intoned. "By order of Their Majesties, we are here to inspect your accounts. You will provide records of caravans, contracts, and payments. Every coin must be accounted for. Here is the royal order with the crown's seal."
Tristan rose to meet them, his palms damp though his expression remained composed. "You'll have them," he said. "Every line."
The inspectors exchanged glances. "We begin now."
Hours passed.
