The air in the King's private study was thick with the scent of old paper, melted wax, and the bitter herbal tea that he drank to steady his aging heart.
Prince Herschel stood at the desk, his posture rigid. He had just finished a lengthy report on the unrest in the eastern provinces, peasant grumblings about grain taxes and the ever-present greed of the local lords.
"The situation is contained for now, Father," Herschel said. "But the underlying resentment remains. The lords are pushing too hard, and the people are looking for someone to blame."
The King didn't respond immediately. He sat in his high-backed chair. He wasn't looking at the maps.
"Containment is a temporary solution, Herschel," the King murmured, his voice a dry rasp. "A king who only contains fire eventually finds his palace in ashes. You need more than iron to rule this land. You need a partner who understands the levers of power better than you do."
