Reichert took no part in the conversation. He sat looking out the carriage window, his attention apparently somewhere far away, never once glancing in our direction. I, on the other hand, found myself glancing at him considerably more than was wise — enough that I had to keep reminding myself to stop before he noticed.
It was Benedict who finally broke the silence, turning to study Reichert directly.
"What did the emperor say? You've looked like you swallowed a stone since you walked back in."
I turned my attention to him as well, equally curious. What had Arvid wanted with the guild leaders?
"The taxes," Reichert said, still gazing out the window. "He's doubling them." He said it with an unsettling calm, as though reporting the weather.
"What?" Benedict's voice rose sharply. "Has the man lost his mind? It's already steep enough as it is — double, and who in their right mind is going to keep trading with Selon? He's gone completely mad."
That was when Reichert finally turned to look at us — both of us, with the faint, patient amusement of someone watching two people arrive at a conclusion he had already moved past.
"That's where you're wrong."
I waited. I had no idea what Arvid had constructed this time, and the not-knowing was beginning to feel genuinely maddening.
"He didn't simply raise the taxes," Reichert continued, his tone settling into something more measured. "He proposed an arrangement. One so favourable that none of us hesitated to accept the new rate in exchange."
"There's such a thing?" Benedict looked thoroughly bewildered.
I had the same question forming, and was grateful, not for the first time today, that Benedict was willing to ask the things I couldn't.
"There is. Two proposals, specifically. The first: a new port on Selon's western border. It would cut our current six-month journey to Arpa down to three." He paused. "The second: an inland trade route. Properly paved stone roads, running directly to the Chang'an empire, through—" he stopped, and his eyes found mine for a brief, deliberate moment — "through the northern Draga Kingdom."
The blood in my veins went cold.
*Since when does he have the authority to make decisions about my kingdom?* The question rose with immediate, sharp force. *When did I grant him that?* Draga was not a vassal state of Selon. It had never been one. That had been the foundation of our agreement from the very beginning — sovereignty preserved, however nominal, however contested by Draga's own elders. And now he had apparently negotiated trade infrastructure through Draga territory in a private meeting with foreign merchant guilds, without so much as mentioning it to me beforehand.
*Since he couldn't secure the double royal heir through me directly, has he decided to take what advantage he can from the kingdom itself?*
"That's—" Benedict was already recalculating, his outrage dissolving into something closer to admiration. "That's incredible. Nine months to Chang'an down to under six, and we never have to navigate the Devil's Neck Strait again. With paved roads, possibly even less time than that. Frankly, the doubled tax is a bargain compared to what we currently lose to sea travel — we'd save twice over on expenses, easily. And we could build inns along the route, generate income from the traffic itself..." He trailed off, shaking his head in something like wonder. "The Emperor of Selon is remarkably generous."
The same man Benedict had been cursing thirty seconds earlier was now being praised with equal conviction.
I said nothing. I let them continue discussing the logistics and the commercial implications while my own thoughts moved in an entirely different direction. *How do I confront him about this?* I genuinely did not want to see Arvid right now. But this required a direct conversation, and there was no way around that.
"And you, lad!" Benedict's hand landed on my arm, jolting me back to the carriage. "Don't even think about slipping away tonight — I'm getting you properly drunk. Prepare yourself. This calls for celebration."
I produced a smile that felt more obligatory than genuine. At least someone was having a good evening.
Reichert, notably, was not sharing in Benedict's enthusiasm. His brow remained furrowed, his attention drawn back to the window, lost somewhere in thought that didn't appear to be celebratory at all.
My gaze drifted to him again. And again. Each time tracing the line of his profile, committing it to memory in a way that felt increasingly inappropriate the more I did it.
*I am no better than Rewathi right now.*
The thought arrived with real discomfort. Was I really this susceptible to a handsome face? That couldn't be the explanation. I had a mate — bound by something older than personal preference, something woven into the fabric of what I now was. As a dragon, this kind of distraction shouldn't even register.
And yet here it was. A small, persistent thing, like a seed that had taken root somewhere I hadn't noticed and was now, slowly, undeniably, growing.
It frightened me.
But something in me refused to simply look away from him either. *Looking is not the same as wanting,* I told myself. *I am not betraying anything by noticing a face.* And besides — as empress, I had genuine reason to be concerned about a guild led by people of such uncertain origin operating within Selon's borders. That was the actual reason for my attention. That was all.
I almost believed it.
---
The carriage wheels carried us steadily along the paved roads of Arpa, and before long, the Silver Coin Inn came into view.
It was nearly unrecognisable from the quiet establishment we'd left that morning. The downstairs restaurant and bar were now packed — loud, crowded, alive with the particular chaos of an evening in full swing. Patrons ate, drank from oversized wooden jugs, shouted across tables at each other in several different languages and accents. Card games were underway at multiple tables, the loudest of them punctuated by accusations of cheating delivered at considerable volume. A small platform I hadn't noticed that morning held a bard working through something on a wind instrument, the melody almost entirely swallowed by the general noise.
Most of the crowd, unsurprisingly, were foreign merchants. A handful of locals were mixed in among them, and the languages drifting through the room were varied enough that even I — fluent in nearly every tongue I had ever encountered — caught myself unable to place a few of the accents and dialects.
Ivan moved through the chaos with the easy confidence of someone entirely at home in it — refilling jugs, delivering plates fresh from the kitchen, weaving between tables without spilling a drop. Customers shouted orders at him from every direction. He took it all in stride, correcting the occasional mistake with a quick apology and the unbothered efficiency of someone who has done this every night for years.
It was chaos. It was also, in its own loud and slightly battered way, welcoming.
Several patrons spotted us as we entered and waved us over, clearly delighted to see Benedict in particular — calls of greeting rising from at least three different tables before we had fully crossed the threshold.
Before I quite understood how it happened, Benedict had a grip on my arm and I was seated at a table with a group of strangers I had never met. To my surprise, the empty seat beside me filled almost immediately — with Reichert.
*Zaren, now*, I corrected myself, since the sun had gone down and the rules around his name had apparently shifted accordingly.
I said neither name. I simply looked at him, somewhat at a loss.
I would not have guessed him for someone who enjoyed this kind of loud, rowdy company. And yet here he was, settling into the seat beside me with no apparent reluctance at all, as the noise of the inn rose and fell around us like a tide.