The private study of the Crown Prince smelled of beeswax, old parchment, and the distinct, metallic tang of impending treason.
Kaia sat behind Aeron's massive mahogany desk, a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses pushed up into her silver hair. The surface of the desk was completely buried under a mountain of royal ledgers, tax reports, and diplomatic correspondence.
Prince Beckett sat opposite her, his cravat entirely undone, his fingers stained black with ink.
"It's worse than we thought," Beckett whispered, staring at a sheet of parchment as if it were a venomous snake. "Kaia, the Emperor hasn't just been mismanaging the treasury. He has been actively pillaging it."
Kaia rubbed her temples, the dull ache of a headache beginning to form. "Define pillaging, Beckett."
