The Lycan King’s Secret Daughter - Chapter 92

AURELIA'S POV The first envoy arrives with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He bows deeply in the receiving chamber, silk sleeves whispering against marble, and presents his credentials with both hands as though reverence might soften what he has come to ask. "Your Highness," he says, voice smooth with rehearsal. "House Verrin thanks you for granting this audience on such short notice." I take the parchment, glance at the seal, and set it aside without opening it. "House Verrin no longer controls shipping through the eastern passes," I say mildly. "You need not thank me for receiving you.

You need to explain why you believe I will reverse that decision." The smile falters-just barely. He straightens, adjusts his posture. "There appears to be some confusion," he begins. "The tariffs imposed this morning-" "-apply only to Redfang-aligned merchants," I finished. "Yes." His brows knit. "Those routes have been shared for decades." "So have the profits," I reply, folding my hands in my lap. "Unevenly." A murmur ripples through the room. His companions shift, exchanging quick glances. He clears his throat. "Ebonhold has always prided itself on fairness." I tilt my head.

"Fairness is not sameness. Loyalty is not theoretical." Silence stretches. He studies my face as if searching for heat, for anger, for something he can push against. I give him none of it. "You are welcome to continue trading," I add gently. "You will simply do so under the revised rates." "Those rates will cripple-" "-only those who depended on Redfang's exemptions," I say. "The border packs adjusted within hours. They always do." He swallows. "Then you leave us no choice but to appeal." "Of course," I say, smiling.

"The Council meets weekly." He bows again, less deeply this time, and withdraws. When the doors close, Maya lets out a breath she's been holding. "That went better than expected," she says. "It went exactly as expected," I replied. "They came assuming confusion. They leave understanding clarity." She studies me. "You didn't raise your voice once." "Why would I?" I ask. "Paper cuts deeper than steel when applied slowly." The next envoy is louder. The third is more polite. By dusk, the pattern is established: disbelief, protest, resignation. Trade manifests are revised. Ledgers rewritten.

Routes reassigned with the stroke of a pen. By nightfall, Redfang bleeds quietly. In the council chamber, Brenn peers over his spectacles. "They're calling you cold." I lift my eyes from the document I'm signing. "Are they?" "In the markets," he says. "In the taverns. They say the Queen has changed." Maya watches me carefully. "Do you want me to counter it?" "No," I say. "Let it stand." Brenn's lips twitch. "Cold Queens last longer than beloved ones." When the chamber empties, I remain seated, staring at the ink drying on the final decree.