Amilia’s hand closed around the cold iron handle of the Marble Room door—a door as old and heavy as the chamber it guarded. The air around it smelled faintly of old stone and candle wax. Beyond the threshold lay a room that had stood at the centre of Thatradore’s royal governance since the 1700s, first commissioned under King Lusius III as a grand symbol of unity, power, and enduring rule. Every monarch since had passed through it. Now, it was Amilia’s turn.

  She turned the handle slowly. The ancient hinges creaked, a low groan that echoed faintly in the corridor behind her, and she stepped inside.

  The Marble Room was steeped in silence. Pale columns anchored the corners of the chamber, their smooth surfaces gleaming under the warm amber glow of oil chandeliers. Light rippled across the polished white floors like molten gold. At the centre stood a long, elliptical table—oak darkened and scarred by centuries of council meetings and royal markings—surrounded by high-backed chairs, each one an artifact in its own right.

  Seated at the table were four individuals, sharply dressed, distinctly foreign, and sitting stiffly as though unsure how to fit into the grandeur around them. Amilia didn’t know them personally, but she knew who they were.

  Her heels clicked crisply against the marble as she crossed the room, the sound sharp in the stillness. All four ministers turned at her approach, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, guardedness, and cautious confusion. At the head of the table, looming in quiet, waited the royal seat—its wood carved with intricate patterns and symbols, polished by the hands of rulers long since returned to dust.

  Amilia drew a slow, steadying breath as she lowered herself into the chair, resting her arms lightly on the cool table surface.

  “Lady, gentlemen,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the silence, “I’m certain you know why you’re all here.”

  There was a brief, uncomfortable pause. One of the men—tall, with greying hair and an unsure, slumped posture—cast a nervous glance toward the others before finding his voice.

  “Well... no, Your Majesty or Highness... But, if I may...” Samuel hesitated, reaching for the glass of water set before him. His hand trembled slightly as he brought it to his lips. “We’re all a bit confused. We weren’t given any formal briefing before arriving. We were simply told to pack our belongings and prepare for international relocation.”

  The others nodded, some avoiding her gaze, their discomfort now palpable.

  Amilia’s expression tightened. Her eyes flicked from one minister to the next, weighing their reactions. “Did Regulus not brief you?”

  There was a shared glance among them, hesitant and uncertain, before a collective shake of their heads.

  Suppressing a sigh, Amilia pinched the bridge of her nose briefly before sitting straighter, a new edge to her posture.

  “You’re here,” she said, her voice cool but clear, “because by Regulus Kronle’s authority, your employer. And my authority also, you are now members of Thatradore’s Royal Advisory Council.”

  A ripple of surprise crossed their faces—some stiffening in their chairs, others exchanging wary glances—but no one dared speak yet.

  “I understand that none of you are of noble blood,” Amilia continued, her tone softening just slightly. “And I realise this appointment must feel... abrupt. But Regulus, your former Prime Minister, is a friend of mine.” A hint of a smile touched her lips, brief and sharp. “She still owes me several favours. And when I asked for the best politicians Octornania had to offer—she sent me you.”

  She paused, letting the weight of her words settle, and the silence that followed was deep and heavy, as if the very stones of the Marble Room were listening.

  Before Amilia could say more, one of the ministers rose slowly from her seat—a woman in her late fifties with sharp features and a dignified bearing. Paulene Hamnston, Minister of International Relations.

  "Your Maje—Highness," Paulene corrected herself mid-sentence, her voice steady but edged with concern. "I must be honest. I believe this decision could be catastrophic for you…"

  The room tensed subtly as she continued, her hands folding neatly atop the table. "I have been studying your kingdom’s political structure. If any of your native noble Houses discover this… That foreigners, let alone common people, replacing a centuries-old noble council—you could irreparably damage what little confidence they still have in you."

  Several others nodded in silent, uneasy agreement, their expressions shadowed by the weight of Paulene's warning.

  Paulene pressed on, her voice low and firm. "The Houses, from what I understand at least… Already view the crown as unstable after the abdication of the former heir. Replacing the Advisory Council with non-royals may be seen not just as reckless, but as a provocation. You risk alienating the very nobles you need to keep your throne."

  The Marble Room fell into silence once more, the only sound the faint crackle of the chandeliers above.

  Amilia's eyes locked onto Paulene’s across the polished oak table, her gaze cool, composed.

  "None of you should need to worry," Amilia said calmly. Her voice was quiet, but it carried a finality that demanded attention.

  Then, without raising her tone, she called out, "Gladiolus."

  The name rippled through the chamber like a summons. Before a second had passed, the heavy doors of the Marble Room swung inward with a slow, deliberate creak.

  A man entered—tall, broad-shouldered, and battle-scarred, his face a map of old campaigns. He wore the deep navy uniform of a Royal Guard General, trimmed in gold, with medals gleaming against his chest. His boots struck the marble with sharp, echoing clacks as he advanced toward the table.

  Without hesitation, Gladiolus dropped to one knee before Amilia, his left hand pressed flat against the floor, his right fist clenched over his heart.

  "Your Highness. You called for me?" His voice was gravel and steel, a soldier’s voice shaped by loyalty and war.

  The ministers watched, frozen, tension spiking like static through the room. They knew what the display meant: a signal of unwavering loyalty.

  The real question burning in their minds was: Should we be worried?

  Amilia gave a slight nod. "Gladiolus, would you care to explain how we’ll be treating our new ministers?"

  Gladiolus rose fluidly to his full height, turned to face the seated ministers, and spoke with the authority of a battlefield commander.

  "Thank you, Your Highness." He cleared his throat, then continued, voice crisp and unyielding. "Under the supreme authority of Her Sovereignship, Amilia of the House of Belmont, it is hereby decreed that all those present are to be formally recognised as nobles under the House of Belmont."

  For a heartbeat, the chamber stood still, stunned into absolute stillness.

  "What?!" Paulene shot up from her chair, disbelief etched into every line of her face.

  Samuel leaned forward sharply, his brows knitted in suspicion. "You're granting us noble titles? Can you even do that?!"

  At the far end of the table, Boris sat slack-jawed, too stunned even to speak, his thoughts clearly racing behind wide, darting eyes.

  "This... this must be symbolic," Leopold muttered under his breath, almost as if trying to convince himself. "Right?"

  "You are only partly correct," Gladiolus replied, giving a short nod. "Given the number of noble houses already established in Thatradore, adding four more will go mostly unnoticed—provided you all exercise discretion."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  He cleared his throat again, the sound cutting through the rising tension.

  "And furthermore, by order of Her Majesty, each of you will be granted estates within the Tristrun region. This will include severance from direct Crown authority, a personal household staff, plantations, and an assigned workforce."

  The ministers sat frozen, the weight of Gladiolus’ words settling over them like a set in snow.

  “This is mainly thanks to Her Majesty’s establishment of an espionage branch within the Sentearial Guard," Gladiolus concluded, his voice steady. "A protective unit under the Crown’s direct command. In this case, it is now involved with fabricating your identity and estate records, cementing your presence here in Thatradore. Among other things.”

  Paulene blinked, her forehead creasing. “But... why?” she asked, baffled. “You could’ve chosen real nobles. Loyal ones. Why take the risk of... us?”

  Amilia almost hesitated for a second before answering.

  “Because the nobility has grown too bloated,” she said, voice calm but edged with disdain, “too enamoured with the privileges my father gave them. If I were to seek their advice, they would only defend the power they hoarded, not the stability of the kingdom itself.”

  She leaned back slightly, her hands folding neatly before her.

  “All except House Arlikhino have grown complacent. But giving them all positions within the council would send the wrong kind of message — one that would signal to both House Belmont & Gatsby that I intend to rally against them. For relatively obvious reasons, I cannot do that.”

  She paused, scanning each face at the table, letting her words settle.

  “At this point, Thatradore practically resembles a confederation. The damned nobles withhold our share of taxes, they enforce their own policies, without any pushback from the central government…”

  Her fists tightened for a moment on the table, before she consciously loosened them.

  "You, on the other hand," she continued, her voice steady, "you're not nobles—not truly at least. You don't carry the decay of our old traditions. You hold the ideals of modern governance, of a nation that could thrive beyond our traditions.”

  She exhaled slowly. “That is why it’s imperative to me that I obtain your support and service to the Crown,” she said. “Your knowledge and understanding of politics will far exceed the capabilities of whatever Belmont noble I could find.”

  The ministers exchanged nervous glances. Just moments ago, they had been foreign officials. Now, they were to become nobles of a dying kingdom.

  Boris cleared his throat, voice uncertain. "I mean no disrespect, Your Highness... but are you sure you know what you're doing? I mean, what happens to us if we were found out?"

  Gladiolus’s eyes narrowed. His hand instinctively drifted toward the hilt of his blade, his body tense.

  A sharp clearing of the throat from Amilia sliced through the air. "You better kno—"

  Gladiolus froze mid-motion, then immediately dropped to one knee in apology. "Forgive me, Your Highness," he said firmly.

  Amilia gave him the briefest nod before turning her attention back to the ministers.

  "I assure you," she said coolly, "you have nothing to fear. Assuming you do not make it too obvious, then no one should suspect anything. Gladiolus and a few of your new personal servants will instruct you in basic etiquette once you reach your estates. Enough to blend among the nobility without raising suspicion."

  She leaned forward slightly, voice lowering just enough to draw them closer. "Of course…" she said, "This assumes I have your support?"

  The room fell into a deep silence, heavy and suffocating.

  Eyes drifted from face to face, some avoiding her gaze entirely, others wringing their hands beneath the table.

  Then, slowly, Samuel stood. "Your Highness..." he said, his voice wavering slightly, "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but... You have my support." To Samuel, having a high ranking as the treasurer was far too great an opportunity to give up.

  The others turned to him, startled. But they understood why.

  Boris rose next, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  "You have my support too," he said gruffly.

  Paulene hesitated the longest. She weighed the risks, then rose as well.

  "Mine as well," she said, voice low but certain.

  Only Leopold remained seated, his fists clenched atop the polished table.

  "Absolutely not," he snapped. "Monarchy—especially this one—goes against everything I stand for. Your kingdom has no human rights. No guaranteed liberties of any kind!"

  He shot a scornful look at the others. "The fact that any of you would even consider this—!"

  The room shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his words.

  Amilia waited a few seconds before responding. “Would you say that human rights are essential for a nation?” Amilia asked, her voice steady.

  “Absolutely!” Leopold answered without hesitation, his response cutting through the room faster than a blade.

  The air between them thickened, heavy enough that one might’ve sliced through it with a knife.

  Amilia leaned forward slightly, trying to meet him halfway. “Would you say... that is a condition for your service?” she asked carefully, attempting to compromise.

  Leopold hesitated, his face going blank for a moment as he thought.

  “Would... that be something you would consider?” he said, almost nervously.

  Amilia glanced sideways. “Gladious,” she called out. “Ask one of the maids outside to fetch me one of my decree drafts. Tell her it’s the folder labelled ‘Reform’ — and quickly.”

  Without a word, Gladious bowed and exited the chamber with purposeful strides.

  Turning back to the ministers, Amilia’s voice softened. “I cannot promise rights like those seen in the great democracies… not yet. But once the draft is in your hands, would you at least consider giving it a read before making your decision?” Her tone walked the line between a plea and a command — careful, but urgent.

  Everyone’s eyes turned toward Leopold, awaiting his answer.

  “What’s stopping you from just describing it to us now?” Leopold pressed, his voice firm but not unkind.

  Amilia chuckled softly at that, the sound dry and a little tired. “You... You’re right, Leopold.” She straightened her posture and cleared her throat.

  “Referring to the Sovereign Decree draft involving human rights — it would establish the right to a form of trial for those who have committed minor crimes, as well as guarantees to basic living standards for all citizens,” she explained. “That’s only part of it. The full draft could describe it better than I can right now.”

  She paused, steadying herself before adding, “As the likely Minister of Healthcare and Education, would that be acceptable to you?”

  Leopold studied her for a long moment, then, surprisingly, he smiled.

  “Do you swear this before your God, Polsten, and his messenger Valon?” he asked, solemnly.

  Amilia smiled in return, rising from her seat with deliberate grace.

  She placed her right hand firmly over her heart and spoke clearly:

  “I swear, as Amilia H. Belmont, that the request of Leopold Polston will be heeded by myself, and by the Crown. My promise shall be recognised by the God Polsten, and his divine messenger Valon.”

  She lowered her hand, her voice unwavering as she concluded, “Will that suffice?”

  Leopold, knowing the religious foundation upon which monarchies like Thatradore's were built, understood the gravity of such a vow. A monarch breaking a sacred oath sworn to their god wasn’t unheard of, but something about the way she said it to him, made him want to believe her.

  Though it wasn’t everything he had hoped for, but it was as good a deal as he was likely to get.

  “Your Highness,” Leopold said, pressing his hand to his chest. “You have my support.”

  The other ministers smiled, some with quiet relief, others with cautious hope.

  Amilia allowed herself a small, genuine smile in return.

  “Thank you all… I truly mean this,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Should this succeed — should Thatradore rise to stand among the great powers — your names will be enshrined in the annals of our history for your contributions to the Crown and its people.”

  She caught herself, realising she was beginning to spiral into a flood of gratitude. Clearing her throat, she drew herself back into the poised figure of a queen.

  “Thank you,” she said again, her voice more measured now. “This kingdom will never forget your names. On that, I give you my solemn promise.”

  Amilia’s gaze swept across the room — across four foreign officials who now stood, in the eyes of history, as nobles under her banner.

  She hadn’t expected the weight of that moment to touch her so deeply… but it did.

  And for reasons she couldn’t explain, it warmed her more than she thought it ever could.