The horror begins in the lower levels, where the kitchen staff is cleaning up the remnants of the feast. A panicked head cook finds Hedde Jellema in the corridor, looking as though he’s seen a ghost.
"Duke Jellema," the cook stammers, holding out a cloth. "We were... we were rendering the scraps for the hounds. We found this in the stomach of the Princess’s boar."
He unfolds the cloth to reveal a heavy gold signet ring. The carved signet stone is slightly pitted by stomach acid, but it's definitely the crest of the Padma family. Stephen’s personal seal is unmistakable.
Jellema takes the ring from the cook’s trembling hand.
"A tragic coincidence," Jellema says, his voice as cold as the Silver Peak. "The boar must have scavenged the site of a previous accident. Stephen was always careless with his jewelry. Return to your work. If I hear a whisper of 'jewels in the meat,' I will ensure the King hears that you were the one who served him a 'tainted' beast."
The cook pales and flees. Jellema stands alone in the damp hallway, staring at the gold ring. He thinks of Aart and Stephen, both still missing. He realizes that Víl? didn't just kill Stephen; she turned the entire Royal Court into a tomb for her enemies.
While the palace whispers, Víl? is likely helping Rho with her lessons. She is perfectly calm. To her, the ring in the stomach isn't a mistake; it's a signature. It’s her way of letting Jellema know that the "weeding" is complete.
"Do you think the King enjoyed his breakfast, Kenric?" I ask, watching Rho draw a lopsided stag on her slate.
Kenric catches my eye. He knows about the promise to Eamon. He knows the "no burial" clause is now fully executed. "I think the King has a very full heart this morning, Víl?. And a very heavy stomach."
"Good," I say, leaning back. "A full King is a quiet King. Now, let's discuss the next silver shipment. I want it to weigh twice as much as the last one. I've found that productivity increases significantly when the 'obstructions' are removed."
"Hedde looks a bit pale this morning," I observe, watching through the window as the Duke walks stiffly across the courtyard. "Perhaps he didn't sleep well."
Kenric, who has seen me rip out a throat and knows I don't make mistakes with "coincidences," leans against the doorframe. "Or perhaps he’s realized that the 'trash' in the palace has a way of being recycled."
"I told Eamon I would be his monster," I say, smoothing the silk of my skirts. "And I told you I would bring the King to heel like a disobedient dog. I've merely combined the two tasks. Oskar is fed, the threat to Rho is removed, the Law is satisfied, and my magic remains intact."
While Oskar is out of commission, I get the dukes to approve a short overnight travel to the nearest fort. I want to see the conditions for myself. I take Jan and we go.
The rain comes down in grey sheets as I stand on the ridge overlooking Fort Meridian, the closest of Oskar's garrisons. Three thousand soldiers. Three thousand men with families who need feeding, who need saving accounts, who need to understand that their loyalty is worth more when it flows through my ledgers instead of into tavern keepers' pockets.
Jan stands beside me, his ledger tucked under one arm, his practical grey wool cloak already dark with moisture. He is not Fey; he won't see what I see when I look at this fortress. He sees buildings and men. I see a financial chokepoint.
"The barracks quartermaster reports chronic supply issues," Jan says, consulting his notes. His voice is brisk, businesslike. I appreciate this about him. He doesn't waste time with pleasantries. "The soldiers are paid quarterly, but most of the gold leaves the garrison within a week."
"Where does it go?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Taverns in the settlement two miles south. The innkeeper has somehow acquired three new properties in the past year. The soldiers arrive with coin and leave with hangovers."
I nod, watching a patrol march across the training ground below. They move like men who've been underfed, underpaid, and overworked. Oskar's idea of a standing army is to push them until they break, then replace them with fresh recruits. He's never considered that an army with money in the bank is an army that remembers why it's marching.
"How quickly can you establish a location?" I ask.
"A week if we don't wait for the King's approval," Jan says. He glances at me, and I see the ghost of a smile. "We both know Oskar won't object to anything that keeps his soldiers from rioting."
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
"He'll object to nothing that makes his life easier," I correct. "And a quiet garrison is a life that is significantly easier."
I turn to face him fully. The rain has plastered his dark hair to his temples, and his eyes are sharp with calculation. Jan Vermeersch came to me through Lord Iwan Nwalis's network, a banker who understood that the old system was collapsing. He jumped to the Fey Bank before the collapse became obvious to everyone else. A smart man.
"I want the Blue Bowl in Fort Meridian, Fort Theranos, Fort Grendel, and the Harbor Master's barracks in Varpua," I say. "Not the fancy establishments. Not the Admiralty branches. The worker locations. The places where men count their coppers instead of their crowns."
"That's ambitious," Jan says, but there's approval in his tone. He's already mentally calculating the expansion. "The settlement innkeeper won't be pleased to see his revenue stream dry up."
"The innkeeper should have considered the consequences of exploiting soldiers," I reply. The rain intensifies, and I don't move. It's cold and miserable, and I find I rather enjoy discomfort. It reminds me that I'm still capable of feeling something other than strategic satisfaction. "Once we establish the Blue Bowl locations, we offer the soldiers a different proposition. They deposit their quarterly pay with us. We give them token allowances, enough for an evening in town, but not enough to drink themselves stupid. The remainder accrues interest."
Jan's pencil moves rapidly across his ledger. "Investment vehicles for the soldiers themselves. Cottage funds. Widow pensions if they fall in the field."
"Exactly," I say. "And every service we provide, every soldier we educate about the value of silver in a vault versus silver in a tavern keeper's pocket, represents a man whose loyalty is now tied to the Fey Bank rather than to the whim of a king who views them as expendable."
"You're not just establishing banking branches," Jan says slowly, understanding blooming across his face. "You're creating a shadow infrastructure."
"I am creating stability," I correct him. "A king cannot wage war if his soldiers have financial incentives to remain alive. A garrison cannot riot if their families' security depends on their continued employment. And an army that is well-fed, well-paid, and invested in its own future is an army that remembers which side of the blade they should be on."
I watch as a group of soldiers trudges toward the mess hall, their uniforms threadbare, their boots worn. One of them is favoring his left leg. It looks like an old wound, probably. The garrison physician is Oskar's cousin, a man who got the position through nepotism rather than competence. How many soldiers are we losing to treatable injuries because no one bothers to invest in basic healthcare?
"The King will see this as a way to keep his soldiers content," Jan observes. "Which it is. But it's also…"
"A way to ensure that if Oskar ever becomes a liability to his own military, his soldiers have resources that aren't tied to the Crown's treasury," I finish. "Yes. I am nothing if not efficient."
Jan tucks his ledger back under his arm. "The first location will need a manager. Someone who understands both the soldiers and the banking. Not just a clerk pushing numbers."
"I have someone in mind," I say. "A woman named Petra. She served in the Codegorian army for fifteen years before a leg injury forced her into civilian work. She understands soldiers because she was a soldier. She also understands that a man with nothing to lose is dangerous, and a man with something to protect is manageable."
"And the financial structure?"
"Identical to Varpua," I say. "One copper a bowl for the stew. Token accounts for deposits. For every ten crowns saved, a week of meals on the house. But we add the cottage fund. Three percent contribution from the soldier's deposit, matched by a two percent contribution from the garrison's supply budget."
Jan's eyebrows rise. "You're asking Oskar to fund retirement accounts for his soldiers?"
"I'm offering Oskar a way to reduce desertion by fourteen percent while simultaneously increasing troop morale by twenty-three percent and decreasing medical expenses related to malnutrition," I say. "The fact that it also means his soldiers will be emotionally invested in the Bank's success is merely a beneficial side effect."
The rain begins to ease, and I watch as the sun breaks through the clouds in that particular way that only happens after a heavy storm. The garrison suddenly looks less grey, less worn. Or perhaps that's just my perspective shifting. Seven hundred and forty-six years of existence teaches you that everything looks different when you control the money flowing through it.
"I'll draft the proposal for Oskar's review," Jan says. "Though I suspect he'll approve anything that keeps his throne warmer and his troubles fewer."
"He will," I agree. "And once the Blue Bowl is established in his garrisons, we expand to the harbor installations, the customs houses, and the road toll stations. Anywhere soldiers gather. Anywhere men count coins."
Jan smiles, a thin, sharp expression that suggests he understands the full scope of what we're building here. It's not just a bank. It's a web. A careful, deliberate network of loyalty that runs deeper than patriotism and far more effective than fear.
"By the time Oskar realizes what's happening," Jan says softly, "he'll already be dependent on our infrastructure."
"By then," I correct, "it will be too late for him to do anything about it. That is the beauty of finance, Jan. It is patient. It is methodical. And it is absolutely, completely inevitable."
We stand together on the ridge as the last of the rain clears, watching Fort Meridian settle into the afternoon. Somewhere in that garrison, soldiers are being served thin gruel and hard bread. They don't know it yet, but their lives are about to change. Their families will have security. Their futures will have weight.
And the Fey Bank will own every aspect of their loyalty.
I find this satisfying in ways that even the hunt did not provide.
"When can you have the Fort Meridian location ready?" I ask.
"Two weeks if I push. Three if I want to do it properly."
"Do it properly," I say. "We have built something here in Centis, Jan. Something that will outlast Oskar's reign and the reign of whatever comes after him. Rushing would be a waste of resources."
As we turn to leave, I catch sight of a young soldier near the parade ground. He can't be more than nineteen. His uniform hangs off him as though he's been slowly dissolving into absence. In a few months, he'll have access to a Blue Bowl location. He'll learn that the coin Oskar pays him is real. That it can be saved. That it has value beyond the drink it can purchase.
He doesn't know it yet, but he's already beginning to understand that his loyalty has a price and that price might be better spent with me than with the idiot king who treats him as disposable
Today's notes brought to you by the infamous Fey bard, Ashenleaf Brightnote, Chronicler of Courtly Catastrophes.
Ohhhh, Chapter 147 was DELICIOUS.
Let us recap the feast:
The "boar" ate Stephen.
The King ate the boar.
The kitchen found his signet ring in the stomach.
Víl?: “Yes, that is exactly the level of poetic closure I ordered.”
The best part?
She didn’t hide it — it was a message.
A signature.
A professional courtesy to Jellema, letting him know the weeding has officially concluded.
Stephen wanted to put Rho in a kennel and feed her to his dogs.
He ended up as dinner.
Correct.
Beautiful.
Symmetrical.
The moment he holds that ring, he understands:
- Stephen is gone
- Aart is probably gone
- And Víl? is not merely eliminating threats…
She’s filing the paperwork afterward.
Jellema is now walking around the palace like a man who just remembered he left the oven on, except the oven is a Fey Princess and the thing inside it is him.
Oskar is barricaded in his rooms, suffering from what he calls the “aftershock of triumph” but the rest of us call:
- panic
- indigestion
- and the consequences of making terrible life choices near open fire and wild animals
The man is so unfit for public life that even his memories are lying to him.
If he ever finds out what he actually ate…
Well.
We’ll need a second Royal Physician.
While Oskar is busy trying not to vomit on his tapestries, Víl? is:
- Expanding the Fey Bank
- Establishing military?adjacent financial hubs
- Providing soldiers with savings, pensions, and incentives
- And quietly, elegantly stealing the entire army out from under the Crown
Do you know what Oskar contributed?
NOTHING.
He signed a paper with the enthusiasm of a toddler handed crayons and told it makes him important.
This chapter is the financial equivalent of conquering a kingdom with coupons.
Jan stands in the rain with Víl? talking numbers like it’s foreplay.
He gets it:
This is not a bank expansion.
This is an economic coup.
By the time Oskar notices?
It’ll be like realizing your house is on fire after the roof has already turned to ash.
Right now they’re starving, limping, freezing, and funnelling all their wages into taverns run by opportunistic parasites.
Víl?’s solution?
- Financial literacy
- Savings accounts
- Cottage funds
- Pensions
- Reduced desertion
- Long?term loyalty
- And MOST importantly:
A military that belongs to her ledger, not Oskar’s throne
Oskar thinks she’s helping him.
Oskar is wrong.
Oskar is almost always wrong.
This chapter was:
- A murder mystery where the murderer signs her work
- An economic revolution disguised as lunch planning
- A subtle coup disguised as army welfare
- And Oskar undergoing gastrointestinal punishment for being alive
10/10.
Perfect.
Fey?approved.
Would re?read with snacks.
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