Vanella learned quickly that silence in the King's presence was never empty.
She stood at the far side of the chamber, tablets in hand, eyes lowered as Raven and his ministers discussed trade tariffs along the southern routes. Maps lay open across the table. Voices rose and fell—measured, careful, political.
The Tiger Clan sat among them.
Watching.
Raven spoke without turning. "Read the figures."
Vanella blinked once. "Which ones, Your Majesty?"
"All of them."
A pause followed.
Some ministers exchanged looks. A servant—reading economic projections aloud? Ridiculous.
Vanella stepped forward.
Her voice did not shake.
"The southern trade route bleeds silver," she said calmly. "Not because of tariffs, but because the Tiger Clan controls the middle passage. Merchants pay twice—once to pass, once to survive."
The room stilled.
A Tiger minister scoffed. "That is speculation."
Vanella lifted her eyes—only slightly. "No. It is arithmetic."
She pointed to the ledger. "If losses were weather-related, the decline would fluctuate. Instead, it is consistent. Controlled."
Raven leaned back, studying her carefully now.
"You speak like a minister," one noble muttered.
Vanella bowed. "I speak like someone who had to count grain before winter."
A few chuckles died quickly.
The Tiger Clan head smiled thinly. "Careful, girl. Words have weight."
"So does silence," Vanella replied softly.
For a moment, the air shifted.
No one noticed the faint ripple in the water basin by the wall.
No one saw the surface tremble—just once.
Vanella's fingers curled against the tablet.
Raven noticed.
Her breathing had changed. Sharper. Controlled—but barely.
"Enough," Raven said smoothly. "This is not a debate."
He stood. "It is a test."
All eyes snapped to him.
"I will reopen the southern route," Raven continued. "Under royal inspection. Any interference will be treated as treason."
The Tiger Clan ministers bowed—perfectly composed.
"We welcome transparency," their leader said.
Vanella felt anger coil in her chest.
Lies.
The water in the basin sloshed softly.
She inhaled sharply.
Raven's eyes flicked—not to the ministers—but to the basin.
Then back to Vanella.
Interesting.
The meeting ended shortly after. As the court dispersed, Raven spoke again.
"Vanella. Stay."
She turned.
"You were not instructed to speak," he said evenly.
She knelt instantly. "I apologize, Your Majesty."
"I did not say you were wrong."
She looked up—surprised.
Raven stepped closer, voice low. "A commoner does not understand power structures. A servant does not predict political behavior."
His gaze sharpened. "Where did you learn that?"
Vanella swallowed. "Watching men starve while leaders argued."
Silence stretched.
Raven nodded once.
"You will attend the next council," he said. "You will listen. You will not speak unless I command it."
She bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
As she rose to leave, Raven added quietly, "And Vanella?"
She paused.
"Control your emotions," he said calmly. "The palace notices more than words."
She stiffened.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She left.
Raven remained, eyes drifting once more to the water basin—now perfectly still.
So, he thought, what else are you hiding?