Seated in her place of honor, Irene was currently feasting with unabashed enthusiasm, her face slick with grease, thinking that the potatoes she and Her Majesty had personally cultivated were genuinely too delicious. They really had outdone themselves.
Daphne, meanwhile, was full of energy beside little Hailey, cheerfully piling vegetables onto the girl's plate and laughing brightly at the sight of the six-year-old gnawing away at her potato with single-minded focus.
This was good. That was good too.
Victor watched the scene — every monarch and minister in the hall, foreign nobles included, all of them with their heads bowed and faces buried in their bowls, even the Leighton Princess who had been staring at Sophia not long ago now clutching a bowl of mashed potatoes with both cheeks puffed out — and felt the tide of his reverence surge to yet another peak.
Her Majesty is not merely entertaining guests. She is using this unprecedented revolution in staple foods to demolish the belief systems of the old world!
Look at the King of Leighton — in the midst of that excruciating, exhilarating torment, he has thoroughly surrendered his pride.
This capacity to produce high-calorie food in the dead of winter — that is the Empire's ultimate weapon. When every man and woman trembles before a single bowl of potatoes, the will of Mason is carved into their very marrow, flowing down with each swallow. What people call 'going back for three helpings in righteous fury' is simply the highest form of verbal tribute a neighboring nation can offer their sovereign!
Sophia sat at the head of the table, looking out at the sea of ministers and monarchs — usually so sharp, so dignified — who had in this moment all transformed into devoted eaters, competing in perfect unison for the ladle. She was thoroughly satisfied.
As the roar of the banquet gradually settled with the trembling of the hearthfire, the hall filled with a warm, settled fragrance of spices, fat, and aged wine.
Sophia rolled her slightly stiff shoulders and, accompanied by Willow, moved to the study in the side hall to receive the guests who had traveled from afar bearing their congratulatory gifts.
The envoy from the City of Hill and the City Lord of Qubi entered first.
To Sophia's mind, both of them were already her own vassals, firmly within Mason's domain.
The envoy from the City of Hill respectfully delivered a preliminary report of Vasha's accomplishments thus far. The City Lord of Qubi was even more eager to please — face glowing, he promised enthusiastically that the next shipment of premium ore was already on its way.
"You've both done well," Sophia said, waving a hand to spare them the formalities. "Mason will not shortchange any loyal territory. Go rest tonight — take a walk around the Royal City, enjoy yourselves. You're welcome to visit the Black Rose flagship store as well. The interior there is quite a bit more impressive."
A handful of unhurried, reassuring words, and the two men left the study clutching their relief like a priceless treasure, bowing as they went.
The atmosphere that followed was considerably more delicate.
The King of Leighton entered the study with his Queen and Princess in tow, his steps noticeably lighter than before. Whatever satisfaction he'd carried from his three heroic helpings at the banquet had long since been replaced by a reverent awe at finding himself alone in a room with Sophia.
"Your Majesty Sophia," he began, rubbing his hands together with a broad, ingratiating smile, "we have sent letter after letter inviting you to honor Leighton Royal City with your presence, and yet the opportunity never seemed to arise. This subject has long felt the loss of it deeply."
"So the moment I heard Mason was holding an investiture ceremony, I set out immediately — wife and daughter in tow — solely for the privilege of personally offering Your Majesty my congratulations."
Sophia sat upright in her chair and unhurriedly straightened the lace at her cuffs, her tone polite and measured.
"How thoughtful of the King of Leighton. It's true — affairs have been rather pressing of late, and I wasn't able to make the trip. I hope you'll forgive the absence."
The King of Leighton only smiled and nodded.
Pressing? Of course she's been pressing! he thought, with considerable internal anguish. Pressing enough to destroy Orr in half a month. Pressing enough to turn Qubi into a provincial city in a matter of days. And now pressing enough to formally invest subordinates who are individually terrifying enough to rearrange the entire continent.
If that 'pressing' business ever pointed itself at Leighton, my throne wouldn't survive the night.
Though his internal commentary was spiraling with impressive speed, his face only grew more brilliantly cheerful.
"Of course, of course! Your Majesty carries the weight of the entire realm on her shoulders — naturally she is occupied with affairs of the highest importance."
He gestured toward the side hall beyond the window, where the animals they had brought were being stabled.
"To celebrate Your Majesty's triumphant return, I have brought along a sizeable gift of fine young livestock. In addition to the sturdiest plowing oxen, there are several dozen cold-hardy breeding ewes and a breed of suckling pig unique to Leighton. I hope they will breathe some vitality into Your Majesty's pastures."
Sophia's pale golden pupils brightened ever so slightly.
Coal and pearls were all well and good, but for someone intent on perfecting Mason's food chain, high-quality sources of protein were equally indispensable.
"My sincere thanks," Sophia said, with a slight incline of her head. "Leighton's goodwill is duly received."
Seeing Sophia in a favorable mood, the King of Leighton finally swallowed his nerves and quietly raised the true purpose of his visit.
"Your Majesty... that remarkable fruit at the banquet this evening — the one called a potato — and that tongue-scorching, appetite-sharpening chili..."
He leaned forward just slightly. "Would Leighton perhaps be permitted to purchase a quantity of seeds to attempt cultivation?"
Sophia watched the King's barely-disguised hunger with a flicker of amusement, keeping her own expression carefully tilted toward the sympathetic.
"Your Highness, I'll be candid with you. These crops are the result of considerable effort on the part of Irene and myself — still in the experimental stage, with current stock barely sufficient for the Royal City's own needs. Selling seeds on any meaningful scale right now would risk unreliable germination rates."
She paused, offering him a carefully measured glimmer of hope.
"That said — once large-scale propagation succeeds come spring, I wouldn't be opposed to selling a portion of the yield to Leighton. After all, an ally's appetite is something worth attending to."
The King of Leighton, though inwardly itching with impatience at the words 'come spring,' had no choice but to smile and nod his assent.
"Your Majesty is, as always, thorough in her considerations. I was too hasty — I shall await the good news with great anticipation!"
With effusive gratitude, the King of Leighton shepherded his Queen and Princess out of the study. Before he left, the tentative way he asked whether his party might be permitted to remain a few days and take in the sights of Mason made him look remarkably like a country squire visiting the capital for the first time.
Sophia naturally granted the request with gracious magnanimity. She arranged the highest-quality guest rooms and instructed Willow that when the Leighton party departed, they were to be sent off with a generous parting package — Mason specialty soap, aromatic candles, and a modest selection of premium coal.
As the heavy rosewood doors of the study swung slowly shut, the noise of the evening finally receded entirely.
Only Sophia's four core confidants remained in the room — the newly titled Irene, Delilah, and Daphne, along with Willow, who had stood at Sophia's side throughout.
"Your Majesty!"
Irene was the first to crack. She hadn't even wiped away the faint smear of wild berry juice at the corner of her mouth before she pressed eagerly up to Sophia's desk, eyes sparkling with barely-contained ambition.
"That old Leighton King — he seems harmless enough on the surface, but everything he said tonight was probing for our limits. He has absolutely no intention of submitting like the City Lord of Qubi did. Shouldn't we just... go ahead and fold Leighton into Mason's territory while we're at it? One move, done."
Delilah said nothing, but the hand resting on her ruby longsword tightened almost imperceptibly — clearly waiting for a single sign from Sophia.
Daphne hugged her staff and gave it an enthusiastic wave.
"As long as Your Majesty wishes it, Daphne's Holy Light can illuminate every harbor in Leighton!"
Sophia did not answer immediately. She accepted the cup of hot tea Willow had just pressed into her hands, her fingertips resting lightly against the warm ceramic, the curling wisps of steam concealing, for just a moment, the weight that passed through her expression.
Absorb Leighton? she thought. This girl Irene, a full stomach and she's ready to go to war.
She wanted to expand — of course she did. But Mason right now was like a small snake that had just gorged itself.
Swallowing the City of Hill and the City of Qubi in one go had already put considerable strain on her capacity to digest. Every aspect of development was hungry for resources.
And more importantly — there was that other thing to consider.
The Imperial Capital.
The place Sophia had once attended school, where she had lived for several years.
Mason? The entire Northern border combined was not the equal of the Empire.
All of these so-called Northern border kingdoms — in the eyes of the true powers seated in the Imperial Capital — were little more than ants scurrying across a stretch of wasteland. Ants rearranging their nests among themselves might not merit a second glance. But if those ants suddenly coalesced into a massive ball — large enough to threaten certain interests — a single careless step could reduce everything Mason had built to nothing in an instant.
Sophia set down her teacup. The pale gold of her pupils returned to its usual cool, unfathomable depth, and when she spoke, her voice carried a quiet weight that filled the room.
"Expansion is not the goal. Strength is."
She looked at Irene, her tone carrying an undeniable calm.
"Spring is nearly upon us. Mason now has not only its original population to provide for, but the people of the City of Hill and the City of Qubi as well. People, food, and stable order — those are the foundations of anything greater. We feed our people first. We put them to work. Then we talk about the rest."
She paused, and the corner of her mouth curved into the faintest suggestion of a smile.
"As for Leighton — as long as they refrain from causing trouble, let them serve as Mason's trade window for now. A cooperative neighbor is sometimes worth considerably more than a chaotic occupied territory."
"Fair enough," Irene muttered, though something about the Leighton family still nagged at her in a way she couldn't quite articulate. She quietly ordered a few extra soldiers to keep watch around the West Tower and Sophia's quarters — just in case.
Over the next two days, Mason Royal City hummed like a precision machine freshly oiled and set back in motion. The sound of turning gears drowned out the northern wind, every inch of air carrying the rhythm of something called prosperity.
Irene plunged headfirst into the West Tower laboratory. The black smoke and peculiar detonations issuing from its upper floors became a familiar fixture of the Royal City's soundscape as she worked to combine the refined copper brought back from Qubi with certain heat-emitting red ore samples, attempting to forge something entirely new.
Out on the training grounds beyond the city walls, Delilah was drenched in sweat. The soldiers formerly belonging to the Kingdom of Qubi were being trained to within an inch of their sanity.
"Is this the life all Mason soldiers lead? This is agony."
"Not 'Mason soldiers' — our soldiers. You're part of Mason now. You'll all be training like this going forward."
Though none of these new recruits had ever experienced anything approaching this intensity, one look at Delilah's ruby longsword — the blade that could split boulders in a single stroke — and at the caliber of equipment the Mason soldiers wore, was enough to transform the fear in their eyes into a burning fanaticism, a desperate hunger to be fully absorbed into these ranks.
How terrifying they are. Fighting under someone this terrifying — those are the best odds of winning there are.
Willow, meanwhile, became the busiest person in the Palace.
She managed the mountain of documents piling up on Sophia's behalf, and in the slanted light of afternoon, patiently cradled Hailey's plump little hand and guided the girl through writing her very first word on a clean sheet of white parchment: Sophia.
"Willow-jiejie, Her Majesty's name is so beautiful," Hailey murmured, nibbling the end of her brush, her six-year-old eyes wide with pure, uncomplicated adoration. She knew so few characters that every new one felt like a gift.
Behind her desk, Sophia was beginning to feel as though her spine might fuse with the chair.
No matter how many soft cushions and warm blankets Willow piled beneath her, prolonged sitting still left her aching. The absorption of the City of Hill and the City of Qubi was nominally a great triumph, but in its wake came an avalanche of tax adjustments, grain allocation plans, and official appointments — every single item requiring the Queen's personal review and seal.
Sophia's inner voice was howling.
Why exactly did I want to expand Mason again?
Wasn't sitting at home, petting a rabbit, and drinking good tea perfectly fine?
Damn that old fool from Orr — if he hadn't stirred up so much trouble, Mason wouldn't be half this busy right now.
And now here she was: the Northern border's most prolific approval machine.
Victor's draft congratulatory addresses had stacked themselves nearly to the ceiling, and the King of Leighton was apparently taking a comprehensive tour of the Palace. By all accounts, he had yesterday attempted to sneak a peek at the laboratory's discarded test results — claiming he simply couldn't resist the chance to observe the fruits of the Inventor's genius.
Just let it get dark already. I need my bed. I need absolute silence.
When night finally descended, Sophia pressed her fingertips to her aching temples and let Willow help her wash away the day's exhaustion. Warm steam unknotted her taut nerves, and she changed into the moon-white silk sleeping gown Irene had personally designed, her long hair still carrying a faint coolness from not being fully dried.
She felt human again.
She drained the last of the warm milk in her cup in a single long swallow and let out a contented sigh. She dismissed the attendants stationed at the Bedchamber door with a wave and pushed it open — intending to simply collapse into her soft bed and shut down entirely.
Sophia lifted the covers and moved to climb in.
"...Hm?"
Her fingertips met something that was not silk — something astonishingly delicate, and radiating an impossible warmth.
What is that?!
An assassin?
Sophia's eyes went cold in an instant. She seized the covers and threw them back.
In the warm amber of the candlelight, curled in the center of her vast velvet bed, was a small, unmistakable figure.
The girl had a delicate, fine-boned frame — tucked into the great folds of the velvet bedding like a gardenia blossom deliberately plucked and left waiting to be found. But beneath that seemingly slight and fragile shell lay a physical development that defied the eye entirely.
Her face was no larger than a man's palm, with a pointed chin and skin that glowed with the dewy, pearl-like luminosity of someone who had spent her life near the sea. At this moment, a fierce blush was blooming from the tips of her ears all the way down her slender neck.
And against the contrast of that impossibly narrow waist, what curved above it was staggering in its fullness — practically straining against the few thin layers of silk still clinging to her, heaving with every rapid breath she drew, as though the fabric itself was on the verge of conceding defeat.
It was the Princess of Leighton.
Her current state could only be described as a cardiac event waiting to happen.
On that young, exquisitely pretty face was written every variety of shame. Her long lashes trembled violently. Her hands were pressed protectively against her chest in a gesture of total, panicked helplessness — like a startled fledgling that had nowhere left to run.
"Y-Your Majesty..."
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