The meeting chamber smelled of old parchment, beeswax, and the faint metallic tang of anxiety.
Caspian sat at the head of the long oak table, still wearing the black-and-silver formal coat from the wedding ceremony. A thin ceremonial sash remained across his chest, slightly askew. Outside, the palace gardens rang with music and laughterl. He should have been among them receiving congratulations, leading the first dances, playing the role of the newly wedded king.
Instead he was here.
"The drought has moved further north than last year's projections," he said, voice flat and steady. "Three border provinces are already reporting failed harvests. If the dry season continues another month, we will be looking at widespread starvation by winter. I want updated grain reserves from every major storehouse by the end of the week. And I want options real options, not another round of prayers and hopeful forecasts."
