Two years worth of bargaining, strategic planning, and negotiating in exchange for two minutes of speaking. 𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴, I remind myself. Perhaps if I say it enough, I ought to truly believe it. “Are you listening!” Roman gripes, turning me towards him. We stand in front of the two golden gates to the the royal chamber, just three inches separating us and them. It’s almost laughable how I spent so long awaiting an audience, and now that it’s granted I want nothing more than to run and hide. Roman shrugs his white coat off and passes it to me. I quickly button it up over my doublet, folding the cuffs so my hands are not hidden by the sleeves. My style of dress isn't one I'd usually change for another, but when something as crucial as this is at stake, I wouldn't hesitate to even expose my flesh to draw them in. “I am listening” I say, pulling my hair out the jacket. “But there are also a multitude of other matters going through my head.” I don’t tell him all those other matters are my internal panic. When I cornered Roman in that sad excuse of a pub a few months ago, the last thing I expected was for him to help me gain an audience with his father and the royal council. To be honest, I fully expected an unwelcome boot to the shin and a visit to the royal dungeons. Perhaps that’s why it’s quite difficult to fully trust his loyalties. Even now I still wonder if it’s all a trap. “First and foremost, don’t let them focus on your status as a Vin, or as daughter of a Winnet. They will only use it to find a way to twist your argument” Roman explains in a hushed voice. “I know that already” I tell him. Being Vin carries assumptions and expectations that are impossible to avoid. People assume all outcomes reached are do to my magic, even when it’s entirely impossible. Add to the fact that they likely hold nothing but contempt towards my father and his name family name, Winnet. “Remain stoic, exposing the depth of your desires only serves to create a weakness in yourself that others may exploit. Show no hint of your emotions, make the game one of cat and mouse, as it should be.” Roman says so casually, I wonder what’s behind his empty face. What game he plays at. I nod and catch one last glance at myself through the golden doors reflection. I look like one of them. “Any other advice?” He places his hand on my back, urging me towards the door. “Yes” he whispers in my ear. “Be cautious. This moment holds much significance, not only to you but to me as well. Do not allow your actions to be swayed or influenced by mere whims or small distraction. Don’t get on my fathers bad side, it would be a great inconvenience for everyone to find your head in a basket.” With one final push, he opens the door and I’m inside. I linger by the door where I’m sure Romans listening in, cautious to take another step. Before me are the six members of the royal council, stationed around a massive oak table. They wear opulent garments of silk and gold, and the councilor farthest to the right wears a gown of clockwork machinery. In the center of the table, seated in a ornate ivory throne, is the king himself. He looks like an older, colder version of the already cold Roman. The polished marble floor and walls, lined with detailed tapestries and paintings, make the huge room feel much more intimate than it should be. “Vin Vivian Winnet, of the Aravian province” a courtier I hadn’t noticed before announces. Too late for ‘don’t let them know who I am right away’. “Ah” the councilor who looks like a dark haired version of the king says. His long iron tipped fingers clank on the table every few seconds. “I didn’t know the late general had a daughter, less one who’s 𝘝𝘪𝘯.” I swallow the knot in my throat, building up the armor of indifference I’ve honed. “Honorable members of the council” I bow when facing the King. “King Archival.” He nods and I take it as a sign to keep speaking. "Permit me to make it plain, members of the council, that I have travelled from the far north to make a petition I know may not be taken lightly. However, I believe this matter is of utmost importance and merits your attention." I stride towards the table, keeping a distance of six feet between me and them. “Aravia is the fifth province in our kingdom, yet we bring more burdens to the kingdom than any benefits we provide.” I take a sharp breath in and continue. “A hundred years ago, this very chamber made the decision to transfer Aravia, the trading province, to Illclave. Since then our land has been consumed by poverty and violence, rife with criminal activity, smuggling, and incessant battles between the Vinlords and Warlords. The Rhatavian Kingdom during this time has done nothing to benefit us, choosing instead to further tax the citizens of Aravia, making it a struggle for any family to live comfortably." The councilor clad in a ticking clockwork gown brings her bronze fingers up in a signal that she is ready to speak. A brief pause follows before all attention is diverted toward her, then the king. When he approves, her sharp gains cuts to me. “If you have arrived here to rudely report to the council about your difficulties, we do not require your presence. Make your claim or leave.” “Of course” I respond, grinding my teeth until I bite my tongue. Indifferent I tell myself. “I have come here to carry on my fathers request, without a mutiny. The Aravian provinces demand sovereignty from the Rhatavian Kingdom, and to be recognized as our own nations.” The shock written on all their faces takes me by surprise as well. “This is an outrageous demand!” A council member I recognize yells. Lucio, cousin of the king. The first man my father betrayed. “What are we to even listen to a Vin? A Winnet!” The woman in the clockwork gown besides him puts a hand to his shoulder and sits him back down. Everyone’s gaze is at me. Even the little angel boys on the dome look down on me with shameful eyes. “That is a big request for someone with such little authority.” the King finally says. “I don’t speak for myself, your majesty” I explain. “I speak for the people and all leaders of Aravia.” The king arches a brow. “So there’s more of you?” I keep my mouth closed. I’ve already messed up, hinting more to him than he ought to know. “Wert I to give you the promise of your request, would you tell me who these leaders are?” I hold his gaze, curling my toes in my thick leather boots. “No.” He gives a calculated smile. “I wouldn’t expect as much. But do tell me this, Vivian of Aravia. What will gaining sovereignty do to your province that isn’t already happening now?“ It’s a trick question. If I bring up the tax’s again, he’ll see it as a way out of the finances, and a loss for the kingdom. On the other hand, any alternative argument brought forth might lead to half-hearted solutions or a response that doesn't address the true issues at hand. "Granting Aravia its independence will allow us to once again become a thriving trading center.” I say, striding back and forth. “With a new purpose, Aravia would attract traders and scholars from other kingdoms, allowing us to restore our once prosperous state. In return, Rhatavia would gain a strong and steadfast ally who shall not be a financial or military burden, but rather a boon to the strength and prosperity of both kingdoms." The councilor besides the king opens her mouth to speak, but he lifts a swift finger silencing everyone. “Kin of Winnet, step out and await our decision” the king says. I couldn’t have stepped out of the room room faster, taking long strides until I reach the door, finally able to let me composure go. I feel the magic at the tips of my fingers, ready to spill out and explode. I haven’t felt so out of control since my fathers beheading. “Vivienne?” Roman calls out. He leans against the wall beside the door with me. “It’s no easy task listening though these thick doors” he says, tapping it with his knuckles. “What is going on?” “They’re coming to a decision” I exasperate, further sinking into the walls. Romans face grows pale, and I wonder if it has to do my fear or his. “They’ve been planning this.” “What?” I say, tilting my head. “Vivienne, verdicts take months, years. This was suppose to be the first of many hearings. They’ve been planning this.” Before I can ask him what he means by planning, the courtier from before drags me back inside. The room looks smaller. No places to hide. “Vin Vivienne Winnet” the king says my name like a sour taste in his mouth. “We shall grant Aravia independence under the conditions that all imports on sea and land are taxed through us.” “No!” The words slip out of my mouth before anything less uncouth comes to mind. “That’s absurd—imposible. It would create a heavier financial burden on us tenfolds!” A cruel smile plays on everyone’s lips in the room except mine. “That is my only and final offer” the king says. “You know, your father was given the same choice. And now his heads in a basket.” A threat. A nasty, blatant threat. "My son has no doubt been filling your head with ridiculous notions, but do not pay him any heed. He has always craved the opportunity to control and exploit the trading abilities of Aravia. So let me repeat myself. Shall we go forth with 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 proposition?” “No” I repeat, steadier this time. “Your setting up a kingdom doomed to your benefit.” “Very well then” the king says. “Guards, please escort her to the cells. The hearing for your counts of conspiracy and treason shall take place tomorrow.” My skin feels hot and clammy all over as I run and tug from the guards grips, nothing but anger and magic running through my blood. The guards place an iron chain on my wrists, and like that my magic is gone. No no no no no! “You are a despicable bunch” I shout as the guards drag me away. “One day it’ll be your blood we paint our flag with!” The council members spare no sympathetic glances as the king goes back to conversing like nothing happened. “What are you doing!” Roman yells at the guards dragging me in chains. His eyes meet mine and we both understand we’ve failed. “I’ll come for you! Just hold on!” And how I’d like to believe that’s true. But not even the kings son can save me from his wrath. One day though, whether it is I who brings the king to his knees or another, he shall burn in the flames of his own making.