“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift of God, which is why we call it the present.” - Bill Keane

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  The summons for an emergency full Parliament meeting arrived less than a week after the incident at Darrenshade.

  And surprisingly, it came directly from Prince Rem this time, instead of one of the ministers, as had become the norm in recent years. The missive bore the royal seal, its presence unmistakable. Every official, merchant, and soldier in Alathia understood what it meant.

  They knew it to be Very Serious, and that it is not a request, but a command. And that one only ignores the summons at their own peril.

  Or if they’re tired of living.

  Even the elusive lords and ladies of the Ten Great Houses were in attendance, though most had grown accustomed to avoiding Parliament sessions entirely within the last few years. Surprisingly, even Yuliana Nightray was present, seated where Lord Hunt would usually stand in as proxy for House Nightray.

  Her presence alone turned heads. It meant something, and everyone knew it.

  Even the most self-important minister or merchant in Parliament kept a cautious distance from the table where the lords and ladies of the Ten Great Houses were seated. Tension radiated from that particular table like a storm, thick and suffocating. Lord Kael, in particular, looked like he might set the entire chamber alight with the sheer force of his glare, practically glaring daggers at anyone who moved.

  At the head of the chamber, seated on the elevated dais, Rem looked like a shadow of his usual self. Deep shadows ringed his eyes, and his already fair complexion looked almost ashen. His posture was stiff, his hands clenched over the carved arms of his chair as he sat in his royal regalia. It is obvious that the Crown Prince likely hadn’t slept properly in days, or even slept at all.

  Two Crownsguards flanked him as his guards. Protectorate soldiers stood at regular intervals throughout the hall, their silent presence a clear message. Among them stood Cassian Hunt, as grim-faced as ever. Every single member of Protectorate looked as if they didn’t want to be here. And now that Rem knew the truth, he could understand where they’re coming from, and could hardly blame them.

  Who would want to guard a room filled with greedy and arrogant merchants and officials, who were all more concerned with lining their pockets with gold, and securing their own influence, while the majority of the kingdom outside these marble walls bled and starved?

  And this is not mentioning the number of soldiers who were dying in droves against bandits and raiders, or even in border skirmishes, due to their lack of proper gear and weapons, or even because they didn’t have the energy due to starvation.

  As Rem watched the members of Parliament all slowly filing in, chatting amongst themselves uncaringly, the Crown Prince was starting to understand what Yulia had meant all those years ago, when she had first warned him about giving Parliament the power of state.

  “If you give them too much power, you’re going to regret it.”

  And Yulia was right, wasn’t she? Like she is with everything else.

  Not for the first time, Rem wished for the umpteenth time that he had listened to Yulia instead of brushing her off all the time. And now, Rem truly feared that he had lost Yulia’s friendship and trust for good.

  Rem scanned the marble halls of the Royal Parliament once more, even as the two Protectorate soldiers guarding the great double doors shut it with a slam, as the last member filed in, sealing the chamber as is protocol until the session formally ended.

  The leaders of the merchant guild lounged arrogantly near the front rows, murmuring among themselves with the ease of men who had long grown used to being heard. The civilian representatives were louder, and even more arrogant, if that is even possible, muttering something about some imagined offence that some soldier had committed against their delicate sensibilities the other day.

  By contrast, the table of the Great Houses was deathly silent, with every single one of them grim-faced.

  Behind them sat the military commanders, their expressions just as severe. General Callum Thorne was present on behalf of Protectorate, sitting in as proxy for Commander Hunt. Even the look on his face was cold enough to freeze fire.

  Gaius Merren, in his position as the Crown Prince’s advisor, cleared his throat loudly, and the halls quietened down, with the attention of the entire hall going towards the front.

  “In my position as the royal advisor, I call this session of Parliament to order,” Gaius said formally, from his place next to Rem.

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  It was General Thorne who was the first to speak, leaning forward slightly in his seat, his tone even but piercing. “Your Highness, it’s rare for you to make an appearance in Parliament meetings. And rarer still to summon a full Parliament, furthermore,” he said, and Rem barely restrained a wince. “Though I believe I speak for most present that it is a welcome change.”

  The eyes of the lords and ladies of the Ten Great Houses were almost like daggers, staring straight at Rem, especially Lord Kael. If looks could kill, Rem thought with a wince, I’d already be dead.

  One of the merchant guild leaders rose suddenly, cutting across the growing silence. Rem recognised him as Baron Aldren Veylor, who had a minor baron title to his name, with his family only achieving nobility status in his generation.

  “Actually, now that His Highness is presiding, this presents an excellent opportunity,” he said, his voice oily and self-assured. “I wish to formally request that funds be released to revamp and restructure the roads in the Imperial City. More specifically, the market district in the Central District. The state of the cobblestones is frankly abysmal. The roads are cracked and not as well-maintained as it used to be, and carriage wheels are constantly getting stuck in potholes or cracks.”

  The faces of half the Great Houses looked ready to explode, as are the military commanders. Lord Kael, for one, had gripped the table so tightly that it creaked beneath his fingers.

  “You’re worrying about the damn roads of all things? What about the market stalls?” Another representative of the merchant guild snorted in derision. “The stalls need replacing! Trade within the Imperial City has fallen drastically within the last few years. Majority of the goods we’re selling now came from internal merchants and farmers. Most of the nobility are complaining that the quality of the goods isn’t as good as it used to be, before the war.”

  Rem caught a mutter coming from the Ten Great Houses’ table that suspiciously sounded like Lady Elenya Marrowind, “Gee, I wonder why?”

  “Unfortunately, there are no additional funds available beyond what’s already been allocated,” A voice spoke up from the section where the ministers sat. Rem recognised the speaker as the Finance Minister, Cyril Varence, a man who had already been in his position since the reign of King Edric. Thin and stoop-shouldered, with greying hair thinning at the crown, he had small, round glasses perched on his nose, and wore the traditional white and grey Parliament robes. “The budget is stretched thin as it is.”

  At the Great Houses’ table, Yulia’s eyes narrowed at Cyril Varence, but she said nothing. Rem, however, saw the shift in her expression.

  The Grand Parliament Hall descended into chaos with the Finance Minister’s words, with the ministers and merchants, and even Parliament officials all shouting over each other in an attempt to get themselves heard, waving papers about.

  The military commanders and even the Ten Great Houses exchanged dark looks. Majority of them looked exasperated, or looked as if they wanted a headache cure. Some of them, like Lord Kael and even Lord Valemire, looked ready to bash their heads onto the nearest wall. Lord Hunt looked as though he was two seconds away from launching the entire table through the window. Even the Protectorate soldiers rolled their eyes skywards in exasperation.

  “…And this is why I usually had Lord Hunt stand in for me as proxy,” Rem heard Yulia mutter irritably. Privately, however, Rem suspects that her decision had less to do with patience, and more to do with the continued health and existence of the Parliament members.

  And now, from his seat, even as Rem watched Parliament descend into chaos, shouting about road maintenance, taxes, and Goddess knows what else, he realised that Yulia and Gaius have been right about Parliament all along. He is now seeing Parliament for what it truly was. They’re not the guiding force that Rem had once believed they are, which was why he had given them the power of state all those years ago.

  And now, Rem has no idea how to fix his mistakes.

  One of the merchant guild leaders was getting into the face of one of the minor nobility, waving documents like a sword. “The merchant guild takes precedence! The roads are essential for commerce! It needs maintaining! Several of the families in the Imperial City are already complaining about how hard it is for their carriages to travel along the roads! The Central District especially needs priority!”

  “We need to raise the taxes!”

  “There are complaints from the families in the capital about the quality of the produce that they’re getting from the farmers within the capital! And even that we haven’t been receiving any goods or trade from outside the capital for years!”

  “Again, like Minister Varence had said, the budget is stretched as far as we can manage! We can’t allocate what we don’t have!”

  One bored-looking noble chimed in, “If we don’t have any more funds in reserve, then why not divert funding from other departments? Let’s divert funding from the military. We have no use for an army in peacetime.”

  That was the final straw for half the room.

  A thunderous CRACK rang out, even as Lord Hunt slammed his hand down hard onto the ancient oak table. So hard, in fact, that no one would have been surprised if the entire table had splintered in two. The sound reverberated across the chamber like thunder, effectively silencing the room better than anything could.

  Every single pair of eyes in the room, even those of the Protectorate soldiers guarding Parliament, and even Rem, as well as Gaius, directed their attention towards the furious Lord Hunt.

  He looked every bit the lord he is right now, half out of his chair, his eyes blazing with fury, looking to be one second away from drawing his sword. Even the Protectorate soldiers in the hall tensed, knowing full well the legendary temper of their commander. Cassian Hunt, as well, looked worried, though he also looked furious at the absurd suggestion.

  “Did I just hear you right?” Lord Hunt growled, sounding more like a ferocious beast than a man. The unfortunate speaker who had suggested diverting the funding from the military branches swallowed nervously under Lord Hunt’s ferocious glare. Even the rest of the Great Houses looked furious, especially Lord Kael, who looked one breath away from drawing blood. “Divert the funding from the military branches? Have you bunch of complete insipid morons and fools totally lost whatever sense that you had?!”

  Another strike of his palm nearly sent the heavy table flying. As it is, the tower of papers by the edge nearly collapsed, and was hastily caught and steadied by Lady Maris D’Aragon, who was seated calmly at the far end of the Great Houses’ table.

  The Grand Parliament Hall was eerily silent for once, with not a single person willing to anger Lord Hunt more than he already is.

  Lord Alaric Hunt had risen to his full height, his eyes blazing with fury. Even his hair seemed to bristle with rage. “You mean the same military that Parliament has been pruning for the last six years since the war ended? The same military that has been dying in order to keep our people safe, and our borders from collapsing entirely from raiders and bandits? The same military that is keeping this kingdom from collapsing into civil unrest?”

  The room had gone still. No one even dared to move, let alone speak.

  “Our men are dropping like flies out there!” Lord Hunt roared, his voice reverberating across the hall. “Soldiers are being buried in unmarked graves because they didn’t even have proper armour! Villages are starving and dying of diseases that have been treatable for years! Entire villages and regions are all suffering and dying for years! It’s been six years since the war ended, and things are only getting worse out there! And here you are, standing here and talking about diverting more funds to your bloody roads?!”

  Lord Kael rose beside him, his voice no less explosive, as he slammed both hands down onto the table, the force echoing like a war drum.

  “And do you even know how many of those Goddess-damned roads we can’t even use because they’re crawling with outlaws and bandits?” he demanded. “My people are all starving! They can’t even afford seeds to plant the crops they so desperately needed for food! The crop fields in almost every single village in the Northern Holds haven’t been utilised in years because they can’t afford the seeds! Entire villages and regions all left in the dark at night and even during the winter months because they can no longer afford oil for their lamps! People are so desperate that they’re selling their own children because Parliament never gave aid to those in the rural districts!”

  One of the minor nobility snorted. “You’re just parroting the same lies the paper keeps printing,” he muttered. “Those are just lies. The usual drivel from greedy commoners wanting to squeeze the capital dry.”

  Lord Myrren and Lord Grimalde both sprang to their feet to hold Lord Kael back. “Calm down,” Lord Thalric Myrren hissed in Lord Kael’s ear. “It won’t do us any good if you lose your head.”