Aiden sat at the head of the long stone table in Valthar's grand keep. The room smelled of damp wool, oiled leather, and woodsmoke.
Two dozen people filled the seats: local lords in patched finery, guild masters with ink-stained fingers, sky-palace officers in crisp uniforms, and Elizabeth on his right, Nyra on his left. The first full Imperial Council after the takeover was not going smoothly.
"We cannot bleed the city dry," Lord Harvik said, slapping the table. "The old duke took forty percent on grain. People still remember the winter famines."
Elizabeth leaned forward. "Then we do better. The Iron Tithe. Every house and guild reports their wealth from the old regime. They contribute ten percent of that value in resources or manpower.
No more, no less. In return, loyal contributors get first access to healing fields, protected trade routes through the passes, and enhancement priority for their officers who serve in the imperial army."
