Chapter 12 - The Shadow over the Southern Duchies
Three weeks later, Arthur’s victorious procession returned through the gates of Pendragon Castle. The mood in the capital was vastly different from the day he had first pulled Caliburn from the stone. Commoners lined the streets, throwing flower petals and cheering his name. The relief wagons from the north had arrived safely, filling the markets with grain and restoring faith in the crown.
Yet, as Arthur entered the throne room, he found it occupied not by jubilant lords, but by an unsettling, icy quiet.
Queen Morgana sat near the edge of the dais, draped in mourning black, her expression a masterclass of sorrow and feigned loyalty. As Arthur approached the steps, she rose and bowed her head gracefully.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty," Morgana said smoothly, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "We feared the northern winters might claim you, as they have claimed so many kings before you."
Arthur stopped at the base of the throne, resting his hand on Caliburn’s pommel. He could sense the underlying deceit in her posture. "The northern winters are harsh, Morgana, but tyranny is far colder. I am told three southern duchies have refused to send their tax tributes this month. Did they lose their way in the snow as well?"
Morgana’s smile did not reach her eyes. "They are merely concerned, Sire. They worry that a king raised in the slums understands nothing of trade, taxes, or the delicate balance of power among the nobility. They demand an audience with the Council to voice their grievances."
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"Let them come," Arthur said, his voice echoing with absolute authority through the vaulted chamber. "I will hear their grievances personally. But let it be known: the crown does not beg for its dues. It commands them."
Morgana’s eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. "As you wish, King Arthur. Let us see how well your sword negotiates with men who hold the kingdom's gold."
