The proposal was announced at noon.

  Clean. Elegant. Devastating.

  Duke Harrington requested the formation of a Royal Trade Oversight Council.

  Its purpose?

  “To ensure balance between noble territories, prevent monopolization of resources, and stabilize post-audit tensions.”

  On the surface — harmless.

  Beneath it — precise.

  Celia read the public draft once.

  Then twice.

  Then she smiled faintly.

  “He’s good,” she murmured.

  Marianne stood across from her. “If this passes, your independent audit authority dissolves into shared governance.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll lose leverage.”

  “No,” Celia corrected softly. “I’ll lose exclusivity.”

  Which was worse.

  A council meant transparency.

  Transparency meant shared information.

  Shared information meant Harrington gaining visibility into her supply chains, her supporters, her structural control.

  He wasn’t attacking her power.

  He was diluting it.

  The hero crossed his arms. “Can you block it?”

  “Publicly? No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it sounds reasonable.”

  And reason was far more dangerous than accusation.

  The Grand Hall filled quickly.

  Merchants approved. Minor nobles approved. Even some neutral houses nodded cautiously.

  Harrington stood at the center of it all, calm and measured.

  “Lady Valmont has done commendable work restoring stability,” he said smoothly before the assembly. “But stability built on singular authority is fragile. Shared oversight protects us all.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  A compliment wrapped around a blade.

  Celia stepped forward when her turn came.

  White and silver again.

  Measured.

  Unthreatening.

  “You propose unity,” she said calmly.

  “I propose sustainability,” Harrington replied.

  Murmurs of approval.

  She studied the faces in the hall.

  They were tired.

  Tired of tension.

  Tired of escalation.

  Tired of subtle wars.

  And Harrington was offering relief.

  She could oppose him—

  But that would paint her as resistant to cooperation.

  So she did something else.

  “I support the formation of the council,” Celia said.

  Silence.

  Even Harrington blinked once.

  “But,” she continued smoothly, “with amendments.”

  Ah.

  Now the real game began.

  She stepped toward the central table.

  “The council must operate under rotating leadership.”

  A ripple.

  “And,” she added, “all members must disclose private trade investments to avoid conflicts of interest.”

  That landed.

  Hard.

  Because Harrington’s influence ran deep.

  Very deep.

  A council with mandatory disclosure would expose webs he preferred invisible.

  His eyes sharpened.

  “You distrust your peers?” he asked mildly.

  “I distrust opacity,” she replied.

  The king leaned forward slightly.

  “Rotating leadership,” he repeated. “Disclosure clauses.”

  Harrington’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

  He had expected resistance.

  Not counter-legislation.

  If he rejected her amendments, he would appear defensive.

  If he accepted them—

  He would lose controlled advantage.

  She had mirrored his strategy.

  Dilution for dilution.

  Transparency for transparency.

  The court began murmuring again — this time less certain.

  The king finally spoke.

  “The council will be formed. With Lady Valmont’s amendments.”

  A clean strike.

  Harrington inclined his head slowly.

  “Of course.”

  But his eyes were colder now.

  Good.

  Later that evening, Celia stood alone in her private garden.

  The hero joined her quietly.

  “You didn’t block him,” he said.

  “No.”

  “You complicated him.”

  “Yes.”

  “He wanted to limit you.”

  “He still does.”

  The hero studied her profile.

  “And you?”

  Celia watched the white roses sway in the night wind.

  “I wanted access.”

  “To what?”

  “To his structure.”

  Rotating leadership meant she would eventually chair the council.

  Mandatory disclosures meant documentation.

  Documentation meant patterns.

  And patterns—

  Could be dismantled.

  The hero exhaled softly.

  “You’re both building traps.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if he builds one faster?”

  Celia’s lips curved faintly.

  “Then I adapt faster.”

  Across the city, Harrington stood in his study once more.

  A senior advisor approached cautiously.

  “My lord… the disclosure clause will complicate several investments.”

  “I know.”

  “Should we attempt revision?”

  Harrington stared at the city lights beyond his window.

  “No.”

  The advisor hesitated. “No?”

  “She believes this gives her access.”

  “And does it not?”

  A small smile touched his lips.

  “She forgets something.”

  “What, my lord?”

  “Transparency cuts both ways.”

  He turned slowly.

  “If she chairs that council… I will be watching her just as closely.”

  The advisor lowered his head.

  “And if she finds something first?”

  Harrington’s eyes darkened slightly.

  “Then the board changes.”

  Back in her estate, Marianne approached quietly.

  “The council announcement is spreading rapidly.”

  “Good,” Celia replied.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Celia turned.

  “Harrington has requested that you co-author the council’s initial charter.”

  A pause.

  Interesting.

  Very interesting.

  She smiled faintly.

  “He’s inviting proximity.”

  “Is that dangerous?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you accept?”

  Celia’s gaze sharpened slightly.

  “Of course.”

  Because proximity meant observation.

  And observation—

  Was how wars were truly won.