A Barbaric Proposal Chapter 76

※The Eve (3)※

It was shaping up to be another grueling day.

The morning had passed in a blur: waking, washing, dressing, and a shared breakfast before seeing Black off.

The workload wasn't what weighed on Liene; it was the hollow ache of his absence. Every hour spent on administration was an hour stolen from him.

[Liene] "What is it, Madam?"

Liene had thrown herself into her duties the moment she returned to the castle interior.

With Arland’s help, the mountain of appointment letters was finally shrinking.

The rhythmic scratch of quills against parchment was the only sound in the room—until Madam Flambard burst in.

[Flambard] "It’s a disaster, Your Highness! A catastrophe!"

The woman looked genuinely distraught, her face flushed with a mixture of panic and fury.

[Flambard] "The tailor sent the fabric, but... No, I can't explain it. You have to come with me. You have to see this with your own eyes!"

Liene offered Arland a quick, apologetic nod and set her pen aside.

[Liene] "I’m coming. Lead the way."

[Flambard] "To my quarters, quickly!"

Madam Flambard didn't wait. She seized Liene’s hand and practically dragged her down the hall, her pace bordering on a sprint.

---

[Flambard] "Does this look like work befitting a King to you?!"

Inside the room, the Madam was brandishing a bolt of fabric like a battle flag, her voice trembling with indignation.

[Flambard] "Look at this embroidery! Look at it! After the small fortune we paid him!"

[Liene] "Oh..."

The fabric, pre-cut to Black’s measurements, was supposed to be adorned with intricate gold-work by the tailor’s finest hands. Because the timeline was so tight, they had paid a massive premium to ensure perfection.

The result was anything but.

[Flambard] "How am I supposed to use this for a royal wedding garment? How?!"

Liene leaned in. The embroidery wasn't just poor; it was amateurish. The stitches were uneven, the gold thread was fraying in places, and messy knots poked through the surface like weeds in a manicured garden.

Even without Flambard’s expert eye, Liene felt her stomach drop. This was the finery Black was supposed to wear.

[Flambard] "Speak up! Have you no tongue? What royal house in the world would accept this swill as embroidery?"

Madam Flambard wagged a finger at the tailor, who was wringing his hands so hard it looked like he might snap his own wrists.

Liene stepped in before the Madam started pulling what little hair the man had left.

[Liene] "Let’s keep our voices down and listen. Master Tailor, what happened here?"

[Tailor] "Your Highness... I... I swear to you..."

The man hung his head, his shoulders shaking.

[Tailor] "I don't know what went wrong! I hired the most experienced hands I could find. They worked until their eyes bled to meet your deadline, I promise you!"

[Flambard] "Experienced? How many did you hire?"

The tailor held up five fingers, looking far too proud of himself.

[Tailor] "Five of them! It was the only way to finish on time!"

[Flambard] "You absolute fool! That’s why the stitching is a mess! Five different hands on one garment?"

Madam Flambard clutched her chest, gasping for air.

[Flambard] "Experienced? If five people worked themselves blind on this, and this is the result, then you hired children who haven't held a needle for more than a day!"

[Tailor] "Now see here! You can't say that! Those men have been embroidering for three or four years each!"

[Flambard] "Silence! If they’ve been at it for four years and this is the best they can do, they should find a new trade!"

Liene had never seen Madam Flambard this viscerally angry. The woman’s ears were beet red.

[Liene] "Can it be fixed? Or perhaps redone?"

[Flambard] "Your Highness! You cannot 'fix' embroidery like this! And unless this man finds actual masters, redoing it will just yield the same rubbish!"

The tailor looked stung, but he nodded slowly, unable to argue.

[Liene] "Then what do we do?"

[Flambard] "We rip it all out. We start from the first stitch and do it right. It’s the only way to save the silk."

[Liene] "But we don't have time for that. And you said yourself, we can't trust his workers."

[Flambard] "Your Highness."

She looked at Liene with a grim, warrior-like resolve.

[Flambard] "There is only one way. You and I. We do it ourselves."

[Liene] "Pardon?"

[Flambard] "If we go without sleep for three nights—no, two—we can finish it."

[Liene] "Madam..."

In three days, I won't be able to move my fingers.

And I already have a mountain of work on my desk.

[Flambard] "I cannot let him wear this. Not the Commander. Not for his wedding! It’s an insult to the stitch!"

Liene looked at the messy gold thread.

The madam was right. She couldn't give this to Black as a gift. She wouldn't be able to look him in the eye.

[Liene] "Fine. We do it."

[Flambard] "Yes! Thank you, Your Highness!"

The prospect of two sleepless nights of labor seemed to fill Madam Flambard with joy. She was a woman who lived and breathed her craft.

[Tailor] "Wait, Your Highness... what about... what about my payment?"

[Flambard] "Payment?! For punching useless holes in royal silk?!"

[Tailor] "But I hired five men! I have to pay their wages..."

[Flambard] "Then you should have hired men who knew what they were doing! Now the Princess and I have to suffer for your incompetence!"

[Liene] "Here is what we will do."

Liene’s voice was firm, brooking no argument.

She agreed to pay the wages for the five workers, but the tailor’s personal commission was forfeit.

He left looking like he’d swallowed a lemon, but Madam Flambard merely complained that Liene was far too generous.

The money the tailor returned was handed directly to the Madam for her extra labor.

Everything was settled, but Liene felt the weight of the sleepless nights ahead.

I’m the one who loses out here.

She watched as Madam Flambard began meticulously picking out the bad stitches.

For the next two nights, Black would be sleeping alone.

The memory of him saying this was the hour he lived for made her heart ache with guilt.

---

[Burrey] "You shall not pass this door today!"

The Elders had seized the Grand Council Chamber early. They were prepared. Private soldiers were stationed at every entrance, blocking the paths.

Today, there would be no "inspections" or Tiwakan interference. They had no prisoners to guard today; they were there to conduct the kingdom's affairs.

[Burrey] "Turn back now before you soil these floors with your filthy boots."

His voice was thick with the venom of yesterday’s humiliation.

Today, Tiwakan had only brought eight men, excluding their leader. There was a ninth man—unarmed and hunched with age—, but he clearly wasn't a mercenary.

Opposing them were over two hundred soldiers, the combined might of five noble houses. Even if Rosadel hadn't contributed a single man, two hundred to eight were numbers Burrey liked.

[Black] "You’ve actually used your heads today."

Black nodded, looking over the defensive formation of the soldiers. He looked entirely unimpressed.

[Black] "I suppose yesterday’s lesson taught someone how to coordinate a line."

[Zerquess] "Hold your tongue! Leave this place! This is no place for a low-born mercenary!"

Burrey cheered from behind Zerquess’ shoulder, but he had chosen his words poorly.

[Randall] "Low-born...?"

It wasn't Black who reacted, but the men behind him.

Randall, a veteran of a decade of slaughter, let his fingers twitch toward his hilt.

[Randall] "Is every noble in Nauk a complete imbecile?"

It baffled him. How could this tiny kingdom in the middle of nowhere be so ignorant of Tiwakan?

Every royal who had ever insulted Black’s birth had ended up weeping in a pool of their own regret.

The mercenaries could handle almost any insult, but they did not tolerate slurs against their Commander.

[Randall] "Just the tongue, My Lord? I’ll leave the rest of him intact."

[Black] "Stand down."

His hand caught Randall’s shoulder.

[Randall] "You're stopping me? Why? You let us have our fun in the Priana Kingdom..."

[Black] "It’s a waste of time. Unless you plan on killing all one hundred and ninety-three of them by yourself, forget it."

[Randall] "I could give it a go. Might set a new record."

The other mercenaries chuckled, a dark, dry sound that made the soldiers shift uncomfortably.

[Black] "Save the jokes for when we aren't busy."

[Randall] "Fine, fine. Always ruining the fun."

The nobles watched the exchange, horrified.

[Ellaroyden] "Are they all mad?"

Rosadel nodded. He was still haunted by the memory of being beaten in his own home. He was beginning to wonder if blocking this marriage was worth the risk of being erased from existence.

[Burrey] "I told you... to get out!"

[Black] "That’s going to be a problem."

Black spoke with the casual air of a man discussing the weather.

[Burrey] "What problem? What business could a mercenary possibly have with the Grand Council?"

[Black] "The Council is canceled."

[Zerquess] "What? Don't be absurd!"

Zerquess stepped forward. He was a man who preferred to lead from the back, but the situation was too dire for cowardice.

[Zerquess] "This Council is the heart of Nauk! Who are you to declare it canceled?"

[Black] "You’re only here to appoint a Cardinal, aren't you?"

The casual, informal way he addressed them—as if they were common laborers—stoked their fury.

[Zerquess] "How dare you speak of Council business!"

[Black] "There’s no need for a meeting. We already have a Cardinal."

[Burrey] "A Cardinal? Don't talk rot!"

[Black] "Bring him forward."

Black signaled behind him.

[Tiwakan] "Yes, My Lord."

The mercenaries stepped aside to reveal the elderly man. He wore a long, sweeping robe that brushed his ankles, his hair a shock of pure white.

[Burrey] "What? This... this is your priest?"

He let out a wheezing laugh, his mockery clear.

[Burrey] "You expect us to believe this old man is the Voice of God for Nauk?"

[Unknown] "I do, Lord Elling Burrey."

Burrey’s jaw dropped. The old man knew his name. Worse, the voice was hauntingly familiar—a resonance that seemed to echo from a forgotten corner of his memory.

[Burrey] "Who... who are you?"

The old man reached up with a trembling hand and pushed back his hood.

[Manau] "It has been twenty-one years. I see some of you have grown quite old."

The number twenty-one hit the five nobles like a physical blow. A sudden, sharp pang of guilt and terror pierced their collective conscience.

[Burrey] "No... it can't be..."

Burrey pointed a shaking finger, his entire body trembling. Zerquess looked like he was about to faint.

[Zerquess] "The Cardinal from twenty-one years ago... Manau?"

The old man nodded slowly, his eyes full of a quiet, divine weight.

[Manau] "The name granted to me by the Heavens is mine once more."

The color drained from the faces of the five Elders until they were as pale as parchment.

---

Black had been right. Manau’s return made the Council’s current agenda pointless.

Manau had been appointed Cardinal long before the Treaty of Risebury ever existed. Therefore, the Council had no legal standing to question his authority or his fitness to hold the title.

Standing before them, the Voice of God officially blessed the royal union. He set the wedding date for high noon, three days hence.

Because the Voice of God had authorized the marriage, the contract Black had signed with House Arsak was now ironclad under Nauk custom.

Black was now, for all intents and purposes, the Co-Ruler of Nauk.

[Black] "Now."

Black sat in the high chair at the head of the table, looking down at the shivering nobles. The three who had already suffered broken left hands felt a cold sweat break out.

[Black] "It’s time to put those right hands of yours to work."

He tossed a document onto the table.

[Black] "Sign it."

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