“Raising taxes on silk exports risks our monopoly if other kingdoms decide to enter the market. Do we really want another Mewoning situation on our hands?” Saoirse explains in an even tone. She is doing well, and I can tell Count Nolan is almost convinced.

Baron Aengus, however, stubbornly holds out. “The Mewoning Kingdom has not used child labor for the production of silk in years, Your Highness,” he argues lazily.

“Only because we drove them out of the market,” she counters. “Children are still used in their cotton fields. We won’t gain the support of the Branch of Children with your proposal Baron, not to mention the Branch of Industry will oppose.”

“On what grounds?!” he protests.

“On the grounds that profits have been dropping since the plague wiped out a quarter of their artisan staff,” Saoirse cuts with fire in her voice. “Count Nolan, you surveyed the silk mills last week, did you not? Do you have the reports on hand of their expenditures?”

“Ah, yes, Your Highness,” the aged Count responds, shuffling through a large stack of papers in front of him frantically. “It’s somewhere in here,” he assures. For all the Count’s brilliance in assessing market trends and product popularity, he is surprisingly disorganized.

Saoirse sighs, turning to me, “Gilroy? Could you please assist?”

Despite the routineness of her request, I can’t help but think she is purposefully setting me up to show off. Perhaps under normal circumstances, Saoirse would have been a little more patient and simply waited for the Count to find the documents, but today’s meeting is about more than just presenting a new tax plan. Today, we need to impress a pompous Duke.

“Of course, Your Highness,” I respond evenly, searching my memory for the last time I glanced at the Count’s reports. He didn’t complete any estimates himself, instead relying on his intuition to make judgements as he frequently does, so I settle for simply relaying the information as I remember it exactly.

“Market cost for mulberry leaves is 7 copper per pound, with a requirement of 3,500 pounds per 40,000 bombyx mori, or one unit of eggs.” I convey while watching Prince Fionn from the corner of my eye for any reaction.

“Housing facilities for the cocoons, including feeding, temperature control, and cleaning, was estimated to cost the mills 230 gold per unit from time of reproduction to harvest. Each unit averages 18 pounds of silk thread after the dissolving and skeining process, which costs 470 gold in labor and materials per unit. Tramming, reeling, and throwing the silk, was estimated to be 560 gold.” A slight upward twitch of his eyebrows momentarily breaks his stoney expression as I speak quickly, knowing Saoirse will be able to keep up.

“Artisan warping is the real cost dump at 250 gold per pound of unembroidered silk as compared to last year when the average artisan could be hired for only 180 per pound,” I finish before I think to add a bit of inference I remember from the Count’s notations in the corner of the page. “Of course, the sellers can charge more for embroidery, but the demand for artisan’s has emboldened them to ask for higher wages.”

Saoirse’s eyes are closed in concentration throughout my entire recitation as she mentally calculates the relevant estimates from the information I proved. “Thank you, Gilroy,” she says, finally opening her eyes. “That is roughly 3,336 silver per pound of silk with a current market price of…”

“528 gold per pound for unembroidered silk, Your Highness,” I supply.

“If we increase taxation to ten percent, that leaves a profit of only 141.6 gold per pound,” she concludes. “Leaving our industry investors with less profit than artisans they are paying! The Branch of Industry will never agree.”

“Then what do you suggest to make up for the deficit Budget projects, Your Highness?”

As Saoirse launches into her presentation of the proposal to expand the trade of acai through the use of freshness spells, I spare another glance at the Duke of Crissomid who sits next to me in the corner of the room. I study his expression as closely as possible, comparing the subtle shifts in the slopes of his mouth and brow to the other times I’ve seen the man. I conclude by the slight squint of his eyes and tight line of his lips he is concentrating deeply, but the tilt of his head suggests he doesn’t quite understand everything being said.

He watches Saoirse with darting eyes until he notices my gaze on him and quickly looks away, studying his hands. I think he is intimidated? Overwhelmed? Impressed? I lean in close to him, allowing our shoulders to brush slightly, to whisper to him as the three Assembly members continue arguing.

“If you are confused about anything, don’t hesitate to ask me for clarification. Princess Saoirse asked me to help you during these proceedings.”

The stone man nods slowly, his lips twitching momentarily. I worry I may have offended him by suggesting he might not understand the meeting, before he surprises me with a thin, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Your Grace,” I return in kind.

“I confess, I understand little of Douburg’s political structure. It appears to me that the Princess is concerned about appeasing other Branches of the Assembly, but for what purpose, I do not know. Do these three members not write all the laws on taxation as they wish?” he asks quietly.

“Ah, I see your confusion,” I say gently. “You are partially correct in that branch members write new, repeal old, and amend existing laws. However, although each Branch oversees a particular purview of the law, they must gain support from the Assembly and the King to enact any changes. Right now, they are working on a proposal to amend the current tariffs on exported goods. Once all three of them agree, one of them, most likely Saoirse as she is the most eloquent, will present their proposal to the Assembly. They need a majority vote plus the endorsement of the king to enact the amendment, but other Assembly members are given time before the vote to air grievances with the law pertaining to their field of speciality. If the Branches of Budget, Industry, or Children object to the taxation changes, the other Branches may be more hesitant to support the amendments.”

“I see…” the Duke responds slowly. “Then, when will they present their proposal?”

“Whenever they are ready,” I chuckle. “However, the Branch of Budget is impatient to draft their allocation proposal for the new year. I suspect they—” I gesture to the three politicians discussing the feasibility of hiring divine mages to cast freshness spells en masse. “—will reach a consensus by the end of the week, if not today, and call for a meeting of the Assembly sometime next week.”

“That’s faster than I anticipated,” he whispers to me, his blue eyes slightly swelling.

“No doubt you have been told our bureaucracy is overcomplicated and ineffective,” I huff good-naturedly, earning a surprisingly cute blush from the stoic man. I lean back slightly to admire the sharp angle of his jaw, rugged cut of his ice pale brow and cheeks, but most of all the bulging outline of his muscles, barely contained by his trim, military-style shirt. I suppose those thick hands could squeeze my windpipe effortlessly, and I bite my lip imagining the weight of his endowment filling me while he does it.

A slight thrill passes through me as Prince Fionn is forced to lean into me to continue our discussion, whispering, “I didn’t mean to offend.”

He meets my gaze and my heart stumbles stupidly at the calm blue waters of his eyes. It has been so very long since I’ve allowed myself to feel anything more than fleeting attraction for any man, and I find myself dangerously excited by the prospect of turning any of my fantasies into a reality with this particular specimen.

“I actually am quite impressed by what you do,” the prince concedes when I don’t respond. “By both of you.” He glances at Saoirse in what I hope is respect, causing a little fire to ignite within me. “I confess, in my ignorance, I falsely assumed your royalty were less involved in the affairs of the kingdom, because you delegate the responsibilities of rulership to the Assembly, but now I see I was wrong. She is very involved.”

I am shocked by the Duke’s words. This is the most I have ever heard him speak, and he apologized? And did he compliment her? Compliment us? I was right in my assumptions then: he really does value intelligence above all else.

“Her Highness is very dedicated to her people... and quite brilliant,” I probe.

The Duke’s gaze slides to her passionately explaining the marketing ploy inherent in “blessed fruits”. A sort of glint passes through the Duke’s eyes as he breathes, “Yes. It is as the King said, she has a mind for numbers.”

I smile to myself, feeling emboldened by the positive flow of our conversation. “For her seventh birthday, the King gave her a box of chalk with crushed gems to ‘cover the courtyard with her sparkling imagination’,” I quote. “The servants had to collect the dust at Lady Aurnia’s request after it rained for weeks to ensure the precious gems weren’t actually lost to a child’s frivolity, but Saoirse didn’t even use the chalk for drawing. Instead she filled the pavement with algebra problems her tutor used to quiz her. When asked why she would use just costly implements to write, instead of drawing something beautiful, she replied ‘Math is more precious than money, because if a man cannot count he will surely be swindled out of all of his gold.’”

My story earns a deep huffing laugh from the Duke, and the fire within me burns a little brighter. “Careful,” he whispers close to my ear, sending a shiver through me. “The last person who tried to tell me a story about the Princess’ childhood nearly got her head bit off.”

I turn to him with brashful eyes, looking at him through my long lashes for added effect. “Don’t worry, Saorise would never punish me…” At least not like that, I think suggestively. “...for speaking about her love of numbers.” I grin at the dazed look on the Duke’s face, feeling bold and a bit brash. “She even counts in her—” I bite my tongue just in time, realizing the mistake I’m about to make. I’ll save that little tidbit to be discovered for himself.