Shadow
Chapter 13

 Slip of the Crown (Part 4)
The Famine
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The following morning, silence filled the Grand Council Hall as the nobles entered and took their seats one by one.
This time, attendance was complete. Every member had resolved to be present—despite themselves—for something now threatened their very fates…

After a while, the Queen finally entered, accompanied by her personal guard, Ivanka.
Unlike the previous session, she was punctual this time—arriving half an hour early for the 8 a.m. meeting. She also adhered strictly to the decorum of the Grand Council Hall: no sweets, no slouching, no lazy strolls. Her steps were upright, poised, and deliberate, her chin held high as she moved directly to her seat on the opposition’s left side.

The King arrived soon after, taking his place upon the throne at the far center of the hall. He struck the gavel, declaring the opening of the 25th council session in the year 2000 since the founding of Great Norton.

The meeting commenced, and soon a heated discussion broke out regarding the famine in the northern cities of Fristov and Glasin.
One of the councilmen began explaining at length:
“Your Majesty, Fristov and Glasin have been suffering from famine due to three consecutive years of early freezing! There are no crops, no wheat, not even game to hunt! The stored meat from war casualties isn’t enough to sustain them… and to make matters worse, the elder demons have perished from the intense cold. As you know, Fristov and Glasin are the coldest regions in Norton, unlike warm Nixara.”

Shadow listened thoughtfully. “How unfortunate…” he sighed.
“That was to be expected, of course. But what became of the relocation plan toward the south?” He turned toward Sir Albert, head of the conservatives, addressing him in an eerily calm yet threatening tone, one eyebrow raised and his face still as stagnant water.
“Were you not entrusted with the budget to ensure the migrants’ supplies before the beginning of the Year Two Thousand, Sir Albert?”

The man stammered, sweating. “Y-yes, Your Majesty…”

“I want a full, detailed report of everything that has happened over the past six months—every expense, every action, and the timeline for each. You’ll have it ready by this evening.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty! Of course!”

A woman’s annoyed voice interrupted, “Why all this noise?”

Shadow turned toward the source of the complaint—it was Asma, her mischievous, lazy expression unchanged as she rubbed her ear beneath her hood.
He cut her off before she could cause another catastrophe.
“My lady, please observe the decorum of the council. If the noise bothers you, you may leave.”

Asma sighed, eyes still closed. “That’s not what I meant.” She crossed her arms. “I mean—why all this fuss circling around the solution? People are dying of Norton’s cold! Compared to Earth, your kind—the Dark Nymphs—can’t withstand direct sunlight. That’s why your sun isn’t strong enough to warm your world beyond the equator—around Nixara and nearby cities, right?”

“Yes… but what does that have to do with the famine?”

“Your Majesty,” she continued with a sly grin, glancing mockingly at Sir Albert before facing the throne again, “instead of wasting time finding who’s delaying the migration, you could tackle both the famine and the cold at once.”
She smiled wickedly. “The answer is—waste, Your Majesty! Waste will solve the heating crisis! And as for farming in the ice, there are multiple solutions—greenhouses being the first, though we’ll need a renewable energy source. If that fails, there’s hydroponics and aeroponics! I can help with that. After all, I am a Light Nymph, hohoho…”

Shadow’s eyes were cold as he stared at her eccentric enthusiasm.
“Very well,” he said. “Explain further.”

The royal scribe prepared to take notes as the King leaned forward attentively.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “Over the next month, we must collect as much organic waste as possible—food scraps, farm residues, even certain types of sewage. These will be placed in special tanks called anaerobic digesters, where bacteria decompose the material and produce methane gas.”

Shadow nodded, signaling her to continue.

“Methane can be burned to generate heat or electricity for home heating. That gives us two advantages: waste reduction and clean energy—biogas. It’s a preliminary solution, but it’ll work.”

The King rested his chin on his fingers, deep in thought. He then looked up, seemingly convinced.
“That solves the heating issue… and farming?”

Asma nodded. “We can build greenhouses, made of glass or plastic, heated with renewable energy. But the problem is—Norton has no renewable sources, and your sun is too weak, isn’t it?”

A trace of worry crossed the King’s face as he tapped the armrest of his throne. Everyone in the hall—even Ivan—held their breath.

Finally, Shadow exhaled. “Are there other methods, as you mentioned?”

“Yes,” she said, “but they’re more complex and take longer—not ideal for the people of Fristov and Glasin. They’re merely supportive techniques I planned to use alongside the main system. Hydroponics, for example, doesn’t require soil—it can be done underground or beneath snow. It only needs nutrient-rich water and artificial light. I can provide that… but it’ll be exhausting for me. They’re both large cities. I won’t get much sleep.”

“That’s fine,” Shadow said calmly.

Asma’s eyes widened in irritation. Shadow smiled slightly, easing the tension in the hall for a brief moment—some of the council even chuckled.

But soon his expression turned serious again.
“Excellent. The Queen’s proposal is approved and shall be executed starting tomorrow under her direct supervision and responsibility. By my decree as King of Norton, no vote shall be held on this matter—this is royal law and not to be contested.”

Asma froze, startled—but a glimmer of joy and unease flickered within her. “The King… trusts me?” she thought.

Then Shadow said something Ivan did not expect.
“If hydroponics proves too slow and drains the Queen’s strength, she may draw upon the energy of Agartha of Shadows.”

Asma blinked, confused. “What is that, Your Majesty?”

“Weren’t you looking for a renewable energy source? Consider this one.”

She listened with curiosity, but before the King could elaborate, a pompous voice interrupted—it was Sir Antoine, Albert’s deputy from the conservative party.
“I find these ideas rather fanciful. We’ve never heard of such nonsense before! Ha! Shall Norton now be powered by garbage instead of the great energy of Agartha?”

Laughter erupted among the conservatives.
“Queen of Garbage!”
“This is an insult to all of Fairy kind, not just Norton!”
“We are not like those filthy humans you resemble!”

Shadow’s face darkened to an icy mask. Ivan’s heart sank—he knew that look.
“He’s about to explode,” Ivan thought.

Sir Antoine sneered at Asma. “So, is our little Queen still insisting on her childish fantasies?”

Asma was completely unfazed, her gaze fixed coldly on him.
Ivanka, sensing her Queen’s irritation, placed a hand on her shoulder supportively.
Asma snapped out of her daze and replied, voice sharp and loud:
“Oh—sorry! I didn’t hear you. I was too busy counting the wrinkles on your face!”

“You—! How dare—”

The King suddenly rose before he could finish, his voice ringing with authority and rage:
“All members of the Conservative Party are hereby suspended for two consecutive sessions, and their ranks reduced by one tier for opposing royal decree. Sir Albert and Sir Antoine will face the disciplinary council this coming Saturday. The session is adjourned!”

A noblewoman shouted, “That’s not fair! The Queen insulted him too! She should be punished!”

The King ignored her completely and left the hall with his guards and Prince Ivan.

Asma and Ivanka made to leave, but Duchess Eleanor, Albert’s wife, intercepted them.
“You’re a disgrace to our kingdom! If any other noblewoman sat on that throne, things would be fine. But you—you're a disaster for Norton, just like your grandfather, who married a girl of the rabble!”

In an instant, Ivanka’s blade was at her throat. The Duchess froze as Ivanka hissed,
“Silence! Hold your tongue, or I’ll kill you right here. You have no right to insult the Queen! I wouldn’t even be punished for burying you where you stand!”
Her voice grew colder. “And as for rabble—the lowest knight in House Baron commands more servants than your entire family! How dare you insult the granddaughter of Felix—the Heir of Light and Alchemy, you arrogant wench!”

“She’s the daughter of an enemy! I’ll never side with her…”

Ivanka pressed the blade tighter against her neck, pinning her to the wall. The Duchess whimpered.
“Enough, Ivanka,” Asma ordered quietly. “We’ll get nothing from her now. Even if I ask why I’m considered an enemy, she won’t answer. The King’s contract forbids anyone from telling me the truth—on pain of death.”

“But, Your Majesty—”

“Her death won’t help us. Let her go.”

Ivanka released her roughly. The Duchess fled in terror.

The hall was empty now. Asma stood silently, arms crossed, unnervingly calm. Ivanka had never seen that look on her face before.
“Ivanka,” she said finally, “we need to go to Aletheia Tower again.”

“As you command, my Queen. But don’t be sad or afraid… your grandfather isn’t evil—and neither are you.”

“Then why am I the enemy?”

“You’re not! Don’t listen to her—she’s just rambling. Truly!”

“Alright then… I’ll find out for myself.”

…

As Asma walked back toward her chambers, Ivan met her along the way.
“Excellent work today, my great Queen!”

“Ivan! You were surprisingly quiet today.”

“Who but a fool would interrupt you, oh Great Alchemical Queen?”

“Stop calling me ‘great’! The only great one here is your mother!”

“Haha! As you wish, my lady!” Ivan chuckled, then added, “The King has a message for you—please be ready next week. You’ll be traveling to Fristov and Glasin personally to oversee the projects.”

“Oh… of course.”

As Ivan spoke, Asma’s gaze drifted toward the open corridor leading to the King’s quarters.
There he stood—Shadow—gazing once more at the portrait of that woman.
He stared for a long moment, then disappeared into his chambers.

Asma’s mind clouded; Ivan’s voice became distant, muffled, dreamlike.
A strange whisper echoed in her mind, born of confusion and fatigue:

“Why… is he looking at her again?”

She nodded absently to Ivan, ending the conversation quickly, and headed for her chambers.
Exhaustion weighed on her face.

Ivan watched her go, puzzled.
What could be troubling her so deeply?
Surely, it wasn’t the council’s mockery—she wasn’t one to care about that.
But in the end, he couldn’t find an answer.

So, he, too, returned silently to his quarters.

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