CH525 · Rewrite
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Chapter 525: Return to King’s City

“King’s City. After a year and a half, I am finally back.”

Barov’s heart stirred as the cyan stone walls drew closer and resolved into something real — not a memory, not an image he had been carrying inside himself like a keepsake, but an actual place with dimensions and weather and the smell of the river behind it.

He had been stirred, in fact, since the moment the prince’s orders arrived. Roland Wimbledon had defeated Timothy smoothly and completely, exactly as Barov had expected — because no one, in the end, could resist the army of the Western Region. This had now been demonstrated in front of the entire Kingdom.

It was, of course, no longer quite accurate to call Roland the Lord of the Western Region. He was the sole surviving son of Wimbledon III, the bloodline heir, the rightful successor to everything Timothy had held and more. The obstacles were gone. The path was clear. His coronation was a question of timing, not of outcome.

And Barov would become Prime Minister. Second in power only to the king himself.

When those old friends of mine — those colleagues so sincerely concerned about my welfare — see what I’ve achieved, how will they react? Shock? Envy? The particular kind of jealousy that forces a man to smile while his teeth are clenched? The imaginings gave him a satisfaction that was almost physical. It would be even sweeter if his former mentor, Treasurer Lauren Moore, were there to witness the moment.

He did not feel guilty about this.


The concrete boat docked at the city’s outer pier and Barov descended the trestle bridge alongside Kyle Sichi and the rest of the party. Under escort of the First Army, they moved through streets he had known for most of his working life and passed through the inner gates into the palace.

The Palace of Twin Towers was exactly as he remembered it — massive, unhurried, the kind of architecture that expressed its opinions through sheer accumulated stone. In the old days he had only ever seen it from a window in the City Hall, from a respectful distance. He walked through its entrance now without hesitating.

Roland received him in the study.

Barov lowered himself to one knee. “Your Majesty. The Kingdom of Graycastle is yours.”

“Not entirely yet. The Eastern and Northern Regions are still in motion.” Roland smiled. “Get up. We have a great deal to discuss.”

He was unchanged. Same calm tone, same unhurried manner, apparently untouched by the fact that he was about to be crowned king. Barov’s respect deepened. He rose, straightened his clothes, and replied: “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“The immediate priority is maintaining the administration of King’s City. I said as much in my letter.” Roland poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of Barov. “Do you have a preliminary plan?”

Barov accepted the cup with both hands. “Maintaining order among the lower nobles shouldn’t present difficulties. I have over ten of my best students from the Border Area with me — some skilled in commerce, some in tax administration. Even without my direct supervision, they will ensure the nobles behave.” He paused, then added: “But I’ll need the First Army’s soldiers stationed here to back them up. Supervision without force behind it rarely produces the right behavior.”

Roland looked mildly surprised. “You don’t intend to remain in King’s City yourself?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Not a moment’s hesitation. “The governance of the City of Neverwinter is far more complex and more consequential. I cannot afford to be away long. And these affairs here should not require your personal attention.” He met Roland’s eyes steadily. “Please allow me to continue managing the City Hall of Neverwinter. It has suited me well.”

He had thought this through carefully. The City of Neverwinter was already confirmed as the Kingdom’s new capital — which meant it would inevitably surpass King’s City in population, industry, and political weight. Remaining here would give him access to his old colleagues and their misery, which was satisfying in the short term but strategically barren. Authority flowed toward Neverwinter. Roland’s attention was there. The Prime Minister’s office would be built there.

To stay in King’s City was to watch a candle and miss the sunrise.

Roland observed him for a long moment — long enough that Barov became aware of himself being observed and had to resist the impulse to look away. Then Roland nodded. “All right. But King’s City must not fall into disorder during the transition. Every person in this city is important to me.”


The rest of the afternoon moved through a detailed accounting of the Longsong Area mining and farming projects. Roland’s interest in the agricultural side was a thing Barov had learned to anticipate; he had obtained those figures from Petrov specifically because he knew they would be needed. He answered each question without fumbling, and Roland nodded along with the kind of steady approval that meant actual satisfaction rather than politeness.

When the last question was answered, Roland pressed a hand briefly to Barov’s shoulder. “You’ve done well. I can ride out to war knowing Neverwinter is in order. Go eat. We’ll discuss Longsong Area’s development plans tomorrow.”

Barov rose, then hesitated. Across all that conversation — all those careful questions — Roland had said nothing about the coronation.

“Your Majesty. When do you intend to be officially crowned?”

“Plans haven’t been made.”

Barov heard the words and did not, for a moment, believe them. “Your Majesty, this must be arranged as soon as possible. Your prestige will increase enormously. The people’s hearts will unite. There are no downsides—”

“It requires too much time.” Roland stood and moved to the window, looking out over the city in the failing light. “I’ve spoken with the ceremonial officer. A full coronation requires months of preparation — a gold crown, a gem scepter, invitations to the Church and the other three kingdoms. The ceremony cannot begin until all emissaries have arrived. Even setting aside the Holy City of Hermes, Everwinter, and Wolfheart, simply contacting the Kingdom of Dawn takes more than a month for a reply. This would severely delay the second half of the spring offensive.”

“You could simplify the ceremony—”

“Which would lower its prestige and might cause more harm than good.” Roland shrugged. “Even Timothy observed the protocols. I can’t appear more impatient than he was. My ambassador to the Kingdom of Dawn will depart soon. When their formal reply arrives, it won’t be too late to plan the ceremony.”


After Barov left, Roland allowed himself to exhale.

There was another reason he had not mentioned. The old principle — amass quietly, rise slowly — had a version suited to his situation: do not become the church’s most prominent target before the church has attacked someone else first. He occupied roughly a third of the land that Timothy had held. Better to project modesty until Hermes committed itself against the Kingdom of Dawn. Picking a fight on their behalf before they needed one was exactly the kind of costly move his engineering instincts despised.

He summoned Kyle Sichi.

There was still the matter of the Alchemist Workshop.

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