Amilia’s hand reached out for the cold iron handle of the Marble Room door—a door as ancient as the room it guarded. The chamber beyond had stood at the centre of Thatradore’s royal governance since the 1700s, first commissioned under King Lusius III as a grand symbol of unity, power, and enduring rule. Every monarch since had passed through it, and now, it was Amilia’s turn.

  She turned the handle slowly and stepped inside.

  The Marble Room was silent. Columns framed the circular chamber, and the soft amber light of oil chandeliers reflected off the polished white floors. At the centre stood the long, elliptical table—smooth oak darkened by centuries and surrounded by high-backed chairs. Seated at the table were five individuals, each sharply dressed and distinctly foreign. Amilia didn’t know them personally, but she knew who they were.

  As she walked the length of the room, her boots echoed across the marble floor. All five ministers turned to face her, expressions ranging from curiosity to cautious confusion. At the head of the table awaited the royal seat, carved with intricate engravings passed down for over seven hundred years.

  She sat slowly, resting her arms on the table.

  “Ladies, gentlemen,” she said, eyeing them calmly, “I’m certain you know why you’re all here?”

  There was a pause. One of the men—tall, with greying temples and an unsure posture—glanced at the others before speaking up.

  “Yes… Your Majesty. But… if I may speak frankly…” He took a sip of the water in front of him before continuing. “We’re all a bit confused. We weren’t given any formal briefing before arriving. We were simply told to pack our things and prepare for international relocation.”

  The others nodded in quiet agreement, clearly unsettled.

  Amilia’s face lowered in slight annoyance. “Did Regulus not brief you all?”

  There was a shared glance among the ministers, then a collective shake of their heads.

  She let out a quiet sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment. “You’re all here…” she began, straightening again, “...because you are now members of Thatradore’s Royal Advisory Council”.

  There was a flicker of surprise across their faces. None of them responded right away.

  “I perfectly understand that none of you are of noble birth,” she continued. “And I know this appointment must feel... abrupt. But Regulus, your former Prime Minister, is a friend of mine. And still owes me a lot of little favours. So I had her gather some of Octornania’s most capable minds, your minds.”

  She paused, letting the weight of her words settle.

  Before she could say more, one of the ministers rose slowly from her seat. A woman in her late fifties with sharp features and a dignified air. Paulene Hamnston, the international relations minister.

  “Your Maje–Highness,” Paulene said, her voice even but edged with concern as she corrected herself, “I must be honest. I believe this decision could be catastrophic. I have been researching your kingdom’s political structure, and if any of your native noble Houses learn of this—of foreigners, let alone someone of ‘common blood’ replacing a centuries-old noble council—you may irreparably damage what little conference they had in you.”

  Several others nodded silently in support of her warning.

  Paulene went on, “The Houses already see the crown as unstable after the abdication of the former heir. Replacing the Advisory Council with Non-Royals could be viewed as a provocation. You risk being alienated by the very nobles you need to keep your throne.”

  The room fell silent once more. Amilia’s eyes met Paulene’s from across the table, her gaze unreadable—cool, composed, and deliberate.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “None of you should need to worry…” Amilia said calmly. Then, without raising her voice, she called out, “Gladiolus.”

  The name echoed through the chamber like a summons, and before a second had passed, the doors to the Marble Room swung open. A man stepped inside—tall, broad-shouldered, with scars across his face that told stories of battles past. He wore the uniform of a Royal Guard General, its navy blue and gold trim marked by several hard-earned medals. His boots clacked crisply on the marble as he approached the table.

  With a fluid motion, Gladiolus dropped to one knee before Amilia, his left hand pressed to the polished floor, and his right clenched into a fist against his chest, over his heart.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, his voice like gravel and steel.

  The ministers watched in silence, visibly tense, unsure of what this sudden display meant.

  Amilia gave a slight nod. “Gladiolus, would you care to explain how we’ll be treating our new ministers?”

  Gladiolus rose at once, turned to face the seated ministers, and spoke with both force and clarity.

  “Thank you, your highness.” Gladiolus cleared his though before continuing. “Under the supreme authority of Her Highness, Amilia of the House of Belmont, it is hereby decreed that all of you present are to be formally recognised as Nobles under the House of Belmont.”

  For a heartbeat, the chamber stood still.

  “What?!” Paulene shot up from her seat, disbelief etched into her face.

  Samuel leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “You’re granting us noble titles? Can you even do that?!”

  “This... this has to be symbolic,” Leopold muttered, stunned. “Right?”

  Boris, seated furthest from Amilia, didn’t speak—his jaw slack, his thoughts clearly racing.

  “You are partly correct,” Gladious replied with a short nod. “Given the number of nobles already in Thatradore, adding four more will go mostly unnoticed—so long as you don’t make it too obvious.” He cleared his throat, then added, “And also, by order of Her Majesty, each of you will be granted estates within the Tristrun region. This will include severance from the crown itself, your own household staff, plantations, and noble titles.”

  “This is mainly thanks to her majesty’s establishment of an espionage branch within the Sentearial Guard. A protective unit under the crown. And in this case, is now involved with fabricating identity and estate records, cementing your presence here in Thatradore. Among other things,” Gladious concluded.

  Paulene blinked. “But… why?” she asked, baffled. “You could’ve chosen real nobles. Loyal ones. Why take the risk of… us?”

  “Because the nobility has grown too bloated, too enamoured with the privileges my father handed out like bread,” Amilia said. “All except House Arlikhino have grown complacent, if not outright corrupt.” She paused, looking them each in the eye. “You, on the other hand… you’re among the best I could find. Your records and your histories—they speak of competence, of loyalty, and initiative.”

  She exhaled slowly. “And I trust Regulus. When she says you’re among the best, then I believe her.”

  The ministers exchanged looks—bewildered, uncertain. Just moments ago, they were civil servants from another country. Now, suddenly, they were to be nobles of a crumbling kingdom.

  Boris cleared his throat, visibly hesitant. “I mean no disrespect, Your Highness… but are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Gladious’s eyes narrowed. His hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of his holstered blade.

  “You better kn—”

  Amilia cleared her throat, the sound sharp and controlled.

  Gladious froze. Then, catching himself, dropped to one knee. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

  “I assure you,” Amilia continued, her voice even, “if things begin to unravel, I have contingencies in place to protect everyone in this room.”

  She leaned forward slightly. “This, of course, assumes I have your willingness to proceed.”

  The room fell silent once again. Eyes drifted around the table, some landing on others, some on the marble floor, some on trembling hands. The moment dragged, and then Samuel stood.

  “Your Highness… you have my support.”

  Heads turned toward him, startled.

  He looked uncertain. But resolute.

  Then Boris rose. “You have my support, too.”

  Leopold stood next. “And mine.”

  Paulene, after a long moment of hesitation, slowly rose to her feet. “Mine as well…”

  Amilia looked around the room—four foreign officials now standing as new nobles under her banner.

  She hadn’t expected the weight of that moment to touch her… but it did.

  For reasons she couldn’t explain, it warmed her.