The council chamber, opulent despite Ironspire's struggles, buzzed with barely contained energy. Ornate tapestries depicting the city's founding adorned the walls, a stark contrast to the grim realities outside. At the center, a massive table of polished ironwood dominated the space, its surface scarred from countless heated debates.

As Elysian entered, a sea of faces turned towards him, their expressions a complex tapestry of curiosity, disdain, and calculation. The air thickened with tension, laden with unspoken agendas and simmering rivalries.

To his left, corpulent merchants in fine silks eyed him with undisguised interest, no doubt wondering how they could use this child to increase their profit margins. Their fingers, adorned with gaudy rings, drummed impatiently on the table's edge.

On the right, the heads of Ironspire's most influential families sat rigid in their high-backed chairs, their pride bearing a sharp counterpoint to the city's dire straits. Their gazes, sharp and predatory, seemed to dissect Elysian where he stood, measuring him yet all this was hidden behind their smiles.

Lysander's hand on his shoulder steered Elysian forward, the touch both protective and proprietorial. "Gentlemen," his uncle's voice rang out, silencing the last murmurs, "my nephew, Elysian Ironheart, joins us today to observe and learn."

A ripple of acknowledgment swept through the room, some nodding respectfully, others barely concealing their skepticism. Elysian felt the weight of their collective gaze, each pair of eyes reflecting a different shade of ambition, greed, or desperate self-preservation.

As he took his seat beside Lysander, Elysian steeled himself. This was no mere meeting, but a battlefield of words and wills, where the fate of Ironspire would be shaped. And maybe, a much greater game was being played beneath it all.

The doors swung shut with a resounding thud as the meeting began.

"My lord," a voice rang out, its tone a masterful blend of desperation and deference. Elysian's attention snapped to the speaker, instantly recognizing Baldric Appleton, leader of the Golden Harvest Guild—Ironspire's most influential mercantile organization.

'Ah, the puppet master himself. Based from Amara's report, this b*stard is the head of the faction tied to the Duke of Emberwin. His right hand in our fair city. A formidable adversary, indeed.'

Baldric stood, his corpulent frame belying the sharp mind beneath. "With great regret, I must inform you that the current unrest forces the Golden Harvest to increase food prices." His eyes swept the room, meeting knowing glances and poorly disguised smirks. "We deeply lament this necessity..."

Lysander's eyebrow arched, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If your remorse is genuine, Baldric, why proceed?"

"We truly are sorry, my lord," Baldric countered, his voice a study in false humility. His allies' eyes glittered with barely concealed triumph. "But should our business falter, the death toll from hunger would be catastrophic." He met Lysander's gaze, his expression a mask of pain. "I know you doubt us, but we're sacrificing beyond our means. It's our duty, our responsibility."

Elysian barely suppressed a derisive snort.

'This greedy bastard could give lessons in acting.'

"Indeed, Baldric?" Lysander's scowl deepened. "I've heard you're raising prices not only on incoming shipments but on goods delivered months ago. Is this also born of your magnanimous heart?"

Baldric sighed, a performance worthy of the finest stages. "It may appear so, my lord, but the truth is far different. We're equalizing prices to avoid astronomical increases on new shipments. This way, steep as they may be, the people can still afford to eat."

Elysian's disbelief at such blatant manipulation was palpable.

Lysander's voice dripped with mockery. "How generous of you and the Golden Harvest. Shall we applaud your selfless service?"

"This humble servant is deeply moved by your words, my lord," Baldric replied shamelessly, his greed evidently outweighing any sense of dignity.

As the exchange continued, Elysian observed the room. He noted the subtle nods between Baldric's allies, the barely concealed disdain from opposing factions, and the palpable tension permeating the air. This was more than a debate over food prices; it was a power play, a chess match with the lives of Ironspire's citizens as pawns.

'Greed masked as altruism, manipulation disguised as necessity. But there must be a way to outmaneuver them, to truly serve the people.'

He caught Lysander watching him from the corner of his eye, gauging his reaction. Elysian schooled his features, determined not to reveal his thoughts. He was learning, analyzing, and already, the seeds of a plan were beginning to form.

As Baldric launched into another round of justifications, Elysian leaned back, his mind whirling with possibilities. The real education was just beginning, and he was determined to master this perilous game—not for power, but for the true betterment of Ironspire.

Lysander's eyes glinted dangerously, a predatory smile playing at his lips. "What a commendable citizen you are, Baldric," he drawled, his gaze sliding to his nephew. "Elysian, what are your thoughts on this... noble sacrifice?"

Elysian blinked innocently, his young face a mask of childlike curiosity. "My thoughts, uncle?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Yes, nephew," Lysander purred, his infamous temper simmering just beneath the surface. "What do you think we should bestow upon our generous friend here?"

Elysian paused, the picture of youthful contemplation. "Perhaps... an award?"

Lysander's brow furrowed. "An award?"

"Yes," Elysian nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with feigned excitement. "A wooden plaque for exceptional service to the barony and the people of Ironspire. We could honor these self-sacrificing gentlemen for graciously donating a portion of their wealth to provide affordable food." He beamed, seemingly oblivious to the growing disbelief around him. "And naturally, in recognition of their generosity, we'd slash prices even below their previous levels. It's a win-win for everyone!"

The chamber fell into stunned silence, broken only by barely suppressed snickers from opposing factions.

"Wait, young master—" Baldric sputtered, his face reddening.

"An excellent suggestion, nephew!" Lysander interrupted, his grin widening to match Elysian's. "What better way to commemorate such... selflessness?"

As understanding dawned on Baldric's face, the other council members' reactions ranged from poorly concealed amusement to outright glee at the merchant's predicament.

Elysian maintained his innocent smile, but inwardly, he savored the moment.

'Checkmate, you greedy bastard. Let's see you wiggle out of this one.'

Lysander clapped a hand on Elysian's shoulder, his voice carrying a note of genuine pride. "It seems my nephew has a natural talent for governance. Wouldn't you agree, Baldric?"

Baldric's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, trapped between maintaining his facade of generosity and protecting his profits.

Elysian leaned forward, his voice sweet with childlike eagerness. "Shall I start drafting the proclamation for the ceremony, uncle? We wouldn't want to delay in recognizing such outstanding citizens."

The room erupted in a mix of laughter and heated whispers. Baldric's allies huddled together, frantically reassessing their strategy, while the opposing factions barely contained their glee at this unexpected turn of events.

As Baldric's objections were drowned out by the mocking congratulations of his rivals, Elysian seized the moment, his eyes sparkling with feigned excitement.

"Uncle, I have another suggestion," he chirped, his voice carrying an undercurrent of mischief that only Lysander seemed to detect.

Lysander's lips curled into a knowing grin. "By all means, nephew. Share your thoughts with us."

Elysian stood, his small frame somehow commanding the room's attention. "Since everyone seems so inspired by Sir Baldric's kind gesture," he paused, his gaze sweeping the suddenly wary faces, "why don't we bestow plaques of exceptional service to all present? After all, the Ironhearts must show no favoritism."

A deafening silence fell over the chamber, as if a pall had descended upon the assembly.

Lysander's laughter shattered the quiet, reverberating painfully off the stone walls. "Brilliant, nephew! It would be a great injustice to treat our esteemed council members unequally."

The room erupted into chaos, a cacophony of protests and objections filling the air. Lysander and Elysian exchanged knowing glances, savoring the discord they had sown among the greedy elite.

"SILENCE!" Lysander's voice thundered, instantly quelling the uproar.

Elysian adopted a crestfallen expression, his lower lip quivering slightly. "I'm saddened by this response. Sir Baldric, what are your thoughts on sharing this honor with your peers?"

Baldric, seeing an opportunity for revenge, laughed heartily. "A splendid idea, young master. It would pain me greatly to be the sole recipient of such an honor."

Elysian's innocent smile masked a deep satisfaction at having pitted the powerful Golden Harvest Guild against the other factions.

‘Good, fight with each other more. The more you fight, the better it is for Ironspire.’

"Thank you for your magnanimity, Sir Baldric," Elysian gushed, his voice dripping with sincerity. "You truly exemplify the ideal Ironspire citizen." He turned to address the pale-faced assembly. "Let us all express our gratitude to Sir Baldric and the Golden Harvest Guild. Without their shining example, none of you would be receiving this prestigious award."

The chamber crackled with tension, hatred radiating towards Baldric and his allies in palpable waves. Yet the merchant and his cohorts merely smirked, basking in their pyrrhic victory.

As the meeting devolved into hushed, angry whispers and venomous glares, Elysian caught his uncle's eye. Lysander nodded almost imperceptibly, a mixture of pride and wariness in his gaze.

Elysian settled back into his seat, maintaining his facade of childlike innocence while inwardly relishing the chaos he had unleashed. He had entered this den of vipers as an observer but emerged as a player, turning their greed and ambition against them with a few well-placed words.

As the meeting struggled to regain its footing, Elysian's mind raced with possibilities. This was but the opening gambit in a game, one he intended to win not for personal glory, but for the true betterment of Ironspire and its people.

The seeds of change had been planted, and Elysian would nurture them, no matter the cost.

As the tumultuous opening subsided, the meeting settled into a more subdued rhythm. The air, once crackling with tension, now hung heavy with unspoken resentments and carefully veiled threats. Council members, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, retreated into formulaic discussions and mundane matters.

Elysian, his initial triumph fading, found himself battling an encroaching drowsiness. The droning voices of merchants detailing grain shipments and nobles arguing over trivial border disputes blurred into a monotonous hum. He forced his eyes to remain open, knowing that even in these seemingly inconsequential exchanges, valuable information could be gleaned.

As the hours wore on, Elysian observed the subtle interplay of alliances shifting like sand. A nod here, a whispered word there—the aftermath of his earlier maneuver rippling through the council's delicate power structure. He filed away each interaction, each fleeting expression, building a mental map of Ironspire's political landscape.

Gradually, as major concerns were addressed and tempers cooled, council members began to filter out. Some left with barely concealed relief, others lingered, engaged in hushed conversations that fell silent as Elysian passed. The young noble noted which factions gravitated together in the wake of the meeting's tumult, already considering how these alignments might be leveraged.

As the chamber emptied, leaving only a handful of die-hard politickers, Elysian sensed the meeting drawing to its natural close. He caught Lysander's eye, receiving a subtle nod of dismissal. His uncle remained behind, embroiled in what appeared to be an intense discussion with a small group of advisors.

Elysian rose, discretely stretching to shake off the lethargy of hours of inactivity. His eyes, sharp despite the tedium of the meeting, caught movement on the far side of the chamber. A smile tugged at his lips as he recognized the figure preparing to leave—the very person he'd been watching throughout the proceedings.

With a burst of energy that belied his earlier fatigue, Elysian maneuvered through the dispersing crowd. "Excuse me," he called out, his voice carrying a note of eagerness that turned heads. "You're Sir Victor, aren't you? Ironspire's surveyor of commerce?"

The man turned, surprise etching his features as he found himself the focus of the young noble's attention. Victor was a lean, somewhat nervous-looking individual, his fingers unconsciously straightening his already immaculate robes. "Yes, young master," he replied, his voice a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "How may I be of service?"

Elysian's grin widened, a glint in his eye that made Victor swallow hard.