The Count Tiberios spoke, his face marked by concern. "I deeply regret, my friend," he began, his voice laden with a weight that seemed to echo through the stone walls of the room. "After the proclamation of the new tax policy, I wasted no time and sent my most trusted master spy to uncover how such a scheme eluded us. With our eyes turned to the south, we hoped for swift answers, but what he discovered... is alarming, to say the least."

He paused, his brown eyes fixed on the baron. Turning slowly to the window, he gazed at the horizon. "The southern duke has summoned his most loyal vassals, claiming that the tax increase is necessary due to the discovery of suspicious movements on the border. Such news spreads fear among his people, fearing an invasion similar to the one that devastated our lands in the last decade." His hand clenched into a fist. "However, my spies assure me that there has been no such activity. I fear this is nothing more than a smokescreen, a prelude to more sinister plans."

Baron Lester, who had been observing the conversation with growing unease, finally broke the silence. His eyes, normally calm and calculating, now burned with frantic urgency. "Has the duke gone mad?" he exclaimed, rising abruptly, his chair creaking in protest. "As this news spreads through the corridors of nobility, the food stocks we hold will find no buyers. This will soon affect the commoners, who will seek answers to the sudden inflation." He began to pace back and forth, his hands gesturing fervently. "When the people hear rumors of a new invasion, panic will set in, further inflating prices. It will be a devastating blow to the entire kingdom, considering the south is our breadbasket!"

"Exactly," said Count Tiberios, his voice resonating with a certainty that seemed to emanate from the very horizon he contemplated. "It is my conviction that the southern duke orchestrated this gathering of nobles with meticulous precision."

Baron Lester, with an expression as if glimpsing a disconcerting truth, leaned forward, the light from the chandelier dancing in his pensive eyes. "If that is the case," he murmured, more to himself than to the count, "then what is the true game of the duke? Is he seeking to position the second prince as a mediator, a hero in the eyes of the people, while he himself lurks in the shadows, manipulating the strings of power?"

Tiberios turned slowly, his penetrating gaze meeting the baron's. "No, my old friend," he began, his voice low and firm, "it is not as simple as it seems." He walked over to the map covering the wall, his fingers tracing the lines dividing the kingdom. "Although most nobles remain unaware of the duke's support for the second prince, the most influential houses have already unraveled the mystery. If the duke attempted such a maneuver, the second prince would never win the favor of the great houses."

He stepped away from the map, his rigid posture relaxing slightly as he lost himself in thought. "Furthermore," he continued, almost as if speaking to himself, "I cannot imagine the miserly southern duke relinquishing any fraction of his power or influence... All of this to help the second prince gain favor with other noble houses? No, it makes no sense at all."

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The Baron stared at the Count, whose serene posture contrasted with the urgency of the moment. "What is your plan for the nobles' meeting?" asked the Baron.

The Count responded calmly: "First, we must seek the support of the Duke of the West."

The Baron frowned, his initial unease giving way to palpable distrust. "The Duke of the West is not trustworthy, and you know it," he retorted, but his voice, once filled with agitation, began to soften, as if the Count's controlled presence influenced him.

The Count, maintaining his composure, leaned slightly forward. "Despite his faults, he is the only Duke who will be present, aside from the Duke of the South," he explained, his expression remaining unchanged, but his eyes shining with a cold determination.

The baron was aware of this, after all, the kingdom, divided into four distinct parts, had its most enigmatic territory in the North, as it was not crossed by the arms of the Xingu River, which meandered through the South, West, and Center, facilitating trade and travel, besides of course the cutting cold that characterized its lands, the North was an isolated domain, almost forgotten, connected to the turbulent sea of the East only by two port cities, whose ports were an engineering feat, sheltered by the natural formations that calmed the rough waters.

The Duke of the North, a man of few words and even fewer appearances, lived far from the disputes and alliances that bubbled in the capital. His indifference to politics was known to all, and his absence was as certain as the ice covering his lands. Even during the invasion from the South, his contribution was minimal, sending only one of his sons accompanied by a contingent of soldiers more savage than disciplined, just enough to avoid being accused of neglect.

There were no rumors of his arrival, no whispers of his participation in the nobles' meeting. Yet, the thought intrigued him. It would indeed be a surprise if the Duke of the North left his secluded territory to join them. A surprise that could change the power game within the kingdom. But Baron Lester knew, deep down, that the Duke of the North would remain a shadow in the icy lands, distant from the flames of intrigue in the capital.

"Yes, only the Duke of the West remains a viable path," murmured the Baron. "If only the king could intervene, all this would be easily resolved," he sighed.

But the king, imprisoned in his own mind fragmented by the disease that robbed him of memories, had become a shadow of the leader he once was. His sons, sensing the power vacuum left by his growing forgetfulness, began to weave alliances and plot against each other, anticipating the day when the crown would be within reach.

The Baron, with a determined look, slowly walked to the door of the room, his steps echoing in the silence like the beats of a restless heart. Upon reaching it, he paused for a moment, his heavy hand on the door, as if seeking the support of something solid in the face of the uncertainty that awaited him beyond. With a firm gesture, he opened it and was met with a row of servants and knights from House Apurina and House Lester, attentive, awaiting orders.

He called one of them, a young servant with a sharp gaze and an erect posture, who approached quickly. "Go immediately to the quarters of the Duke of the West," ordered the Baron with a grave and authoritative voice, "and inform the Duke that I wish to have an audience with him." The servant nodded, understanding the seriousness of the request, and departed without hesitation, disappearing into the dimness of the corridor.

The Baron watched the servant depart, his thoughts already turning to the preparations for the audience and the words he would exchange with the Duke. He knew that what was at stake was more than a simple conversation; it was the future of his domains and the delicate balance of power among the nobles.