The old elf sank back into his seat, crossing one leg over the other like a man about to listen to some very mediocre poetry. His eyes landed on us and for a second, I wondered if he could actually see through bone because his stare had the warmth of glacial runoff.
"If you would like a break," he said, voice smooth as a diplomatic dagger, "we can work with it. Or, you may begin right away."
Before I could even blink, Sylvia stood up.
"We would not wish to waste the time of our esteemed host," she said with that signature poised sharpness of hers. "We shall begin right away."
Oh, that delivery. Flawless.
Eldrin stroked his beard like a man pondering whether to approve of a new tax bill or execute the treasurer.
"You may begin."
Now, I've seen Sylvia train, I've seen her analyze assassins, and I've even seen her swing a sword. But watching her now? This was different. The way she started talking, commanding attention like a seasoned stateswoman in the Elven High Council? I leaned back a bit, honestly just to enjoy the show.
She didn't follow the format the Orion ministers had used earlier, not because she forgot, but because we threw that dusty outline out the window last night.
Instead, we went with the format I used to use during my days as heir to crutz estates.
Comparative analysis.
While the ministers droned on about "competitive pricing" and "affordable quality," Sylvia drew the battlefield map. We showed how our products scale compared to Zarathene's and even the elves' own. Where they peak, where they dip, and this was the good part, how ours could supplement or outright outclass them in specific zones.
Yes, zones. Because despite it all being the forest, Elvian territory isn't just green and greener. Some regions are rich in herbal mana, some are packed with flow-responsive flora, others barely get the mist right. So, we mapped it out graphically, color-coded even, and tagged which of our products thrive best where.
Sylvia pointed at the glowing artifact display, voice crisp but fluid.
"Here, in the lower Drassil quadrant, your current moisture-preserving grain strains under saturated light. Our adaptive variant can not only preserve its own growth, but also reduce soil depletion over successive cycles, allowing the companion crops to sustain yield…"
The variant she was talking about is Leon unique, I have no idea why their ministers thought to not involve it in their presentation.
I nodded silently. She was even better than I expected.
I mean, sure, I knew she had memorized the data—seven days of preparation, endless questions to me and Clara, an actual thirst to understand. But what I didn't expect was her ability to… improvise.
Old elf Eldrin kept poking, trying to unravel the seams.
"What happens if the ambient mana density drops for three consecutive harvests?"
"If your northern channels shift trade priority to the Zarathene coast, how does your volume projection hold?"
And every time, Sylvia answered.
Not delayed. Not scrambling. She recalculated the pricing structures on the fly, spoke about insulation coefficients like she'd invented them, and casually threw in impact charts with hypothetical scenarios that actually matched the probabilities.
My jaw might've dropped at some point. Don't ask when.
No sighs. No pauses. No rattling plates or embarrassed stares. Just fast, clean exchange. Like a duel where one side brought a blade and the other showed up with policy-backed artillery.
I leaned forward toward Clara, who had taken her usual background position, watching everything with the kind of calm that made it unclear if she was impressed or thinking about lunch.
"Did we actually raise a prodigy?" I whispered.
Clara smiled. "You did, my Lord."
By now, Sylvia was nearing the end. She turned to me, a quiet little glance and hand gesture, as if saying, your turn if you want it. But I shook my head ever so slightly. This was her moment.
She took it all the way.
"With Falcon Duchy as our financial support," she said, her tone still formal but warmer now, "marginal sustainment is never a risk. The insulation strategies we presented ensure that any merchant-side disturbances will not ripple into Elvian markets. That is our assurance."
She paused, then tilted her head slightly.
"Of course, since this is not a family gathering, my words may not hold weight. But as a diplomat, foresight has been instilled into our house as an essential skill. I hope the Elder understands."
I smiled, biting back a laugh.
Revenge for your dad, huh? Sweet.
That was good. She wasn't spiteful, she was precise. Elegant. But she made it known. She had heard what was said earlier. And this was her answer.
For the first time since this whole performance started, Eldrin smirked. A real one. No sarcasm, no mocking edge. Just quiet, grudging respect.
"Certainly, young miss," he said. "Or rather… little diplomat."
He leaned back in his chair and tapped a finger on the lacquered wood.
"The presentation is cleverly formatted. I'm impressed by the sheer amount of information compressed into such a short span. A truly commendable demonstration."
And with that, I exhaled, casually, of course. But inside?
Hell yeah, Sylvia.
But let's be honest, no matter how much effort you put in, you can't rewrite a play when the lead actor's already memorized a script he never intended to change.
"However."
"There are various provinces in Valthryon," Eldrin said, still all composed and polite, "who have already proposed the said products. Their prices are lower, more sustainable… and they claim to be backed by Griffinvale, the economic capital, no less."
Oh?
Sylvia stepped forward, voice crisp as ever.
"If you can tell us which products are priced and sustained better than ours, we can begin negotiations regarding those specifically."
Elegant. Graceful. A solid opening.
But Eldrin, being the professional buzzkill he is, waved it off like we'd just offered him a free sample of spoiled cheese.
"We've already received the best deal practically possible," he said. "Further discussion on them is a waste of time."
Sylvia, undeterred, began, "We wouldn't know that until you give us the det—"
But he cut her off with a tone so dry it could start a forest fire.
"As I already said, any cutdown on the deals will be impractical. So it's a waste of time to discuss them."
For a second, just a flicker, Sylvia's expression shifted. Agitation. Understandable, really. She'd been flawless until now, only to be denied with less justification than a nobleman dodging taxes.
I stretched a little in my seat, cracked my knuckles for no real reason, and smiled.
"Good sir," I said, "you sure know how to joke about nonexistent deals. But I think this time, it went a bit too far."
Eldrin's gaze turned sharp. Razor sharp.
"You, young lord of Falcon. I'm sure you didn't mean it… but it sounded offensive."
Ah. Offended now, are we?
"Not as offensive as saying the iron ores, something Falcon's had a monopoly over for the past decade, are suddenly being offered at prices we didn't set."
And there it was. The twitch. His eye flinched like someone had yanked a nose hair mid-conversation.
I kept smiling.
"You do understand the implication that gives, right? Good sir… The only possibility I can think of...other than us approving it, is smuggling."
I leaned forward slightly.
"And I do hope Sir Eldrin was just joking, and didn't actually mean smuggling."
Eldrin's voice was calm, but now carried the edge of someone trying not to lose face in a game they thought they were winning.
"Certainly, Lord Hugo. I collectively meant most products have already been proposed by other provinces. Iron ore is one exception, it wasn't among the items I referred to. But we can't accept the deal at a loss for just one item. Or… we can discuss that one at a later date."
I folded my arms and shrugged.
"We might need several 'later dates', then, Sir Eldrin. Quite a few of the items on our list are unique to native regions. Some even have documented monopolies, certified and signed by their respective merchant associations. We've verified they've had no recent trade with the Elvian kingdom."
I leaned in, just a little, voice dropping.
"So I'm truly at a loss as to how you're getting them cheaper. I hope Sir Eldrin… enlightens me, as his responsibility dictates."
Eldrin leaned back without breaking eye contact. It was almost admirable, his attempt to act unshaken.
"There may be many goods that are unique in your presentation," he said, "but we cannot accept a deal with you. Supporting Valthryon over Zarathene would cause us to lose several direct benefits—ones that influence nearly one-fifth of our economy."
"I hope you understand."
Sylvia took a step forward, her voice cool and unflinching, but carrying a sharp edge of disbelief.
"Sir Eldrin, if you were against trading with us from the beginning, why go through all this? A letter stating your stance would have saved us all the effort."
There it was. Disrespectful? Maybe. But deserved? Absolutely.
Eldrin's tone turned tight, slightly raised with frustration.
"I was instructed to dismiss the deal with proper reasoning. Your ministers have already provided sufficient cause to make it official."
He gestured toward the door like a tired host eager to end a party.
"If that's all, you may leave. As I said, we cannot accept any deals with Valthryon, neither with Falcon nor Griffinvale. And I'm quite sure you already knew that, yet you pushed it this far."
Sylvia looked at me. The storm behind her calm was obvious.
"Well, Lady Sylvia," I said, standing slowly, "it's best we not pressure Sir Eldrin further."
She nodded tightly and turned to leave.
But just before the door opened, I whispered, "If Lord Orion asks what happened, say that you tried your best… and Sir Eldrin said he will give his decision later this evening."
Sylvia blinked. Confused. But nodded anyway.
The moment she exited and the doors clicked shut, Eldrin turned back to me.
"Are you not leaving?"
I smiled and settled back into the chair.
"The time for my appointment isn't over yet. And I have something important to discuss with you."
Eldrin gave me a sideways look. "You seem smart, so I do hope you understand that it's not up to me anymore to approve or deny these deals. You'd best give up."
"Oh, don't worry, Sir Eldrin. What I'm about to discuss has nothing to do with Zarathene. So the noble duty of rejecting Valthryon's trade deals won't be challenged."
His brow furrowed. "Then what—"
I pulled a sealed folder from inside my coat and set it gently on his desk.
"Let's talk about pigs."
.......
"…Huh?"
.
Outside the guest quarters assigned to the Valthryon delegation, the sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the stone paths and flowered edges. Orion stood near the entrance with three of his most trusted ministers. Their faces were unreadable, but the tension between them clung to the air like mist before a storm.
Then, from the corridor beyond, Sylvia emerged, her gait measured, her posture poised as ever, but there was something hollow in the way she moved, as if some invisible burden weighed her limbs.
Orion stepped forward at once, his voice gentle and hopeful.
"Sylvia… what happened inside? Anything good?"
She stopped in front of him, and for a moment, the flickering rays of dusk caught her eyes, but they held no light, no glimmer of triumph, only exhaustion.
"I did my best," she said, her voice devoid of tone, of triumph, of defeat. "Sir Eldrin said he would give us his decision this evening before we leave."
Orion's face lit up slightly. He turned to his ministers, clapping his hands together once.
"Thank the stars. He's reconsidering our proposal. Sylvia, good job. You've done very well."
He smiled warmly and gestured toward the door. "Let's go inside. The evening meal is ready."
But Sylvia didn't move.
She stood in place, her shoulders too still, too tight. Her eyes, now closer, showed their weariness. It was not just fatigue from negotiations, it was a quiet kind of sorrow, one that had been building slowly, day by day.
Orion saw it then. He turned to his ministers and gave them a silent nod. They hesitated for a breath, then reluctantly bowed and made their way inside, leaving the two alone.
He turned back to her, his voice now quieter, almost paternal.
"What happened, Sylvia? Don't let this trouble you too much… we'll find a way eventually."
Sylvia's tired eyes lifted to meet his. There was something aching in her gaze now, something deep and breaking.
"Are you really not able to understand," she asked, "or are you pretending for some reason?"
Orion blinked, confused. He didn't answer, didn't know how to.
She took a step closer. Her words, soft at first, turned to cut deeper than any blade.
"Do you remember when your ministers led the western viscounties to invest in grain routes through the Emberfall Straits? They lost their entire year's tax revenue when those roads collapsed during the rains. And the year before, when the gemstone mines in East Harsden dried up...despite their reports claiming untapped veins?"
Her tone sharpened, each word precise and steady like arrows loosed from a longbow.
"You condemned the disasters as misfortunes. You told us it was bad luck. But if you had just dug a little deeper, you'd have found whose pockets those trades went into. Who profited from our loss."
Orion opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't give him the chance.
"We already knew Emberfall has multiple cases related to it during floods, and mining the gemstones has always been a centre for conspiracies..we and our ministers knew it, yet the investments you made in them had no protection nor backup."
"Nothing comes from blaming our people," he said, trying to steer the conversation away from shadows and guilt. "Let's focus on what's in front of us."
But Sylvia's voice rose, not in anger, but in pain.
"You do that!" she cried. "You focus on what's in front of you, and you throw me and our people away...just like you did to Mother."
The words struck like lightning. Orion froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Silence descended again.
Then Sylvia's voice trembled, lower now, but no less resolute.
"Do you not see the predicament you're in? The only lifeline you have left, the only reason you're even still in the race for the Duke's seat, is Falcon's support. And to prove you're worthy, you need achievements backing your claim. But every opportunity that's come your way… you've let it slip through your fingers."
Her hand clenched at her side.
"You refuse to believe your court is corrupted. You refuse to believe there are deals, alliances, growth we could've pursued, but you cast them aside because you won't accept the truth."
She looked up at him, voice trembling between fury and heartbreak.
"If it's ego stopping you from realizing all this… then I'm sorry, Father. You should pack up your ambitions. Throw them away. And don't speak of them to me again."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, not yet.
"Your eyes used to light up when you talked about helping people. About fulfilling Mother's dreams. But now all I see is you trying to preserve the pride of a viscount too afraid to change."
Then, the dam broke.
She clutched her chest, gasping as the emotion surged, unrelenting, suffocating.
Orion's breath caught as he stepped forward. His hands trembled slightly. He looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
"I… I don't know what happened to you," he said, barely able to speak. "When did you grow this much…?"
Sylvia, still breathing heavily, looked up at him. Then, without a word, she stepped forward and hugged him, tight. So tight it hurt.
And Orion… held her back.
He closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat, the memory of his wife flashed before him. Her voice, her laughter, her resolve. It was all there...in Sylvia.
"Father," she whispered, her voice cracking through the tears, "please… let me help you. Let me stand beside you. With both of us together, we can still make your dreams happen. Mother's dreams too… I know we can. Please trust me."
Orion's arms trembled as they wrapped around her tighter.
"Sylvia…" he whispered. "I didn't know you had grown this much."
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, a soft smile blooming through the storm.
"You… you represent your mother so much it hurts to look at you."
Then, with a heavy breath, he nodded.
"So you suspect the ministers of corruption," he said. "Then do what you must. I won't stop you."
He smiled faintly through the weight in his chest.
"I trust that you've grown enough not to need my guidance anymore."
Sylvia immediately shook her head, alarmed.
"No, I didn't mean it like that!" she said, eyes wide. "I still need your support, I still want to do this with you."
Orion laughed quietly. Warm, tired, but real.
"Relax. I didn't mean it like that, either. What I meant is, you no longer need to be sheltered."
He raised a hand and gently placed it atop her head.
"I tried to keep you away from my world… tried to keep you safe, unlike your mother. But seeing how deep you're already in…"
He paused, looking out into the golden horizon beyond the courtyard.
"There's no use keeping you away anymore. Do what you believe is right. I'll support you."
He looked back at her, his voice carrying the quiet fire of resolve.
"We've got nothing left to lose. So don't be afraid of change."
Sylvia, tears still streaking her cheeks, nodded slowly. But this time, her gaze carried something new...resolution.
"Yes, Father," she said, her voice firm. "Together, we'll walk the path toward your dream… and Mother's. I promise."
And for the first time in what felt like years, the two of them stood not as a burdened father and dutiful daughter, but as equals, ready to rebuild what had once seemed lost.