The next morning, Ilya was escorted to the estate office—a quiet wing of Velwynd that smelled of cedarwood, parchment, and polished brass.
The ceilings were lower here, and the rooms more practical. Still beautiful, but not grand. Ledges lined with ledgers. Walls stacked with scrolls. There was no art, no bloom, no silver trays of fruit.
Only records.
Waiting for her in the inner chamber was a wiry, middle-aged man with spectacles and parchment-stained fingers.
"Lady Ilya," he said, rising as she entered. "A pleasure. I am Roderic Cane, steward of coin and record for His Grace's territory. I've served the Archduke for fifteen years."
He bowed deeply—properly, not stiffly—and motioned for her to sit.
"Today, by Lord Elias's instruction, we'll begin your education on the fiscal anatomy of Theralorne."
Theralorne, she repeated inwardly. The northern realm—now hers, by marriage.
A large map was unrolled between them, pinned at the corners. She recognized Velwynd marked near the center—its name etched in gold—and north of it, a massive range of mountains known as the Stillmore Mountains, sketched in grey ink and jagged lines.
Surrounding that were town names, trade routes, small banners.
"Theralorne is the northernmost domain in the Kingdom of Valtharion," Roderic began. "It is comprised of over 200 villages, 19 cities, and four major provinces—Velwynd being the capital and seat of your authority."
He tapped the mountains.
"Nearly sixteen years ago, it was nearly bankrupt. Bandits roamed freely. Crops failed. And the crown saw no point in defending a region they considered already lost."
Ilya frowned. "And then?"
"Then Elias Wylt was named Archduke. By royal decree. Not birthright."
That caught her attention.
"He was twenty," Roderic continued. "Fresh off the battlefield, sword still red from the western campaigns. A war-hero. A dragon-slayer. A man the King could not control—so he sent him north to be forgotten."
"But he wasn't," Ilya murmured.
"No, my lady. He built something far too loud to ignore."
Roderic led her through thick books of financial records—each one labeled meticulously.
He explained how, in his first year, Elias cleared the roads personally. He hunted beasts. Slaughtered monsters. Took trophies from wyverns and coin from bandit hordes.
Then he sold them—scales, hides, venom, even cursed relics.
That money didn't go into luxury.
"He didn't buy jewels or thrones," Roderic said. "He bought shovels."
Elias founded expeditions into the Stillmore Mountains. He hired scholars, geologists, old dwarven prospectors, even hedge witches who read the stone like tea leaves. When the first iron veins were found, he didn't celebrate.
He reinvested.
"Two years later, gold," Roderic said. "The year after that: tourmaline, sapphire, garnet, and mythrite—a rare ore found only in draconic mountain beds."
"We now mine from six active shafts and own twelve more in reserve. We supply over 70% of the Kingdom's metal and 90% of its precious stones. Even the crown's regalia is cast from Theralorne gold."
Ilya stared.
"How much wealth does the Archduke have?" she asked carefully.
Roderic gave a small smile. "Roughly thirteen percent more than the royal treasury."
He crossed to a locked cabinet, retrieved a scroll sealed in gold wax, and handed it to her.
"This is the latest quarterly breakdown. Currency only—assets like trade ships, land, and nobility bonds are tracked separately."
She broke the seal and scanned the parchment:
Mithril Ingots (ML): 2,769
Platinum Marks (PM): 35,256
Gold Ducats (GD): 762,750
Silver Rounds (SR): 9,492,000
Copper Reals (CR): 113,971,404
Rare assets, such as:
Precious Gems: 5,424 stones
Fine Art and Antiquities: 226 pieces
She blinked at the sheer scale.
"How… how does one even spend that much?"
"Very carefully," Roderic said, amused. "We lend to smaller duchies with interest, invest in grain stores and merchant fleets, and keep a rotating reserve in Mithril should the economy collapse. The Duke is not only powerful—he's smart."
She glanced down again.
"Can you explain the conversion?"
"Certainly," he replied.
1 Mithril Ingot equals 1,000,000 copper reals
1 Platinum Mark equals 100,000 copper reals
1 Gold Ducat equals 10,000 copper reals
1 Silver Round equals 100 copper reals
1 Copper Real is the base unit
"His Grace prefers the old model for weight-based currency," Roderic added. "It's less prone to inflation and easier to standardize across merchant guilds."
Ilya sat back in her chair.
"So… this isn't a noble estate."
Roderic's eyes glinted. "No, my lady. It's an empire within an empire."
By the time she returned to her chambers, scrolls still in hand, Ilya felt the weight of something new settle on her shoulders.
Not fear. Not even power.
Responsibility.
Theralorne was vast. Rich. Alive. And under the care of a man who had carved a kingdom from the bones of monsters—and now expected her to stand beside him.
Not a pawn, she remembered. Not a prisoner.
You are the first door.
Right. She clenched the scroll, and requested Lysia fetch her some blank books of her own, where she would begin to record things and learn. Her husband wasn't focused on his territory...he was in pain, and seemed to have little interest in her. So...She would simply get to work.