The destruction of House Croft left a vacuum. Power, like nature, hates a vacuum. The other noble houses were scrambling, forming new alliances, trying to claim the pieces. I watched them from the sidelines, the amulet a cold comfort against my chest. They were like children fighting over a broken toy.
I needed to channel this chaos. I needed to build something that would not only fill the vacuum but control it. A web where I held every single thread.
The idea came to me as I watched Treasurer Elara from across the throne room. Her sharp eyes were calculating the cost of the new banners hung for the spring festival. Her obsession with numbers was a force of nature. I had been avoiding her, fearing her gaze. But now, I saw her not as a threat, but as the most perfect tool imaginable.
I needed to build a cage for the nobility. A beautiful, gilded cage where they would willingly lock themselves in. And I needed Elara to be its architect.
I requested a private audience. She received me in her office, a room of stunning austerity. There were no paintings, no tapestries. Just shelves of ledgers, stacks of parchment, and a single, functional desk. The air smelled of ink and dust. It was the opposite of every other room in the palace.
"Viscount Herrmann," she said, not looking up from a column of figures. "My time is limited. State your business." Her Favor was a solid -10.
"I have a proposal," I began, taking the seat opposite her without an invitation. "An economic one."
That got her attention. Her hawk-like eyes lifted from the ledger and fixed on me. "Go on."
"The recent… instability… with House Croft has shaken confidence," I said, choosing my words carefully. "The nobles are nervous. They are hoarding their gold, making bad investments out of fear. This is bad for the kingdom's economy."
Elara said nothing, but I saw a flicker of agreement in her eyes. She hated uncertainty.
"I propose we create stability," I continued. "A private club. An exclusive association for the highest tier of nobility. We will call it 'The Gilded Cage.'"
She raised a thin eyebrow. "A frivolous social club? I fail to see the economic boon."
"It will not be frivolous," I assured her. "It will be the bedrock of the new economy. Membership is by invitation only, and it will be excruciatingly expensive. The initiation fee will be five thousand crowns. The annual dues, two thousand."
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. She was already doing the math in her head.
"That capital," I pressed on, "will not sit idle. It will be a fund. A war chest. We will use it to make strategic investments in royal ventures—the new shipyards, the silver mines in the north. The returns will be distributed to the members as dividends. It will make them richer, tying their wealth directly to the crown's prosperity. They will have a vested interest in stability."
I was framing it as patriotism. As sound economics. And it was, on the surface. But the real purpose was deeper.
"The club itself will be a physical location," I said. "A former Croft manor, which the crown has now seized. It will be the most secure, most private place in the capital. The one place where nobles can speak… freely."
This was the hook. The one thing every noble craved more than wealth: a place to scheme without consequences.
Elara was silent for a long time, her fingers steepled. I could see the gears turning in her mind. She saw the financial logic. A massive, upfront infusion of capital. A steady stream of dues. Profitable investments that strengthened the crown. It was a treasurer's dream.
"But why come to me?" she asked, her voice suspicious.
"Because you are the only person in the kingdom with the reputation for absolute, incorruptible efficiency to manage its finances," I said, laying the flattery on thick. It was also the truth. "The nobles would never trust a fund this large to anyone else. You would be the Head of Treasury for the Gilded Cage. You would control the books. Every transaction would flow through you."
I was offering her the ultimate expression of her obsession. A perfect, closed financial system, with her at the center.
Her [Obsession: 98] stat seemed to pulse. I was offering her a bigger, more complex ledger. A kingdom within a kingdom for her to manage.
"And what is your role in this, Viscount?" she asked, her gaze piercing. "You are not known for your economic acumen."
"I am the proposer. The founder," I said smoothly. "I will secure the members. I will use my… influence… to ensure the right people join. My role is social. Yours is financial. A perfect partnership."
It was a lie, of course. My role was to be the spider in the center of the web. The Gilded Cage would be my listening post. With the amulet, I could force truths. In the club, I would learn secrets willingly spilled. It would be a factory of leverage.
Elara leaned back, a rare, slow smile touching her thin lips. It was not a warm smile. It was the smile of a mathematician who has just been presented with a beautifully complex equation.
"The numbers are… compelling," she admitted. "The initial capital alone would fund the new eastern bridge without raising taxes." Her eyes gleamed with a cold, avaricious light. "Very well, Viscount Herrmann. I will draft the preliminary financial architecture. Bring me your members."
I stood and gave a short bow. "Thank you, Treasurer. I believe this will be a prosperous partnership."
As I left her office, my interface updated.
[Alliance Formed: Treasurer Elara]
[Project Initiated: The Gilded Cage]
[Influence: +30]
I walked through the palace halls, a real smile on my face for the first time in weeks. I had just enlisted the kingdom's most feared accountant to build my prison for the nobility. She would ensure its financial success, blind to the fact that she was building the bars of her own cage, and everyone else's.
The Gilded Cage. It was the perfect name. They would fly in, lured by the shine of gold and the promise of power, never realizing that once inside, they would never be allowed to leave. And I would be their keeper, holding the key to every secret they whispered within its walls.