"He's been Eldmere’s Administrator for nine years," Jorvan said, pacing his borrowed office in White Hold. "Why is he saying 'I need to review the law' and 'the procedure requires' and 'I'm stating the law, Your Highness.' He knows the law or should know it." His voice took on a mocking tone. "I'm tired of it. Just make him sign."

  Valgarr stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, rings humming softly. "Patience. We want him to sign willingly."

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes." Valgarr turned, meeting Jorvan's eyes. "If we force his hand—through magic or through obvious duress—and it's ever challenged, we've weakened our legal position considerably. The Two Signatures Law exists precisely to prevent coercion. If we compel him, we undermine the very legitimacy we're trying to establish."

  Jorvan stopped pacing. "So what do you suggest?"

  "Let’s isolate him. Remove his purpose. Take away the documents he uses to obstruct us—make him feel useless. A man with no work, no function, eventually questions his own stubbornness. Why refuse to sign when refusing accomplishes nothing? When he could be useful again, important again, if he'd just cooperate?" Valgarr's smile was thin. "Make him want to sign. Then, if we must resort to... other methods... we can do so quietly, and no one will question whether his compliance was genuine."

  "How long?"

  "Weeks, perhaps. But it will be worth it. Trust me."

  Jorvan considered this, then nodded. "Fine. Do it your way. But if he's still refusing in a month—"

  "Then we'll discuss alternatives."

  ***

  Benjamin stood in what had been his study and watched Garanwyn soldiers pack his books and documents into crates.

  Nine years of work. Every legal precedent, every administrative code, every documented procedure that governed Eldmere—being carried away like common supplies.

  "What are you doing?" He kept his voice steady.

  "Securing important records, Administrator." The soldier didn't look up. "King Jorvan's orders. Archive transfer."

  "Those are Eldmere's laws. I need them to—"

  "You can submit requests through King Jorvan's office for any materials you need, sir."

  Through Jorvan's office. For access to Eldmere's own laws.

  Benjamin watched them carry the crates out. His desk was empty now. The shelves bare. Even the small volume of administrative procedures he referenced daily—gone.

  A guard remained in the corner. He'd been there all morning. Watching.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Will that be all, sir?" the soldier asked.

  "Yes," Benjamin said quietly. "Thank you."

  When they left, he sat at the empty desk.

  Think.

  Jorvan wanted Eldmere. That much was obvious. Not just occupation—permanent control. And he was being careful about it, courting the nobility, making promises, offering positions to the ambitious lesser nobles who saw opportunity in the chaos.

  But the landed nobles—the ones with real power, real influence—they were resisting. Carefully, in case open defiance would lead to inconvenience. But resisting nonetheless. They wanted stability. They wanted competent governance. They wanted him.

  That was his leverage.

  As long as the nobles needed him, Jorvan couldn't simply dispose of him. The Two Signatures Law protected him—ironically, the same law he'd violated to crown Cocky now protected his life. Jorvan needed his signature to legitimize the takeover. Needed him to sign willingly, or at least appear to.

  Benjamin knew the laws. Nine years of administration, of studying every precedent, every loophole Helmut's laziness had created. He'd memorized most of it—had to, dealing with Helmut's constant attempts to avoid his responsibilities.

  Lucky, that. Because now they'd taken the documents.

  But why?

  To isolate him. To remove his tools. To make him feel useless.

  If he couldn't reference the law, couldn't cite specific procedures, couldn't work—what was he? Just a man in a room. Powerless.

  Except he still knew the law. Still knew every procedure they were trying to circumvent.

  And would they alter the documents while they had them? Change provisions, remove protections, rewrite Eldmere's legal foundation while he sat here unable to stop them?

  Benjamin stood, crossed to the window. Looked out at the city.

  His city. The one he'd spent six years trying to save.

  Somewhere down there, people were suffering under occupation. Somewhere, Cocky—

  No. Cocky was dead. The hyena had killed him. Whatever resistance remained, it was leaderless. Scattered.

  Benjamin was alone.

  He pressed his hand against the cold glass.

  Protect Eldmere. That's the job.

  He couldn't do it from a battlefield. Couldn't do it with a sword. But he could do it with procedure. With law. With stubborn, grinding resistance to every document Jorvan put in front of him.

  I'm stating the law, Your Highness.

  As long as he was alive, Jorvan couldn't take Eldmere legally. As long as he refused to sign, the takeover remained occupation, not legitimate transfer.

  So he'd refuse.

  For as long as he could.

  The door opened. A different guard. "Administrator, King Jorvan requests your presence."

  "Of course." Benjamin straightened his tunic. "Lead the way."

  They walked through corridors he knew by heart. Not toward the throne room. Toward—

  The eastern tower.

  Benjamin's step faltered. Just for a moment.

  The guard opened a heavy wooden door. "Your new quarters, sir. More secure. For your safety."

  Benjamin looked into the cell—and that's what it was, cell, no matter what they called it—then at the guard.

  "I see," he said quietly. "Thank you."

  He stepped inside. Heard the bolt slide home behind him.

  The room was small. Stone walls. Narrow bed. Barred window. A table. A chair.

  No books. No documents. No work.

  Just isolation.

  He'd hold out.

  He had to.

  For Eldmere.