The morning after the "Phoenix Celebration" felt like a hangover, even though I hadn't touched a drop of wine. My desk in the Grand Chancellor's office was no longer covered in dusty ledgers; it was covered in "Foreign Intelligence Reports" and "Bond Certificates" written in the sharp, angular script of the Xandros Empire.
"I've finished the 'Stress Test' on our national reserves, Bastian," I said, rubbing my temples as he entered the room. "It's worse than we thought. The Empress didn't just steal gold; she sold the 'Collection Rights' to our Southern Port taxes for the next ten years."
Bastian, wearing a sharp new military tunic that made him look like a man ready to command an army, leaned over the desk. "Collection Rights? You mean a foreign power can just... walk into our ports and take our money?"
