"With introductions concluded, I expect that those present have all read the proposed land reforms. While everyone present is of course permitted to speak up if necessary, I did ask that one person is nominated to lead these… negotiations."

She sat at the head of the dining table with four others seated, a dozen others standing. Behind her, her knight—and his son—stood, stood not right behind her, but a few steps back. The table itself had nothing on it at this time, not even a tablecloth. Bare wood.

As for her, she had spoken in a level voice, measured, loud enough to be heard by those present, but no louder. A voice without emotion, spoken by lips with a polite smile.

Of those present, the ones of importance were those barons under her who made up those others seated. Her title of countess oversaw six baronies. The county was unusually large in that regard; however, it would have been awkward to split the county, especially as the south had been sparse and poor until recent generations.

These barons held a special relationship with her. Many other people—nobles, merchants, and farmers—owned land, but they merely paid certain taxes with no greater obligations to her. The barons had different obligations in exchange for different rights and freedoms. So, while there were several of the most prominent nobles present, it was the barons who had the greatest standing—and the greatest motivation to make use of that standing.

The barony of Schwanstein in particular had enjoyed certain privileges due to its position on a once-contested border. However, the long-lasting peace with Austria had left those privileges fragile. She had found both the current and previous Lord Schwanstein agreeable and perhaps this was one key reason why.

There was also the barony of Grosburg which had been in a strong position due to its sizeable town along the prominent trading route. The last lord rather amenable to bribes, it also served as the home for organised smuggling to Augstadt and even to the capital. That town had been a significant producer of certain goods—which could have been used as leverage against her if not now in her possession.

Then there was the barony of Buchloe which had overseen a salt tax, such an income rather significant and, while much of it had been squandered, some of that squandering left a lingering splendour. There was a prestige to the family which gave them an air of authority, part of that due to how the family had held itself since. Even now, Lord Buchloe had answered her husband's call, taking himself and his knights to the Polish border. Of course, that meant he was not here for this meeting.

It would have been easy to consider that such was not a coincidence, that she had chosen this time due to the weaker position of her vassals, or even that she had orchestrated this.

The issue with such tricks, to her, was that it suggested she was, in a way, afraid.

"Given the circumstances, I have been granted the honour and the privilege to represent my fellow peers."

The man who spoke was in his older years, far from infirm, yet of an age where hearing of his death would not seem particularly premature. Naturally, he was a baron under her rule. What complicated the matter was his background. One did not have to go back far to find a duke and, if one looked wider instead, he could call family of two dukes within the Empire and of one in Italy.

That did not necessarily mean such men would recognise him as family, nor that such family would see fit to meddle in these affairs. Rather, what it meant—to her—was that he had a different kind of prestige to Lord Buchloe. That he had certain connections which his peers would not have access to. Tutors, mentors, invitations to events—and a father who would ensure he did not disgrace the family's name.

"My thanks to Lord Kaufbeuren."

He did not smile, his mouth thin and stretched wide, but not curved. "If I may begin, it is clear Ma'am has put much thought into these reforms. However, that these reforms are the product of much effort does not mean they are fair, so I am glad we have this opportunity to find a middle ground which we may all agree on."

An old voice worn by age, yet firm and with an air of kindness. His hands had made little motions as he spoke, subtle, and his brow at times shifted and other times scrunched up.

Meanwhile, she followed his speech with a stillness. Even after he finished, she did not move, merely met his gaze for a long few seconds, then gave her reply: "No."

His mouth pulled to the side, shoulders gave a small shake as a muted chuckle left him. "I think I misheard. Pray may Ma'am repeat that?" he asked, his tone no different, but that little bit quieter.

"Do not feign deafness," she said offhandedly, making a brushing gesture with her hand as she did, then she returned to her stillness and continued in her usual voice. "There is no debate to be had on the contents of the reforms."

He looked her in the eye for a moment before looking down. He took in a deep breath, his shoulders rising, and let it out, shoulders falling, then looked up at her again. "How could Ma'am call this a negotiation if there is no room to negotiate?" he asked, voice still pleasant, yet thin.

Again, she did not give an immediate answer, continued to meet his gaze before finally speaking. "If My Lord—or anyone else—does not wish to follow the reforms, then do not. I have no interest in overseeing such compliance and I doubt those peasants who would benefit from such reforms will ever hear of them, never mind manage to bring forth a complaint. Regardless, if it did come to that, I am confident everyone present may easily afford the pitiful fines specified."

Pausing there a moment, she drummed her fingertips on the table.

"No, these reforms are a representation of my frustrations," she said, and her voice took on a chill. "I have chipped away at those excuses which could be given and we see now the true purpose for the current arrangement."

Her words left an unease among those present; however, their representative did not falter. "Such vague talk is not conducive to a discussion… Ma'am."

"Oh, My Lord wishes for me to be specific?" she asked, her lips curled and head tilted.

He could not hesitate. "Please do, Ma'am."

For how little she moved, her posture seemed entirely different, that little bit forwards she leant, her hands joined as they rested on the table, and her gaze—her gaze found him and held him still as she spoke to him and him alone.

"Pray tell me, without mentioning such things as rights and freedoms, what injury My Lord would suffer from the reforms?"

That particular wording struck him, struck him hard. "One cannot ignore rights and freedoms so easily," he said, yet his voice had given her an inch, clear that it lacked the firmness of before.

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"Why?"

A single word spoken without firmness, for she did not rely on that to hold her own position, enough for her to sit there, politely smiling, her gaze unflinching.

A single word he did not have a good answer for, left scrambling even if he did not show it. "These are truths of the world, as much as the sky is blue, so to ignore them is to ignore reality. A discussion not grounded in reality is a waste of time for everyone here."

Once more, she held a brief silence before speaking. "That is incorrect. Since My Lord has asked me to be specific, I shall be quite clear and state that I consider the barons to be in violation of the spirit of their… contracts."

This time, despite his urge to speak, he truly had nothing. For all he scrambled, he had nothing and so had to make do with the nothing he had. "That is an alarming accusation to hear from Ma'am."

"I agree," she said, one hand breaking free to loosely gesture at those present. "I have built grand roads across the county. I have built grand academies for children of good breeding. I have built an army grander than any other count. I have done this all without levying special taxes, without demanding additional service."

In a silent clap, she brought her hand back, then slowly dragged her gaze across everyone present, ending once more on their representative.

"I have led by example, I have offered advice, and I have produced a generation of stewards and administrators taught by many of the Empire's finest tutors. Pray tell, what has My Lord done with this assistance?"

Her smile dropped, a lady's expression without a smile strikingly cold.

"What excuse has My Lord for having done nothing?"

He drew in a breath through a thin mouth, hands tense as they fought the urge to fidget in some manner. "I have fulfilled all specified obligations and even contributed to numerous of Ma'am's causes over these years. To call that nothing is insulting," he said, his control over his voice at its limits.

"To call money a contribution, My Lord is insulting himself. If money is a sufficient contribution then what need do I have of barons and nobles? If money is a sufficient contribution then there is no room to argue the reforms as they may go so far as to double the income of a given land.

"My Lord should not need to be reminded that, until my own prompting, none of the barons willingly provided service, that I merely had a few of my own knights. That even now I do not call on daughters to attend to me, nor sons to attend to my husband. That I do not call on My Lord and his peers to attend frivolous councils and run my errands."

Her voice had remained steady, not loud, but loud enough, only to now drop to a whisper, a whisper loud enough to be heard by everyone present.

"Why should I rely on such unreliable people?"

He had no answer, none of those present did.

In an instant, there was a gentle smile on her lips, her shoulders relaxed, barely moving, yet her posture opened up as if now speaking to the entire room once more. "It is clear to me that everyone here would rather contribute in coin. As such, there is no valid objection to these reforms. However, if anyone would continue to object, then simply pay the fines for the right to mistreat peasants."

There was a stillness following those last two words, that there had been some with a growing discontent which threatened to spill out only for that phrase to leave them stumped. It was absurd to suggest peasants could be mistreated, but, to contest that, what she implied was clear and awkward to navigate.

To remain silent was to accede to her, so he had to speak. "Reducing such a complex issue down to money is truly going too far," he said, a heat giving his words strength.

"My Lord should remember he is the one who made this about money, that my reforms make no mention of taxes at all. What I care about is that the land of the county is being squandered."

"Is such a harsh word necessary?" he asked.

She gave him a look, then slowly looked at all others present, then returned to him. "That I am met by a room full of opposition shows how necessary it is."

"To call us opposition, we are still Ma'am's subjects."

For a moment, she simply stared at him, then opened her hands. "Indeed, everyone present is. They are the subjects and I am the ruler."

He had a hint of a smile at first, only for her words to carry a weight he had not expected, a premonition.

"Thus, my subjects will naturally follow my orders without objection."

There was a second where his breath seemed stuck in his throat before he then cleared it. "What Ma'am speaks of sounds much like tyranny," he said, quieter.

"Surely My Lord would not suggest my rule is at all illegitimate?" she asked, a humour creeping into her voice. "That my efforts thus far have been selfish? That I have used my power to inflict violence on my own people?"

She raised her hand, crooked finger on her chin. He did not speak.

"When I dissolved the guilds, I do not recall hearing anyone present cry tyrant. Of course not, for the courts ruled over and over that such actions were entirely within my rights, that I cannot be bound to contracts I did not renew, such contracts which injured me and enriched the guilds."

Her lips quirked.

"Naturally, I made it a priority upon my ascension to renew such contracts with those present. That is, what I spoke of is not a threat, but an assurance. I have no interest in snatching away that which belongs to others.

"What I have is a frustration. We have much good land that is not producing the food which our people need, so we have merchants making profit off of hunger. We have many spinners and weavers and not enough wool for them. It is no wonder so many poor souls turn to prostitution," she said, her tone at the end wistful.

The heavy breath she let out seemed to fill the room, no other sound.

"Money," she whispered loudly, "if all I wished for was money, would I grow wheat and barley?"

More than anything else said, or perhaps because of everything else said, that rhetorical question brought the absurdity of this opposition into a clear focus.

"It is not as if anyone present would even be inconvenienced. This matter need only be handed off to the steward or whichever other servant should oversee one's land. Of course, if even that is too much, then this matter may be left in my hands. No one need do anything. I rule this county, a few more fields nothing I cannot manage."

Words like snow, none on their own chilling, yet, now that they had blanketed the room, a thick silence fell. Stifling.

At least, stifling for everyone but her. "Ah, that is right, we are here to negotiate. I would not ask that which is impossible. There are, after all, only so many oxen to purchase, so much iron imported. Naturally, I have made arrangements."

It was a long discussion that followed, meandering at times, but one which did not feel as cold to those present. Until finally, she was left alone with her pair of knights and those maids who prepared the table for her rather late lunch.

In this busy silence, she bid her knights join her and they did. Ludwig sat down with some familiarity, his son a little stiff, gaze drawn to her every other moment.

She brought up her hand to cover her mouth as she let out a gentle laugh. "Am I so intimidating?" she asked lightly.

Ludwig gave a chuckle while giving his son a stern look. "I would say… Ma'am left a strong impression today."

"A strong impression, I wonder," she said softly, little more than a whisper. After a few seconds, she took in a breath and continued in her usual voice. "Recent times have had me thinking of my father. I have always known others held much respect for him, that even in death he inspires fierce loyalty."

"Indeed. Young as I was, I admired him greatly. A more worthy lord I could not have asked for."

Her expression held a wistfulness, yet it was not gentle. "I wonder if those present would have prepared such an opposition for him."

He chuckled again, patting his chest. "Oh I doubt it. Even as he spent more time in the capital, everyone adored him. They would certainly be falling over themselves to show him how willing they were."

Little by little, her expression turned as if numb, a mask which showed nothing. "I am not my father. I know well I lack his charm. However, I am growing tired of giving him more respect than he deserves."

Those words hung in the air.

"Ma'am?" he asked, that word fragile as it left his mouth.

"I am of his age when he passed. What I have accomplished, while built upon the foundation he lay down before me, are accomplishments far grander than I believe him to have been possible of. That what I have put in place goes beyond those lessons left behind by my mother. That, compared to the sum of my parents, I am greater still. A prideful thing to say, yet which parent would not wish for their child's success?"

At the end of her speech, her gaze drifted from him to his son, a smile touching her lips. Then her gaze returned to him, smile fading.

"I will not beg for the respect I have earned, nor shall I give respect to those who would not give me the respect I am due. We are long past the time to indulge those who see all I have done and still doubt my intentions and ability."

Silence followed, her gaze distant as it rested on the table. A busy silence with the maids setting the meal. Silence, until the cups were filled with wine, one picked up.

"To Princess Julia, long may she rule!"

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