I didn’t make it ten steps out of the Grand Hall before reality caught up with me again.

  Reality, in this case, wore Lola’s face, carried a clipboard, and was surrounded by a loose halo of anxious-looking people who all seemed to be talking at once while pretending they absolutely weren’t.

  She stood near the base of the wide marble stairs, chin lifted, listening to three people at the same time and somehow understanding all of them. One was gesturing wildly with both hands, another kept nodding like his neck was on a faulty hinge. The third was holding a stack of papers...

  Classic Lola.

  I spotted her first, so naturally, I did the sensible thing.

  I took Gael by the hand and ducked sideways.

  Not dramatically. Just… casually stepped off the main path, guiding him toward a line of manicured shrubs that flanked the hall’s exterior like they were trying very hard to look decorative and not like excellent cover.

  Gael startled when I grabbed him, stiffening like he thought he was about to be arrested by destiny itself.

  “It’s fine,” I murmured under my breath. “I’m just avoiding my own administration. Happens more than you’d think.”

  We didn’t make it far because people noticed.

  A ripple passed through the crowd like wind through tall grass. Murmurs followed us, soft at first, then growing as heads turned and fingers pointed.

  “…was that—”

  “—the Queen?”

  “—did she just—”

  “—where is she going?”

  Gael froze, eyes wide, shoulders tense, clutching his hands together like he might be arrested by shrubbery.

  I peeked back out.

  Several people were already pointing. Not rudely, exactly, but with that hushed excitement people get when reality does something unexpected and they don’t know whether they’re allowed to clap.

  I sighed.

  So much for subtlety.

  Lola’s gaze swept the crowd, eyes flicking toward me in an assessing way that meant she’d already clocked the bottle in my hand, the dirt-stained farmer at my side, and the fact that I was absolutely about to cause a scheduling incident.

  I straightened, stepped back onto the walkway like I hadn’t just tried to vanish into decorative foliage, and walked toward her at an easy pace, Gael trailing after me like a man who had accidentally joined a parade.

  “Hey,” I said cheerfully, as if we’d planned this. “Quick update. I’m heading to a Sallén farm to inspect the creation of the traditional drink.” Lola blinked as I gestured at Gael with the bottle. “Gael here is out on the fields. And apparently we want to turn it into tagrain?”

  The whispers spiked again.

  I felt it this time, that prickling awareness crawling up my spine, the weight of eyes and expectations pressing in from all sides. People stood straighter, a few bowed reflexively and others stared, then snapped their gazes away the second I glanced in their direction, cheeks coloring as if eye contact with me might be contagious.

  “Queen,” someone murmured, reverent and awed and a little afraid.

  I hated that word in crowds.

  Lola inhaled slowly through her nose, then nodded once. “It is the reason we’re still here,” she said evenly. “We need to increase the farming area and put in two-month crops, because our supplies are dwindling.”

  People leaned in, hungry for context, for meaning, for reassurance that there was a plan and someone competent was holding it.

  I scanned the surrounding faces.

  Merchants with ink-stained fingers. Guards trying to look neutral while very much listening. A woman in a simple dress clutching a basket, eyes full of curiosity. A pair of scribes pretending not to stare while absolutely staring.

  When my gaze brushed over them, they flinched, then bowed or looked away, murmuring apologies under their breath like I’d caught them sneaking a peek at something sacred.

  Great. Now I was a jump scare.

  “I don’t like it,” I said, keeping my voice low but letting the frustration bleed through anyway. “Count Itzel is marching toward my land, and I’m stuck here.”

  The words tasted bitter as they left my mouth, the weight of distance and delay pressing hard against my ribs. Every instinct I had screamed to move, to respond, to get ahead of the problem instead of watching it grow teeth while I was buried in logistics.

  Lola’s hand came up, gentle but firm, resting against my arm. “I know, Lady,” she said. “But we can’t move without provisions.” She glanced at the surrounding people, then back at me. “Not everyone is like you,” she continued, “and can eat on Earth. We need to take an army with us, and also supplies. That means… food.”

  She exhaled, shoulders dipping just slightly. “And then something happened. Our production has fallen by more than half. The Altandai Minister of Agriculture is on it, so…”

  She trailed off and looked at me meaningfully. I stared at her for a second, then smiled. “Dmitry already set up the government?”

  Lola shrugged, lips twitching despite herself. “He’s efficient,” she said. Then she tilted her head, studying me. “While you…” She shook her head. “Sorry. Overworked.” That stung mostly because it was accurate. “Can you stop by?” she asked. “Ask what’s wrong?”

  I snorted. “The ol’, ‘let’s throw Queen at it and it’ll be solved’?”

  Lola actually blushed, color creeping up her cheeks as she glanced at the surrounding people, suddenly very interested in her clipboard again. “Please,” she muttered.

  I laughed under my breath. “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

  Her face turned full red as she pointed toward the edge of the square. “Take Jabari,” she said, gesturing at a line of carriages waiting nearby. “He’ll take you to the minister and the fields.”

  There were at least ten carriages, all different sizes and designs, some ornate, some plain, drawn by beasts I hadn’t seen up close yet, and she pointed at one in particular.

  It was drawn by a Tawnyx.

  The creature stood shorter than a horse but broader through the shoulders, its build compact and powerful, like someone had taken a big cat and asked it politely to carry infrastructure. Its fur was a warm tawny brown streaked with darker markings, muscles rolling subtly beneath its coat as it shifted its weight.

  Its head was feline, eyes intelligent, ears flicking back and forth to track movement and sound. Thick, padded paws rested against the stone, claws retracted but visible, and a long tail swayed behind it in slow, controlled arcs.

  It looked like it could pull the carriage through a wall if properly motivated.

  Yuki’s voice echoed in my memory, bright and breathless, recounting her dungeon adventure in exhaustive detail, including a tangent about Altandai transport methods.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Altandai uses horses the most, then others based on purpose! Most cute and expensive is Tawnyx for rough terrain! They’re super efficient and really loyal if you feed them dried fish!

  “Sure thing,” I said, nodding.

  I motioned for Gael to follow and waved to Jabari, who stood near the carriage, tall and broad-shouldered, his expression calm and professional in the way of someone who’d seen too much to be surprised by much anymore.

  “Minister of Agriculture,” I said as we climbed aboard. “Whoever that is. Then we’ll see.”

  Jabari dipped his head. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  Inside, the carriage was… fine.

  Not fancy, or gilding or velvet. Just sturdy benches, reinforced corners, storage hooks along the walls, and small slitted windows that let in light and air without sacrificing security.

  Gael sat across from me, knees pressed together, hands folded so tightly they’d gone pale. He looked like he was still processing the fact that he’d just been commandeered into a royal inspection trip instead of quietly returning to his fields.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He blinked, then nodded too quickly. “Yes. Yes, Majesty. I just… I’ve never been in a carriage like this.”

  I glanced around. “You’re not missing much. It doesn’t even have cupholders.”

  He didn’t know what that meant, but he smiled politely anyway.

  The carriage lurched forward, Tawnyx's muscles flexing as it pulled us smoothly into motion. The city rolled past the windows in fragments: stupid rosy buildings, my banners snapping in the breeze, people pausing mid-task to stare as we passed.

  I felt it again, that ripple of attention, the way my presence bent the air around me whether I wanted it to or not. Everyone knew I was the Queen as if my presence was on by default.

  I leaned back, exhaled, and let my head rest against the wooden wall.

  Have to ask Mom how to turn this off. Okay, Charlie. Field trip. Try not to accidentally start a revolution or dismantle an agricultural system before lunch.

  The city thinned as we moved outward, stone giving way to packed earth, tall buildings shrinking into warehouses and granaries. The smell changed too, less incense and oil, more soil and grain and something faintly sweet that clung to the air.

  Gael straightened, eyes brightening as familiar sights appeared through the window.

  “That way,” he mumbled, pointing. “Those fields. That’s where Sallén is grown.”

  I followed his gaze, watching the land stretch out ahead of us, patchworked with rows of crops, workers moving like ants between them, the rhythm of labor steady and unglamorous.

  This was the part people didn’t see when they talked about kingdoms and power; this was the part that fed everyone else, and apparently, it was breaking.

  We didn’t even make it out of the city before reality decided to put its boot on our throat.

  The carriage slowed first and then stopped.

  The Tawnyx huffed, claws scraping stone as it settled into an annoyed crouch, tail flicking once in a way that suggested it had opinions about delays. I cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it.

  City gates.

  Guards stood in a loose formation, spears angled just enough to look official without screaming, we’re scared. Their armor was practical, not ceremonial, scratched and worn in places that told me these weren’t parade guards.

  One of them stepped forward and lifted a hand.

  “Halt. Inspection,” he said, voice flat. “Declare cargo.”

  Jabari leaned forward from the driver’s bench. “Royal transit,” he said calmly. “On Her Majesty’s business.”

  The guard didn’t even blink. “And I’m a god of war.” That was… not the response we were aiming for. “Open the carriage,” another guard added, already circling to the side. “We’ve had smugglers trying that line all morning.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled slowly.

  On the upside, this meant the system worked. No one was just waving “Queen!” through checkpoints like it was a coupon code.

  On the downside, I was very tired.

  Jabari tried again, voice still polite, still professional. “I am Jabari, appointed royal courier and security escort. You may confirm—”

  “Everyone’s appointed something these days,” the guard cut in. “Open it.”

  I could hear Gael breathing faster across from me, hands tightening around the bottle in his lap like it was an anchor. He looked ready to apologize for existing.

  Fine.

  I pushed the carriage door open from the inside and stood. The guards froze… like, actually froze. Eyes widened, spears dipped, one of them actually took a half-step back like he’d just realized the carriage might bite him.

  I stepped down onto the stone, my amazing heels hitting with a satisfying clink, cloak shifting around my shoulders. The morning light caught just right, frost-blue glimmering faintly along the edges of my mana like it couldn’t quite turn itself off. Or maybe I showed off. Sue me.

  I smiled.

  “Quick question,” I said lightly. “Did any of you happen to see me in the sky during the fight?”

  Silence, and then nods. Several nods, immediate and enthusiastic. One guy nodded so hard his helmet clanked. “Yes, Your Majesty,” someone blurted. “I—uh—we—”

  “That’s fine,” I waved it off. “Good work, you should stop anyone, even me. But… now we've confirmed it is indeed me, can we get to the gate-opening part?”

  The gate captain snapped upright as if a string had been pulled. “Open the gate! Now!”

  The runes flared, and the massive doors began to part. “Keep up the good work, Altandai rely on you.” I climbed back into the carriage, sat down, and leaned back just as the Tawnyx surged forward, clearly pleased to be moving again.

  Behind us, I heard a hurried chorus of apologies fading into the distance, and Gael stared at me like I’d just personally rewritten physics. “Being Queen is… convenient,” he said carefully.

  I let out a long sigh and took a sip from the Sallén. The burn was familiar now, grounding, sharp enough to cut through the lingering irritation. “I wish,” I muttered. “I don’t even have time to visit my favorite pub.”

  Gael blinked. “You… have a favorite pub?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said wistfully. “Patrick knew me better than I know myself. That’s how you know it’s genuine love.”

  He looked faintly horrified and overwhelmed at the same time.

  We rode in companionable quiet for a while after that, the city thinning behind us as fields took over the horizon. Rows of crops stretched out in orderly patterns, interrupted by the occasional watchtower or low stone structure humming faintly with magic.

  That’s when I noticed the guards.

  Not city patrols. These were stationed units, posted near the fields themselves, armor dusted with soil instead of soot. They watched the land, not the road, eyes tracking invisible lines I couldn’t see.

  “Those new?” I asked.

  Gael nodded. “After the Grandmasters fell, some… things stopped working right. They were placed to prevent panic.”

  That didn’t reassure me in the slightest.

  We finally pulled up near a massive barn complex, wood reinforced with stone supports and etched with sigils along its beams. It was bigger than some city blocks I’d seen, its doors thrown wide to reveal a constant stream of workers hauling crates, tools, and glowing apparatuses in and out.

  More guards here too.

  I leaned forward and rapped on the carriage wall. “Jabari.”

  “Yes, Majesty?”

  “Stay here,” I said. “Both of you.”

  Gael Nodded as I hopped down and headed straight for the barn with no announcement, or waiting. Just me and my bad mood.

  Inside, the air changed immediately.

  Warm and humid. Thick with the smell of soil, sap, crushed leaves, and something metallic underneath, like magic had been sweating. Light filtered through tall windows, catching on glass tubes, rune-etched trays, and suspended crystals pulsing faintly with contained energy.

  This wasn’t a barn.

  This was a laboratory wearing agricultural cosplay.

  Tables were everywhere, covered in experiments at various stages of “this is fine” and “this might explode.” Plants grew in suspended beds of glowing soil, vines curling around copper frames, leaves marked with sigils that slowly shifted and reconfigured themselves.

  And in the middle of it all—

  Shad.

  He moved from one station to the next with the same unhurried focus I remembered, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned in, nodded, adjusted a rune here, snipped a leaf there. He crooned to himself, completely absorbed.

  I took three steps in before a vine slid across my path. Not threatening. Just… there. “Wait,” Shad said without looking up. “This is a delicate calibration.”

  I stopped.

  For half a second, I was back in his greenhouse chamber, vines around my wrists, the faint scent of sap and crushed leaves in the air.

  Except now, I was wearing a crown.

  Didn’t feel like it.

  I waited.

  Shad finished his adjustment, scribbled a note onto a slate with a piece of charcoal, then finally turned toward me. “Oh,” he said mildly. “You’re here.”

  I stared at him. “You asked to be Minister of Agriculture.”

  “Yes,” he said cheerfully. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  He waved me toward a side door. “Come. This place is too noisy for proper thinking.”

  The side study was smaller, quieter, lined with shelves packed with scrolls, ledgers, and pressed plants labeled in careful handwriting. A simple wooden table sat in the center, two chairs pulled up opposite each other.

  We sat.

  Shad looked… different.

  Still composed, but there was something lighter about him, like a man who’d finally been given permission to stop pretending he cared about politics.

  “I asked specifically for agriculture,” he said, savoring the word. “Not trade. Not logistics. Agriculture.” He smiled, genuinely. “It means… I solve problems with plants. All I have ever wanted.”

  I leaned back, studying him. “You look happy.”

  He nodded. “I am.”

  That somehow made the knot in my stomach tighten.

  “Then what’s wrong?” I asked.

  Shad’s smile faded. Slowly.

  He reached for a map pinned to the wall and brought it over, spreading it across the table. It showed Altandai and its surrounding fields, marked with symbols and faint glowing lines.

  “Our fields,” he began, “are supported by a magical undercurrent. It enriches the soil, accelerates growth, stabilizes yields.” He tapped several points. “It is regulated through five guard posts positioned around the farmland.”

  He tapped on the barn. “This is one of them.” The lines glowed faintly, pulsing in a slow, uneven rhythm. “During the fighting,” Shad continued, voice tightening just a little, “someone accessed the system.”

  My jaw clenched. “Someone loyal to the Grandmasters?”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Or simply someone who knew where to look.”

  He traced a finger along one of the lines. “Instead of boosting the harvest…” He paused, then looked up at me. “It is slowing it.”

  I stared at the map, cold creeping into my spine.

  “Sabotage,” I said flatly.

  “Yes,” Shad agreed. “Elegant. Subtle. If not caught, it would starve the city quietly over months.”