The rain fell steadily outside the palace, tapping against the arched windows of the Regent's office like a ticking clock. It was late in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the gray sky made the room appear colder than it was. Logs burned in the marble hearth, but Lancelot barely noticed the warmth. He sat behind his desk, quill in hand, ink pot open, and a mountain of papers spread before him.
This would be the most delicate maneuver of his regency yet.
Across from him sat Alicia Viremont, her boots damp from their earlier walk across the palace grounds. She had already taken off her coat and was now waiting patiently, holding a clean scroll and her pen ready. She had seen that look in his eyes before. Calculation. That dangerous glint that meant something monumental was being prepared behind the veil of bureaucracy.
Lancelot didn't look up as he spoke. "Alicia. You remember our talk from earlier… about taxes."
"Yes, Your Highness," she replied, her tone even.
"I've come to a decision. We're moving forward."
Alicia blinked. "With reforming the tax code?"
"No," he said. "With upending it."
She straightened. "You intend to tax the nobility and the clergy?"
"I intend to make them irrelevant," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "But I can't do it by sword or decree alone. I have to outthink them. Outmaneuver them. One privilege at a time."
He rose from his seat and paced toward the map of Aragon mounted on the wall. With a gloved hand, he traced the key cities they planned to link by macadamized roads, then circled back to Madrid with his finger.
"We've been too cautious. The Sacred Investment Act gave us leverage. The Knight's Order Reform gave us a force outside traditional nobility. Now we need to pull the rug out from under them completely."
He turned to Alicia. "We start with the regalias."
"The royal privileges?" Alicia asked. "But those are… centuries old. They're scattered across guilds, dioceses, feudal baronies—"
"And most of them undocumented," Lancelot interrupted. "That's the opening."
He walked back to his desk and pulled out a fresh scroll. Alicia stood and came over, watching as he began to draft with deliberate strokes.
ROYAL DECREE: NATIONAL AUDIT OF PRIVILEGED HOLDINGS
It was only a title, but it carried enough weight to make a thousand dukes sweat.
"We will call it a general audit," Lancelot said. "All parties claiming tax exemptions or hereditary privileges—guild monopolies, tithes, trade tolls, mineral rights—must submit proof of their claims within thirty days. Original charters, documents, oaths signed by kings. No papers, no privilege."
Alicia slowly smiled. "And most of them won't have the documents."
"Exactly," Lancelot said. "They've passed those rights down like heirlooms, assuming no one would ever dare ask. Once they fail to produce the records, we revoke them."
He added a second clause:
FAILURE TO COMPLY SHALL RESULT IN FORFEITURE OF SAID RIGHTS TO THE CROWN.
Alicia tapped her chin. "And what about those who do manage to provide documentation?"
"We cancel any regalia deemed exploitative," Lancelot replied. "We'll use just cause—usury, price manipulation, extortion of peasantry. We'll issue a royal proclamation of economic revitalization and consumer protection. The Council of State will scream, but they don't have the numbers anymore."
He flipped to another scroll.
CROWN NATIONALIZATION ACT—DRAFT ONE.
"This will be the next step," he said, now writing faster. "After we revoke or cancel the regalias, we'll identify key industries—salt, iron, textiles, grain storage—and claim them as strategic to the national interest. We seize controlling shares, under the pretense of stabilization. All excess profits will go to the Royal Treasury."
Alicia glanced at the draft, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're declaring economic war on the first and second estates."
"No," Lancelot said. "I'm cutting out the rot. And once the system is stripped of its privilege… we rebuild it."
He stepped back and gestured for Alicia to follow. Together, they approached the table by the window where a large, untouched scroll lay waiting. The future.
"What comes next," he said, "is the foundation for a truly modern tax system. One that doesn't rely on forced tribute or papal indulgences."
He dipped his quill again.
THE ARAGON MODERN TAX ACT — PRELIMINARY FRAMEWORK
General Income Tax:
A baseline tax levied proportionally across all incomes above a subsistence threshold, regardless of estate.
Luxury Goods Tax:
A heavy tariff on imported goods—French silk, Genoese glass, Persian carpets—that serve no purpose but vanity.
Commercial Excise:
A light but universal tax on all commercial sales above a daily threshold, incentivizing local enterprise while capturing trade volume.
Land Value Tax:
A progressive land tax based on total acreage and productivity, replacing most feudal dues.
Clerical Levy:
A nominal tax on Church lands, disguised as a "National Contribution to Public Morality and Infrastructure."
Alicia blinked at the last one. "You intend to tax the Church?"
"Not tax," Lancelot said with a smirk. "I'm letting them contribute to the moral fabric of society. And if they resist, we frame them as enemies of progress. Let the people judge."
She chuckled softly. "You really are ruthless."
"I'm just tired of asking for permission," he said. "Aragon cannot survive with dead hands clinging to its throat. And if I am to drag this kingdom into the future, then I'll burn the past to fuel it."
Alicia looked down at the scroll. "This will not be popular."
"It doesn't have to be," Lancelot said. "It just has to work."
A knock came at the door. A steward entered, bowing. "Your Highness, Prime Minister Monforte is here."
Lancelot nodded. "Send him in."
Alicia straightened her papers as Monforte entered, brushing off rain from his coat.
"You sent for me, Your Highness?"
"I did," Lancelot said. "I wanted you to witness the birth of our next revolution."
Monforte looked between the two of them. "You look far too pleased for someone about to plunge the nobility into a panic."
Lancelot gestured toward the scrolls. "Because it's not panic. It's progress. I'll be announcing the Royal Audit in three days. That'll be the first stone in a landslide."
Monforte approached the documents, eyes scanning the framework. "Income tax. Excise tax. Nationalization…"
He looked up. "You understand this will make enemies of every old house in the country."
"I don't need them as friends," Lancelot said. "I need them as taxpayers."
The Prime Minister nodded slowly. "I assume you'll want my help."
"I want your shield," Lancelot said. "When the Council demands answers, I want them to see you standing beside me."
"You'll get it," Monforte said, folding his arms. "Just make sure the new system is airtight. No cracks. No loopholes. If we're going to modernize the state, we can't fumble the first step."
Lancelot turned to Alicia. "How soon can you organize the scribes?"
"I'll have them ready by morning," she said. "We'll prepare duplicate copies for distribution to the ministries and royal courts."
"Good. Then let it begin."