Inside the gently swaying carriage, the early hum of the capital stirred beyond the windows—vendors shouting, horses trotting, iron-rimmed wheels clacking across the stones.
Prime Minister Monforte adjusted his gloves and turned to Lancelot, his posture still rigid, formal. "May I ask, Your Royal Highness, where we are headed today?"
"Nowhere in particular," Lancelot answered, his tone casual but sharp. "Just around the capital. Observation, mostly."
"Observation?"
"It's been some time since I've left the palace, Prime Minister," he continued. "Too long, I'd say. So I've decided to inspect Madrid with my own eyes. Not through reports, not through noble gossip—but directly."
Monforte raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. "Very well."
As the carriage rolled past the grand plazas and arcaded buildings of central Madrid, Lancelot turned his gaze to the window, though his thoughts wandered inward.
Leandro Monforte… he recalled.
That name had stood out to him the moment Alicia said it. It wasn't just a name on a ledger. It was a memory from his studies—one of the few ministers in the court who wasn't wholly consumed by greed, factionalism, or old privilege.
Lancelot had been reviewing reports and internal dispatches during his sleepless nights—letters Monforte had written to the king, memoranda on trade expansion, his criticism of outdated feudal practices. The man was a centralizer, an Enlightenment-influenced technocrat. A reformist.
If I play this right, Lancelot thought, I don't need to fight him. I can make him my greatest ally.
He glanced at Monforte. The man was looking ahead, expression firm and unreadable. He carried himself like someone who'd spent decades in the machinery of government—and yet, he wasn't cynical. Not fully.
"I've read your past proposals," Lancelot said abruptly.
That made Monforte turn. "Proposals, Your Highness?"
"Regarding the reduction of council redundancies. The modernization of port customs. Your attempt to restructure the Secretariat of War to streamline communications between provincial governors and the capital."
Monforte's lips pressed into a line. "Those were… dismissed."
"They were shelved," Lancelot corrected. "But not by me."
A silence settled between them. Alicia watched them both, quietly intrigued.
Monforte finally spoke. "And what interest does the Regent take in my old paperwork?"
"Because it told me everything I needed to know," Lancelot said, still watching the street scenes as they passed. "You want what I want—efficiency. Order. A state that works without being strangled by ancient formalities. I want to transform Aragon into a superpower state. Not just a paper tiger, but an actual tiger that would be feared by our enemies."
Monforte hummed in thought. He didn't expect the Regent would spout things like that, especially of his station. He was genuinely glad that someone had understood the necessity of the reforms he wished to implement.
"Before we discuss deeper, I want you to know the reason for my trip," Lancelot said. "I intended to visit cities where I will plan to construct factories to industrialize this country, and inspect the roads along the way. However, since you came into the picture, I figured that I would postpone it and instead have a conversation with you, because I want you to work for me."
"Your Royal Highness, I work for the progress of our country, so I'm definitely going to work with you. My wisdom is at your disposal."
"I'm pleased to hear that. Now, as you can see, I'm a Regent, and a lot of people from our government are not keen on having me as the acting head of state. But as a leader, I couldn't care less if they like me or not. What's important is whether they can be useful to me or not. The question I want to ask you is if you have allies, or government officials that worked closely with you?"
Monforte regarded the Regent with a mixture of curiosity and caution. The way Lancelot spoke—so decisively, so plainly—was a sharp contrast to the veiled courtesies of the royal court. The boy might have been young, but there was steel in his spine and calculation in his eyes.
"I do," Monforte said finally. "Though few worth naming, if I'm being honest. The bureaucracy is bloated. Half of them are pension-suckers who cling to old privileges, and the other half are noble lackeys who've never spent a day outside court."
"That's what I assumed," Lancelot replied. "But there must be someone."
Monforte nodded slowly. "There are some who served with me during my earlier campaigns for reform. Men who believe in the Enlightenment, who read Rousseau and Locke in secret—though they dare not speak of it aloud in court. Most have been pushed to the fringes, reassigned to minor provinces, or demoted under the guise of 'honorable retirement.'"
Lancelot leaned forward slightly. "Give me names. I want to bring them back."
Monforte looked thoughtful. "There's Don Rafael Villena—he was the undersecretary of Treasury before the conservatives ousted him. He fought for tax reforms aimed at ending noble exemptions."
"Reinstated," Lancelot said flatly.
"And Dr. Castaño of the University of Salamanca. He's been preaching industrial chemistry and metallurgy."
"Summon him," Lancelot ordered.
Monforte blinked, surprised by the Regent's speed.
"You move quickly," he said.
"I have to," Lancelot answered and continued. "Now tell me: of the ministers in Madrid—who can be trusted, and who must go?"
Monforte folded his arms, considering. "Don Ordoñez of the Ministry of Public Works. He's competent but timid. He'll follow the wind. If we bring him in early, he'll likely fall in line."
"Useful enough," Lancelot murmured.
"Count Figueres of the Ecclesiastical Affairs Bureau is a snake," Monforte added. "Deeply tied to the Inquisition holdouts. He'll sabotage your reforms the moment they touch church property or influence."
"Then he'll be replaced," Lancelot said without hesitation. "I've already drafted edicts to reduce clerical land holdings and reintegrate them under Crown management."
Monforte stared at him, visibly impressed.
"And the Council of Castile?" Lancelot asked. "Too many mouths. Too many hands. Is there any use keeping it alive?"
Monforte's lips twitched. "Not unless you like a chorus of ancient men arguing for four hours about commas in a royal decree."
"Then I'll cut its budget by half. The rest will become ceremonial," Lancelot said. "We'll reroute legislative matters through the Secretariat system instead."
"You mean to make the ministries the backbone of governance?" Monforte asked.
"I mean to remove obstacles," Lancelot replied coolly. "The age of councils and clerical interference is over. We need a state that breathes through logic and acts with speed. We will centralize power around a new structure—efficient, vertical, loyal."
Monforte leaned back, quiet for a moment. "You're not just a boy pretending to rule."
"I've never pretended," Lancelot said calmly. "With this, we can speed up running this country."
He glanced out of the window and saw the roads of Madrid, some were made of cobblestone and the roads going outward were made of dirt. He only has to see the roads of the city and the rest would be the same case in others.