The regency began not with a coronation—but with quiet.
No horns. No banners. Only parchment, ink, and trembling signatures beneath stone arches.
And at the head of every session sat Isabel.
No voice.
No throne.
Just her slate and a gaze that silenced entire rooms.
—
“Border clans request reduced tribute," one noble grumbled. “If we give in—"
**You taxed them to starvation during the siege,** Isabel wrote.
A pause.
Another lord tried, “But the treasury—"
She held up a second board: **Melt the palace silver. Start with yours.
He flushed.
And nodded.
—
She replaced war ministers with harvest overseers.
Cut noble taxes.
Redirected supply chains to devastated regions.
Instituted winter scholarships for orphans.
Slowly, the nobles stopped fighting her.
Not because she punish
