Chapter 16: Audience with the Crown
The morning of departure arrived draped in violet mist. Farhan Rahman stood at the gates of the Merchant's Hearth, dressed in a finely tailored but modest dark-blue coat stitched with Earth-acquired synthetic fibers — a subtle display of craftsmanship without extravagance. A small caravan stood ready behind him: three wagons, each carrying select goods, guarded by four hired swords and accompanied by Denel, Lyssa, and the ever-loyal Arlin.
Lyssa adjusted her spectacles. "We've triple-checked the inventory. These items are legal, practical, and politically neutral. No luxuries, no arms, no trouble."
Denel, arms crossed, added, "Still... keep your wits about you. Court politics isn't just about what you say — it's about what they think you mean."
Farhan gave a short nod, stepping onto the front wagon. "Let's go show them what real value looks like."
The capital of Eldor, named *Solmaris*, lay four days east by paved road, nestled between cliffs and rivers. It was the seat of the Crown, a place where politics brewed thicker than potion broth and ambition gleamed sharper than any enchanted blade.
—
The journey passed without major issue. Merchants greeted Farhan warmly in towns along the way. Children chased after the wagons shouting, "Blanket seller!" and "Story man!" thanks to The Common Voice now serialized in neighboring regions.
But Denel noticed the subtle shift in atmosphere as they neared Solmaris — more guards at tollgates, more stares from cloaked individuals, more whispered mentions of "the foreign merchant." Even the inns became wary, offering rooms with an extra fee, or not at all.
"He's rattled them," she muttered. "Good."
—
The Royal Capital was a marvel of white marble towers and golden domes. Magic circuits ran visibly through streets like glowing veins, powering floating lights and arcane lifts. Even Farhan, used to Earth's modern wonders, found himself quietly impressed.
At the city's heart stood the Palace of Accord — a sprawling castle-fort hybrid shaped like a rising sun, with thirteen towers representing the Great Houses of Eldor.
Farhan's group was met at the gates by an armored envoy bearing the Crest of Neutral Commerce — a branch that answered only to the King.
"You are to present your goods at the Council Assembly tomorrow at dawn," the envoy said curtly. "You may stay at the Stone Garden Lodge. Do not leave city bounds without escort."
"Charming," Arlin muttered.
Farhan, however, smiled calmly. "Understood."
—
That night, in their guarded suite, Denel paced like a caged hawk.
"They're not just being cautious," she hissed. "They're preparing for something. Every inn window watches us. I've seen no fewer than three divination agents today."
Farhan sat at a desk, scribbling notes beside a tablet. "Let them look. I've prepared a show worth watching."
"You *do* understand they'll try to discredit you?"
"Yes," Farhan replied, eyes flashing. "That's why we're not just bringing products. We're bringing proof."
—
Dawn broke with horns echoing across Solmaris. The Merchant Council Hall was filled with an unusual crowd — nobles, economic delegates, scholars, and even a few commoners granted rare access.
At the center stood a raised dais beneath stained glass windows depicting the Realm's founding. Upon it sat thirteen councilors and King Aurelian V himself — a young ruler known for reformist leanings, though still bound by tradition and court pressure.
Farhan stepped forward, bowing just enough to show respect, but not enough to grovel.
"I am Farhan Rahman, merchant of Ylmare. I stand before you not as a noble, not as a mage, but as one who deals in value."
There was a murmur. Some scoffed at his Earth-accented voice. Others leaned forward, curious.
A voice rang from the council — Lord Veynar, of House Thorne.
"You claim to sell foreign goods not seen in this land. Some whisper your wares are demon-made. Do you deny this?"
Farhan smiled thinly. "I do not trade with demons. But I do trade with innovation."
He clapped his hands. The first crate was opened.
From it, Arlin retrieved a solar-powered water purifier — gleaming and simple.
"This device turns stagnant, poisoned water into clean, drinkable supply without spellwork. Place it in the sun. Wait. Drink. No mana, no filters, no incense."
Gasps rippled. One noble leaned forward, clearly impressed.
Another crate was opened.
"This," Farhan continued, "is a compact, portable stove. Flame with no firewood. Cook without smoke. Safe even indoors."
Lyssa lit it. A bright, blue flame sprang forth — steady, controlled.
"But how?" one councilor asked.
"I do not sell sorcery. I sell understanding. And I offer you this understanding, too."
The final crate was opened, revealing dozens of neatly printed pages.
"This is The Common Voice. Knowledge in print — news, learning, fair prices. We've already distributed hundreds in border towns. Literacy is rising. Fraud is falling."
Now even King Aurelian leaned forward.
"And what do you want, Merchant Rahman?"
Farhan looked at him directly.
"Recognition. Freedom to trade. A charter of neutrality, so my goods can reach not just the rich, but the realm itself."
Veynar stood abruptly. "He seeks immunity to flood our streets with heretical tools! Tools that replace our scribes, our guilds, our traditions!"
Farhan stepped forward. "Tools do not replace worth. They reveal it. Ask the farmers whose crops doubled. Ask the healer who saved children with antiseptics."
The hall fell silent.
Then King Aurelian raised his hand.
"Let us test the claims. Send this purifier to the Poisoned River Watch. Send his blankets to Frost Hollow. And send copies of his Common Voice to the Mage Academy. If truth walks with him, we will know."
Farhan bowed. "I welcome all tests, Your Majesty."
—
As they returned to the lodge, Arlin exhaled. "You just told the richest men in the kingdom that truth matters more than gold."
"I know," Farhan said, smiling.
"You're either brilliant or insane."
"Hopefully both."
—
Two days passed.
Then the reports came.
The water purifier removed 90% of the contamination in the Poisoned River. The blankets warmed Frost Hollow during a rare blizzard without magic. And the Mage Academy requested 500 copies of the Common Voice — and asked for more educational content.
The King sent a messenger to Farhan with a sealed decree.
Farhan opened it. His hands trembled.
"What is it?" Denel asked.
Farhan looked up, eyes blazing.
"It's a Royal Trade Charter. Full rights to operate throughout Eldor. No guild may block me. No lord may tax my movement. I've been declared a Merchant of Accord."
—
The empire had just opened its gates.
But now, Farhan knew, came the greater challenge.
Because power — real power — always draws enemies.
And someone was watching… from the shadows beneath the palace, where forbidden tomes whispered in ancient tongues.
A voice rasped.
"The Merchant walks among us. Prepare the Unseen Hand."