It had been a cold, solemn week on Macragge. The banners still hung low for Konor Guilliman, assassinated in the night during the coup. Roberta had moved swiftly—outmaneuvering the traitorous patricians, seizing command, and dissolving the twin-consulship in a single breathless day.

She sat alone now in the marble chamber of state, columns framing her against the morning light. Scrolls of law, revised military doctrine, and civic reforms lay spread before her.

“Increase funding to agricultural,” she said quietly, to no one in particular. “provide insentives for families.”

The doors opened with a clack. A young tribune entered, hesitant. She placed down her pen and looked up from the reforms to him.