The sun had shifted by the time Lancelot finished the third tray.
Its rays no longer poured through the tall windows but angled low across the chamber, casting long shadows over the stacks of paper now dominating the office. Books lay open with corners folded. Scrolls rested half-unfurled atop maps. Empty teacups sat abandoned beside ink-smudged ledgers.
Lancelot leaned forward with both elbows on the desk, fingers steepled against his lips.
He had read for five hours straight.
Not leisurely. Not out of curiosity. But with intent.
He skimmed the poetic preambles, ignored the flattering bureaucratic niceties, and went straight for the numbers—grain yields, tariffs collected, troop logs, naval inventories, tax exemptions, court expenditures. The summaries were outdated and sanitized. So, whenever something didn't add up, he pulled the raw files.
And it was worse than he expected.
Far worse.
"This place is bleeding out," he muttered to himself.
Alicia stood across from him, arms crossed, observing quietly. She hadn't interrupted much—only answered his clarifying questions when needed, fetched an extra report here and there, or corrected the occasional figure with startling precision.
Now she finally spoke.
"What's your verdict, Regent?"
Lancelot rubbed his temple, exhaustion pinching at his eyes. "Where do I even begin?"
"Wherever hurts the most, I suppose."
He exhaled. "Then let's start with the treasury."
Spain's income—on paper—should have rivaled any mid-sized empire. The kingdom held colonial possessions across two continents. Sugar, silver, spices, dyes, and even cotton passed through its ports. And yet…
"We're broke," he said bluntly. "The treasury's reserve isn't even enough to fund one year of military readiness. And we're running an annual deficit just trying to keep court life looking respectable."
"The masquerade balls are expensive," Alicia said, deadpan.
He shot her a look.
She shrugged. "I'm not defending it. Just acknowledging it."
The revenue was strangled at the source. Of the dozens of taxes levied—customs, tithes, levies, alcabala, sales taxes, royal rents, and more than a dozen tributes from colonial governors—the vast majority were either unpaid or under-collected.
And worst of all?
"The nobles and the clergy are exempt," Lancelot said bitterly, flipping one page over to reveal a land ownership chart. "They pay no taxes, yet own over 65% of the land. The Church alone controls more arable land than the royal crown."
"The Church has royal protection," Alicia said carefully.
"The Church has royal immunity," he corrected, tossing the page aside. "And as for the alcabala—that's a sales tax, right?"
"Ten percent on every transaction," Alicia confirmed. "In theory. In practice, it varies from city to city. Often collected in advance, or through corrupt collectors who keep a cut."
"It's regressive," he muttered. "It punishes peasants and artisans. The rich dodge it by transacting internally or paying off officials."
"Welcome to Spain," she replied, her voice laced with quiet sarcasm.
He pushed his chair back and stood, pacing.
"The colonies are mismanaged. Half of their reports are either falsified or missing. We don't know the exact number of ships we have in overseas ports, or whether the governors are actually forwarding revenues. And don't even get me started on the navy."
Alicia nodded. "It's been five years since the fleet received proper drydock repairs."
"Five years?" he said, stunned.
"Our largest galleons have barnacle rot. The cannons haven't been re-bored. Crews are underpaid. The admiralty siphons funds by reporting ghost crews to inflate salaries."
Lancelot stared at her for a long moment. "How is this kingdom still standing?"
"Momentum," she answered. "And denial."
He ran both hands through his hair.
In his past life, he had read about dysfunctional states—empires that collapsed under their own weight, failing to modernize while clinging to outdated hierarchies. But now, standing in the heart of one, seeing its decay firsthand… it wasn't academic anymore.
It was personal.
"Is there any department that's not a complete mess?" he asked.
Alicia paused, considering. "Education is manageable. The capital's academies still function. The royal university operates, though underfunded."
He didn't look relieved.
"And the military?" he asked.
Alicia walked over and pulled out a separate file. "The standing army is small—barely ten thousand across the kingdom. Mostly stationed in provincial barracks or ceremonial posts. Of those, only about two thousand are trained for actual combat."
"And the rest?"
"Town guards, paper soldiers, or noble retainers who use their rank for prestige, not service."
Lancelot sat down heavily. "I was hoping for at least one bright spot."
"Well," Alicia said, after a pause. "There is one."
He glanced up.
"You're not the old prince anymore," she said. "That alone is an improvement."
Lancelot looked away, trying to mask the weariness in his face. He wasn't going to cry—but there was a cold hollowness building in his chest. The kind that came from realizing the thing you wanted most was so broken, it might collapse under the weight of your own effort to save it.
He stood again and walked toward the window. Outside, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The city beyond the palace walls looked golden in the fading light—its rooftops glowing, its spires casting long shadows.
It looked beautiful.
But now he knew the truth.
Behind that view was rot. Inequality. Corruption. The illusion of strength hiding fragility.
He closed his eyes.
"Then we begin from here," he whispered.
Alicia tilted her head. "From the bottom?"
"No," he said, opening his eyes. "From below the bottom. In fact, even from below, I can't do anything since I just became a regent. My political power is not that much so I plan to take things personal."
"What do you mean by that?" Alicia tilted her head to the side. Curious.
"I can't just repeal laws or anything, that would upset those who grew accustomed to a century-long way. If I'm going to change this country, I'm going to do this bit by bit. Starting with raising capital."
Alicia's eyes lit up. She wanted to know what the Prince is up to as she couldn't guess what it is. As someone who had been involved politically in state affairs, she had some ideas but most of them wouldn't work because as the prince already stated, you can't just change everything in an instant.
"How?"
"By starting a royal trading company."