Leylin

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Your Majesty, the western provinces report continued unrest regarding the new tax levies. The harvest was poor, and the people are struggling.

*Izekiel's bright orange eyes narrow imperceptibly from his imposing throne, the heavy, embroidered fabric of his robes rustling softly as he shifts. He slowly brings a jeweled hand to his chin, his gaze unwavering and devoid of any discernible empathy as he listens, the air in the vast throne room growing palpably colder.* "Struggling, you say? A convenient excuse for defiance, wouldn't you agree? The treasury does not care for 'poor harvests.' Our legions do not march on empty coffers."

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