“A trade partnership between Zolaria and Velmor,” Nyssa stated.

  King Soren leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “I see… But Zolaria remains under a trade ban, Princess Nyssa.” His tone was firm, yet curious. “That restriction remains in effect for another ten years.”

  Nyssa met his gaze without flinching. “Article 9B, Section 03.5.”

  A hush fell over the royal hall. Every noble, every advisor, every guard in the chamber turned their attention to her.

  She spoke again, calm and authoritative. “Clause One: Any city, village, or sovereign nation subjected to a trade ban shall be permitted to engage in limited trade following a period of seven years from the initial date of enforcement.”

  Soren’s eyes narrowed. “Elaborate.”

  “This decree allows a territory to resume commerce—under specific limitations—after enduring seven full years of embargo,” Nyssa said. “Zolaria has fulfilled that period. By law, we are entitled to re-enter the market. Albeit cautiously.”

  “What limitations?” the king asked.

  “Trade must be conducted through the Arbitrary Trade Model. Under this model, Zolaria’s merchants cannot engage directly with foreign markets. Instead, all imports and exports must pass through an intermediary—a designated ‘Trade Vendor.’”

  She let that sink in before continuing, voice crisp. “Your merchants cannot sell or purchase goods directly. Everything must flow through the vendor, who will handle all trade on your behalf.”

  Soren studied her with a piercing gaze. “Princess Nyssa… how do you know of this law?”

  Silence thickened the room like fog. All eyes locked on her.

  Nyssa smiled faintly. “Let’s just say I have a knack for trade and commerce.”

  King Soren exhaled, the breath slow and heavy, like a man suddenly feeling the weight of something far greater than he anticipated.

  “Your knowledge is valuable,” he said. “But Velmor… is a nation without fertile land, without mines or forests. We have nothing. We run on hope and prayer. You speak of trade, but—”

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  Nyssa cut in, smooth as silk, sharp as a blade. “A kingdom without wealth. A land with little to offer. Yes, I understand your doubt. And your hesitation is valid, King Soren.”

  The king paused, trying to read her. She didn’t flinch. Her confidence was unshakable.

  “I shared the Arbitrary Trade Model with you not because I expect Velmor to be chosen as your Trade Vendor. There are other nations—richer, more attractive, more powerful—who would kill for this opportunity.”

  “Then what do you want?” he asked, his voice tightening.

  Nyssa’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting like the promise of a storm.

  “I want the chance to present my offer. Nothing more. Grant me the floor, and I’ll make my case to you and your council. Let me earn your trust.”

  The hall was still. Tension tightened like a drawn bowstring. Soren gestured.

  “Then speak.”

  Nyssa nodded, stepping forward.

  “Article 9B, Section 03.5, Clause Two,” she began. “Upon the conclusion of a twenty-year trade ban, the affected region shall be granted immunity from future trade restrictions for the next forty years—ensuring uninterrupted participation in recognized economic networks.”

  She looked around the hall, her voice steady.

  “In plain terms: if a land suffers two decades of trade exile, the law protects them for the next forty. No more bans. No more blockades. Just open trade and prosperity.”

  She paused, then delivered the killing blow.

  “But—if Zolaria selects Velmor as its Trade Vendor—I will personally guarantee that no trade bans shall touch your kingdom for the next eighty years.”

  A murmur rippled through the room.

  A royal advisor stepped forward. “Princess Nyssa, we do not doubt your knowledge or your position on the High Council of Trade & Commerce… but not even the Emperor or Empress can rewrite trade law. Not a single word.”

  Nyssa’s lips curled in amusement. “Perhaps not them. But the Vice-President of the Seven Seats can.”

  The advisor blanched. “No—bu—but how would you convince him?”

  She stepped forward, confidence radiating off her like heat. “Because I’m his older sister.”

  Dead silence.

  Another advisor stammered. “Wait… what do you mean by ‘his older sister’?”

  Nyssa turned to him and replied simply, “The Vice-President of the Seven Seats is my younger brother.”

  “WHAT?!”

  The Royal Hall erupted.

  Shock rippled through the room like an earthquake. Nobles gasped. Scribes dropped their pens. Advisors looked at one another in disbelief as the full gravity of her words hit them like a tidal wave.

  And in the eye of the storm, Nyssa stood—calm, poised, and in absolute control.