"With a strong enough army, no one will dare defy you."

She's already nodding, but you press on anyways. "You don't want to be at the mercy of so-called friends who will turn on you at the flip of a coin. You are the Princess of Amora! You shouldn't have to scrape and bow to your neighbors for the sake of your own protection. They should be begging you for their safety, not the other way around."

"Of course," she says, but more to herself than to you - as if you deserve none of the credit for the thoughts she was already thinking. "I should be beholden to no one if I am truly the monarch of the realm. If I want something, who is anyone in this world to tell me no?"

Rosalia lifts an imperious hand, and the hall falls silent. The general and the diplomat turn their attentions back to the throne. "I have made my decision," says Rosalia. "I see the wisdom in our general's words, and he has my full permission to acquire the necessary funds to bolster our forces once more. We will not be reliant on our allies and neighbors for our own protection. The world must come to realize that we are a **** that will not be denied." There's a cold surety to her words that brings cheers from the crowds who feel reassured by their monarch's resoluteness. The peasant women, however, are a little quieter. They realize it is their husbands and sons who will be sent to war. None of that seems to faze the princess.

Both Tarres and Gladys bow - the lady is too diplomatic to let any displeasure reveal on her face, but the general is visibly beaming. "Many thanks, your highness. The men will make you proud, I promise it."

"A wise decision, princess," you whisper.