When the prince’s reform plan was announced, people couldn’t hide their astonishment.
Numerous tax categories were consolidated all at once, and the unchecked establishment of monasteries was reduced.
The restructuring of tariffs was another key reason behind the reform.
While Venetians still controlled Morea’s foreign trade, the prince had effectively guaranteed small-scale domestic commerce.
Even the policies concerning non-Christians, such as Turks and Jews, were considered lenient—so much so that some complained they were being overly favoured.
However, there was no faction in Morea capable of opposing these reforms.
Morea had long been under the strong influence of the prince and harboured deep skepticism toward the central government.
In fact, the only reason Morea remained connected to the empire was that the prince himself was of imperial blood.
The difference was clear—while the capital had crumbled in helpless inaction, Morea, under the prince’s leadership, was moving in the opposite direction.
Despite carrying the weight of a thousand-year legacy, this young ruler, who had risen like a morning star, was accomplishing what none before him had achieved.
It was only natural that the people were enthusiastic.
Support for the reforms was particularly strong in Morea.
While the newly established territories of Athens and Thessaly were more hesitant.
The effectiveness of a people’s assembly was uncertain, and more immediately, they were faced with a tax rate of 50%.
While it wasn’t excessively heavy, it wasn’t light either—certainly not something easily accepted.
Yet, the necessity of it was undeniable.
For eight years, they had been exempt from tribute.
But when those eight years ended, the peace that Morea had won would be put to the test once more—this time, by none other than their old nemesis, the Ottomans.
The army had to be rebuilt before that moment arrived. The prince’s reform plan was largely focused on this goal.
And nearly a month after its announcement, the prince was issuing follow-up measures.
The most crucial appointments still remained.
“Demicleos, you will oversee the reorganization of the territories and the establishment of the people’s assemblies. Bishop Nikephoros, you will take charge of forming and leading the review council that will determine the fate of the monasteries.”
“As Your Highness commands.”
“Now that I see Your Highness has resolved yourself, what more needs to be said?”
Even Bishop Nikephoros, who might have been expected to resist the most, readily accepted the prince’s decree.
This willingness was not unique to him.
The same could be said for many within the religious community.
The prince had always lived up to the title of protector, his record flawless.
He had even proven himself through wars against the infidels.
There wasn’t a single monastic order powerful enough to challenge him directly.
In truth, Demicleos wouldn’t have had to bear so much responsibility under normal circumstances.
The prince briefly thought of a loyal retainer he had once cast into the fire—Adrianos, who had been by his side since childhood under Emperor Manuel’s orders.
Perhaps, had Adrianos been here, the reforms would have proceeded more smoothly.
But there was no use lamenting those who had already departed. The prince set aside his regrets.
“The matter of the Latin knights must also be settled.
From now on, all knights must prove their abilities before swearing loyalty. Their qualifications will be measured by their equipment—lances, armor, swords—and their squires. Only those who meet these standards will be granted knighthood. These knights, like the existing pronoia holders, will receive land cultivation rights, but their holdings will not be inheritable. If they wish to pass them down, they must either serve for at least 15 years or pay an appropriate inheritance tax.
Latin knights must be accompanied by at least two squires and provide their own arms and armor. In return, they will be exempt from taxes.
However, those who lack the financial means to meet these requirements will serve as cavalry for ten years before being knighted and granted land. Until then, they will be incorporated into the newly established ‘Stradiotes’ unit.
Additionally, Latin knights will form their own independent force, while the Stradiotes will be integrated into the existing Paramonai.
To lead this independent Latin force, a new position will be created—the Latin Commander—and Don Francisco will be appointed to the role.”
“Whoa, a commander of knights? Even most nobles wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”
His words sounded like a complaint, but his beaming face said otherwise. Francisco couldn’t stop grinning, his shoulders rising with pride.
If he was happy, then so was the prince.
Latin knights would be a key part of the military’s strength moving forward.
Which meant they would be worked to the bone. The prince could only hope Francisco wouldn’t come banging on his door in the future, fists raised.
For now, Francisco hadn’t realized it yet.
That was enough.
The prince turned his gaze, finally meeting the eyes of someone he had been avoiding until now.
“…Your orders, Your Highness?”
It was a problem when someone suddenly started acting differently than usual.
When they had first met, she had been cool and composed. Now? The prince wasn’t sure where things had gone wrong. But no matter—right now, he had to face Ivania as her sovereign.
“Ivania, you have served me for a long time.”
“…It was only natural, as I was hired to do so.”
“I believe it is time to renew that contract.”
The prince had long taken note of Ivania and her mercenaries, and now, the time had come to reap the benefits.
Despite the limits imposed by her gender, Ivania had built a disciplined and well-trained company of mercenaries.
When she had first arrived, her force had numbered three hundred.
Due to personal circumstances and battlefield losses, that number had since dwindled to two hundred.
Moreover, many of her mercenaries, having been employed under long-term contracts, had abandoned their homelands to settle here.
The prince had ensured that their wages were paid without fail, despite the treasury’s dire state.
But if he had managed to do so, it was largely thanks to Ivania herself.
She had refused most of the compensation due to her as their leader, reducing the financial burden on him.
The reason for her decision was clear. And it had influenced the prince’s own choice.
“I wish to hire you as my commander and military advisor—on a lifelong contract.”
“W-what? Y-Your Highness? Are you saying…?!”
Inviting exceptional foreign soldiers as advisors or commanders was nothing unusual.
But when the individual in question was a woman, the situation changed significantly.
The scrutiny was bound to be far harsher than when hiring a man.
Even Bishop Nikephoros furrowed his brows slightly at the prospect. However, he held his tongue, saying nothing.
The only one who truly broke composure was Ivania, who had just barely been maintaining an air of calm. At this sudden proposal, she was left stammering in shock.
“If you’re worried about your mercenaries, there’s no need. I intend to rehire all of them as my subordinates. If they wish to naturalize and become subjects of the Empire, I am prepared to accept them as well.”
“T-That’s not it—it’s just… A lifelong contract? Is that… really true? A lifelong contract?!”
To others, it might seem like the prince was merely seeking a skilled commander or military advisor under extraordinary terms.
But Ivania saw something else in this proposal. And the prince, too, had deliberately imbued his words with a deeper meaning.
Even so, she kept pressing the question—she needed certainty.
The prince braced himself for what lay ahead.
This was an improper union.
It would deal a significant blow to the noble image he had painstakingly built.
Even if he one day ascended to the imperial throne, this decision would never be forgotten. No higher title would be granted to her.
And yet, a smile spread across his lips.
“Yes. I offer you a lifelong contract. Though I must warn you—our finances are strained. I may not be able to pay you as much as you deserve.”
“That’s perfectly fine!”
“You may find yourself with little to do. I’ll be preoccupied with urgent matters, so I may not often seek your counsel. Will that sit well with your honor and pride?”
“As long as I can serve you, I’ll endure anything!”
At those words, the prince rose from his throne and stepped toward Ivania.
True to her nature, the ever-unpredictable knight had her head bowed, her face hidden from view.
The prince knelt before her and, in a quiet voice, spoke.
“I promise you this.”
It was a declaration that he was no longer a flawless sovereign.
“If a child is born, I will allow them to call me father.”
And with it, a statement of why he had no choice but to renounce both his imperial name and his claim to succession.
As long as he bore the name Palaiologos, any illegitimate child he fathered would inevitably become a threat to the throne.
There were only two ways to prevent this.
One: to turn his back on the child.
Or two: to never take a woman outside of an arranged marriage.
He had rejected both options—so he had no choice but to take this path instead.
Yet Ivania, unaware of all this, shook her head resolutely.
“It’s all right, Your Highness. I never intended to stand in your way. As long as I can remain by your side, I will endure any humiliation or disgrace.”
“And yet, you say this only now…”
If only she had spoken like this more often.
The prince sighed inwardly, debating whether to explain his decision to her.
Meanwhile, the assembled officials watched the scene with mixed reactions.
“…So even His Highness, so wise until now, has accepted the risk of tarnishing his name.”
Bishop Nikephoros murmured with a hint of regret.
“Perhaps this is for the best,” Demicleos said with a nod.
“When I heard he had collapsed under the relentless attacks of the Turks, I feared the worst. If this means securing an heir, at least some worries can be put to rest.”
The contrast between them was clear—Nikephoros spoke for the Church, while Demicleos voiced the concerns of the common people.
Only one among them remained silent about the prince’s choice:
Francisco, the man who claimed to be the prince’s cousin.
“Still, let’s not spread this too openly, shall we?” he finally said. “Bishop, Administrator, you both know this isn’t exactly good news.”
“You should mind your tongue,” Demicleos replied dryly. “Perhaps you’d learn to speak more properly if you shadowed me. You could pick up at least two foreign languages that way.”
“Oh, look at that! The ever-stiff administrator has changed quite a bit.”
“One must adapt when dealing with Venetians. A little wit goes further than rigid formality.”
Listening to the exchange between the two men—who, against all odds, were starting to get along—Nikephoros sighed lightly.
“Well… at least people are beginning to loosen up.”
Compared to the grueling days when they had been consumed by endless, murderous tasks, this was certainly more human.
But if the rest of the Church caught wind of this, it would not be so easily overlooked.
Especially now, as the survival of the monasteries was being debated, such a scandal could cause irreparable damage.
Still, even such concerns were but a lone boat in a raging storm compared to the true dangers ahead.
“May His Highness complete all his preparations before that day comes.”
Whether that prayer would be answered—only the passing years would tell.
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