Alexander, unlike Tukal-Bey, was in no hurry to assert his power with sword and blood. He built his system differently - with cunning and strategy.
Why spill blood if you can make everyone bow without a single strike? But if the time came, his sword would fall just as decisively as the princely orders did now.
At this moment, he was in the small princely chamber, seated behind a massive oak table. Alongside him, on heavy benches, sat Stanislav the Great, Olga Strumenskaya, Gleb Turovsky, Boris Stalnogorsky, and Vasily Svyatopolkovich.
They were not just sitting - they were positioning themselves like pieces in a chess game, but the board was not made of wood; it was made of anticipation. Those closer to the prince could seize the initiative, say a word that might change the course of the meeting. Those sitting farther away understood this - and lay in wait, watching to see who would take the first risk.
The room was spacious but not lavish - it carried the austere grandeur characteristic of the Kievan court. Stone walls, paneled with dark oak, absorbed the light of numerous lamps placed along the walls. Their flames flickered, casting dancing shadows on the polished tabletops and heavy benches.
The air was filled with the mingling scents of burning oil and wax, with a faint trace of wood smoke lingering. In the corner, logs crackled in a brazier, releasing barely perceptible warmth, but the cold of the stone seeped through the carpets covering the floor.
The silence here did not just hang in the air - it pressed down.
It was not broken by words or loud gestures. Only cautious movements: a finger tapping a measured rhythm on the table, a gaze shifting stealthily from one face to another, a sleeve twitching slightly under an unnoticed motion of fingers. Outside the windows, the wind howled; at times, muffled shouts of the guards or the distant splash of the river reached them.
The fates of lands were being decided in this hall. And everyone seated at the table could feel it in their very skin.
Alexander knew that he had to act unwaveringly, yet subtly. To give no reason for open resistance, but also to leave no room for doubt.
They had all gathered here to see the new prince. To assess him. To understand with whom they would have to deal. But Alexander had no intention of wasting time on formalities. He got straight to the point.
The first person he spoke to was Gleb Turovsky - the senior boyar and princely governor of the Turov-Pinsk land, appointed back in the days of Yaroslav the Wise.
The negotiations dragged on. Gleb had not expected the prince to seize the initiative so quickly. He was used to governors being consulted, not having decisions dictated to them. Used to discussions, not to facing ready-made schemes where his role was already assigned.
Alexander left no room for doubt. He did not ask - he painted reality as if it had already come to pass.
Gleb could have objected, but each of his arguments found its reflection in the prince's skillfully placed words. Again and again, the conversation turned in such a way that Turovsky himself agreed, came to the necessary conclusions on his own, felt for himself how the fingers of power subtly settled on his shoulders.
At some point, Gleb narrowed his eyes, clinging to the words like to the slippery edge of a cliff. He was searching for a catch - that very moment when Alexander would press harder, when the thread of cunning would reveal itself.
But there was nothing.
Everything sounded logical. Advantageous. Even too much so. A feeling of unease slid across his skin like a cold wind - invisible, yet inevitable.
In the end, Gleb nodded. Not because he wanted to, but because arguing was pointless. Soon, they had agreed on all points.
His legitimacy as governor remained, but now he held power not as a man of Yaroslav, but as a man of Alexander. He could rule. But not independently - only within the framework of the unified princely system.
Then the conversation shifted to matters of economic cooperation.
Gleb himself did not hold a complete monopoly on resources. He controlled the saltworks, sawmills, and fur trade, but a significant portion of the region's wealth belonged to the senior boyars. Dubrovitsky controlled the forests, Stanimir Luninecky held the pastures and livestock, Pinsky managed the river routes, and Mozyrsky oversaw the artisan workshops. Gleb could collect taxes and manage revenues, but he could not ignore their influence.
Alexander understood this. If he wanted to take control of trade, he had to act not through Gleb alone but through the entire boyar system.
But he did not say this outright. Instead, the prince proposed the Princely Trade Union - a system that would protect the interests of all those engaged in commerce in Turov.
Gleb listened carefully. He knew Alexander did not hand out gifts for free.
Alexander had originally planned to launch the Union in Kyiv with the help of Senior Boyar Mikhail Podolsky, but seeing an opportunity, he offered Turov the chance to become the second city where it would take effect.
At first glance, it was an advantageous proposal.
Merchants would receive benefits, protection for trade routes, and support from the princely administration. Anyone who joined the Union would get reduced duties, access to new markets, and official patronage.
But the key was in the details.
Alexander did not mention that the Union would be run by his people. The regional head would be Gleb, along with the most influential senior boyars - Vsevolod Pinsky, Davyd Mozyrsky, Bronislav Turovsky, and possibly even Dubrovitsky. Their lands, resources, and trade routes would become part of the Union - but by their own choice.
Gleb had nothing to object to.
Formally, his influence remained intact. But he could no longer control trade alone. Now, every step required coordination - with those sitting at the same table, who no longer looked at him, but at the prince.
Princely officials would not manage the merchant courtyards directly, but they would regulate exports and duties. Treasurers overseeing revenues would be chosen jointly by Gleb and Kyiv. No one could claim that the prince was seizing control - he was merely creating a more convenient system, one that everyone wanted to join voluntarily.
Gleb could continue trading outside the Union, but Alexander made it clear: in time, this would become unprofitable.
How was trade to be structured?
Salt - through the princely trade routes.
Furs - through the caravans of the Princely Trade Union.
Timber - under Dubrovitsky's control, but subject to princely duties.
The system appeared flawless. Merchants would gain stability, protection, and lower duties, and Turov could quickly grow rich.
But Gleb remained silent.
He understood that if the Union solidified, his power would weaken. He could refuse - and Turov would be left out. He could agree - and over time, he would become just another cog in the prince's machine.
He searched for a way out.
But no matter how many options he turned over in his mind, one fact remained unchanged: if he did not join the Union now, later he would be faced with a fait accompli. With or without him.
An outright refusal would look like an attempt to isolate Turov from the expanding network. Full agreement would mean immediately handing over control to the prince.
Gleb weighed everything carefully and chose a cautious path. He supported the idea but suggested implementing the Union gradually, observing how it would function in Kyiv.
Alexander did not rush him.
He knew: the more merchants and boyars became accustomed to the new order, the harder it would be to turn back.
After discussing economic matters, Alexander smoothly steered the conversation toward military issues.
- You say that Turov must grow? - The prince leaned forward, letting his words carry weight. - That merchants, caravans, and cities must be protected?
Gleb hesitated before answering, studying the prince intently. He nodded, but not immediately - as if testing whether there was a hidden catch in his words.
- Then the druzhina must grow as well, - Alexander spoke calmly but firmly. - The richer the trade, the greater the risks. Warriors are needed on the roads, in the cities, at the crossings
Gleb did not interrupt, but his gaze sharpened. He heard not only the prince's words but also what was left unspoken between them.
- But warriors require silver, - the prince paused. - They need food, weapons, pay
Gleb ran a finger along the table, his frown deepening.
- Who will pay for this?
Alexander looked at him, as if giving him the chance to reach the conclusion himself.
- Who pays for those who protect him? - the prince finally said.
For a moment, Gleb clenched his fingers on the table, but quickly regained control.
- And the garrison? - he narrowed his eyes. - If the druzhina grows, does that mean it will come under my direct command?
Alexander did not answer immediately. He only tilted his head slightly, letting Gleb realize the obvious on his own. There was more pressure in the silence than in any words.
- The Princely Garrison remains, but it is no longer yours, - the prince's voice remained even. He did not threaten, did not press - he merely stated the inevitable
- It will not intervene in boyar disputes. But if someone decides they can rule without the prince's word… - Alexander inclined his head slightly, as if leaving Gleb to finish the thought himself. - The garrison will be nearby
Gleb said nothing. But his fingers on the table shifted slightly closer to a fist.
- The garrison commander and military treasurer will come from Kyiv, - Alexander continued. - Trade routes are a common concern. Their protection requires coordination
Gleb exhaled through his nose - quietly, almost imperceptibly.
- Of course, - he said slowly. - After all, security is more important than anything. Even more important than who makes the decisions
Alexander did not reply.
But no reply was needed.
Now, the full picture had come together.
Until now, the garrison in Turov had formally belonged to the prince, but Gleb had controlled it. The governor could deploy it on raids, station it at crossings, keep it ready in case of unrest. Now, he was losing that tool.
The military treasurer controlled supplies and salaries; the garrison commander managed officer appointments and troop movements. Gleb could no longer use these forces at his own discretion. He could not order them to march, could not replace their leadership, could not even direct them where he saw fit.
His druzhina remained under his command. He could appoint centurions, allocate forces, keep his men in check. But the garrison - belonged to the prince. The finances - belonged to the prince. The movement of troops at key points - belonged to the prince as well.
The stronger his army, the greater the burden on Turov. The higher the expenses, the harder it would be to remain independent from Kyiv. If revenues declined, Gleb's druzhina would weaken - and with it, his influence.
But the princely garrison would remain. It, too, would be maintained with local resources, but it would be governed by Kyiv. It did not answer to Gleb. It did not depend on how much silver was in Turov's treasury. It would always be here - even if one day, Gleb decided he no longer wanted to pay for it.
Gleb slowly traced his finger along the edge of the table.
First the warriors. Then the supplies. And then? When he wakes up one day and realizes his druzhina is no longer his?
His jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. Everything seemed reasonable. Logical. Almost inevitable. But something inside him resisted. As if, even now, in his hand was not the seal of a governor, but merely a tribute to the prince.
Gleb raised his eyes to Alexander.
The prince was calm. He did not press. Did not demand. He merely positioned the pieces so that any move led to the same result.
Control.
For a second, silence reigned.
Stanislav the Great cast a brief, scrutinizing glance at Gleb. Vasily Svyatopolkovich inclined his head slightly, as if agreeing with something that had not been spoken aloud. Olga Strumenskaya kept her gaze fixed on the prince, but the corners of her lips twitched, as though she had noticed how Gleb had stepped into the carefully laid snare.
Gleb could refuse.
He could stand up, slap his palm against the table, and declare that Turov would not bow to foreign games. But then…
Then doubts would pierce not only the prince but everyone seated in this hall. Not only would his loyalty be questioned, but so would his right to decide. And without that, he was nothing more than a dog that barks but does not bite.
Alexander would not demand again - he would simply frame the questions differently.
- Should Turov be trusted? Perhaps it would be simpler to transfer the trade routes into other hands? Appoint a new governor?
That would mean either open conflict or an outright admission that he did not wish to be part of the unified system.
Alexander did not demand anything outright. He merely created conditions where refusal meant defeat.
There was no choice.
Gleb clenched his teeth. And nodded. Briefly. Almost mechanically. Like a man who had just locked himself in a cage - only to realize a moment later that he did not have the key.
And then it struck him: the cage was not even his.
And it was not he who had closed the door.
Something inside him faltered. Not anger. Not fear. Something cold, faceless - like a void that had always been there, only now he noticed it.
Something had been taken from him.
And not today. No.
It had happened earlier.
Now, he simply understood that it could never be reclaimed.
In the end:
The Turovian druzhina would expand, but its upkeep would not come from the prince's treasury - it would come from local revenues. Now, Gleb himself was paying for the growth of his own forces - and in doing so, he became dependent on the wealth of the region. If trade declined, if merchants delayed payments, if the harvest failed - it would not be the prince who suffered, but him.
The Kyiv garrison would remain in Turov, but its command would now follow princely decrees rather than Gleb's orders. The prince had taken it out of the governor's hands, turning it into an instrument of oversight - and, if necessary, a lever of coercion.
Finances, supplies, strategic leadership - it all remained in Alexander's hands. He had unburdened his own treasury, removed responsibility for maintaining Turov's forces, and funded their expansion with someone else's money. Turov now paid for its own security - but could no longer wield it freely.
Alexander was not merely strengthening his influence. He was constructing a system in which Gleb could grow - but only within the framework set by the prince. The stronger the governor became, the deeper he became entangled in a structure from which there was no exit without losses.
A subtle bridle.
The senior boyars of Turov had not yet realized the changes that awaited them. For now, they retained their old connections and authority, but the world around them had already shifted.
Today, Gleb had gained the right to recruit more warriors. Tomorrow, that would mean his power would strengthen - while theirs would weaken. The stronger one boyar became, the faster the balance of power would shift.
Rostislav Dubrovitsky and Stanimir Luninecky did not yet see it. They might believe that Turov's forces were merely local reinforcements. But they were mistaken.
The druzhina was growing - and with it, the very structure of power was changing. Now, Turov's warriors served not only Gleb but also the prince. Now, the governor's influence depended not on his decisions but on the prince's control over supplies, finances, and key defensive positions.
Sooner or later, Dubrovitsky and Luninecky would have to choose:
Adapt to the new order or resist - and face the consequences.
Alexander knew:
If the Turovian druzhina grew too strong, the boyars would find a way to weaken it. But if it weakened, only the prince could protect it.
And when Gleb realized this himself, he would be the first to seek support.
For Alexander, this was a quiet victory.
Gleb had gained more warriors, but if he ever decided to stand against Kyiv, he would find that the key levers of control over that army were no longer in his hands.
Alexander built power not with the sword, but with bonds - bonds that could not be broken without loss.
After the military matters, they moved on to the appointment of boyars.
An army provided strength. Trade - gold.
But power over the land was decided not only by swords, but by who would hold it tomorrow. Gleb knew: if he did not seize this lever, someone else would. Especially if it was Luninecky.
Previously, as the prince's governor, Gleb could influence the balance of power but not control it. The boyars retained relative independence, and strong figures like Stanimir could challenge his decisions.
Now, Alexander removed that uncertainty. Right here at this very table, in this very room, he was rewriting the rules. Gleb did not interrupt him, but tension coiled in his chest like a compressed spring.
- The appointment of boyars is now yours, - the prince's voice was steady, almost lazy. - But every name will be approved in Kyiv. You will propose - I will confirm. Or... suggest a better solution
The hall grew quieter. Gleb's expression did not change, but inside, he was already calculating the consequences. He was gaining a powerful tool, one that had previously required careful maneuvering through influence and agreements. Now, he could legally place his own people in key positions, remove opponents, strengthen his network.
But power was never granted without conditions.
- Every decision you make passes through the princely seal, - Alexander continued. - Wemust understand who governs the land
Gleb did not like that "We"
Now, the prince would see every shift in Turov-Pinsk's governance before it even took effect. Anyone Gleb wanted to appoint would first have to travel to Kyiv.
Officially - for approval. In reality - for a conversation. Some would return unchanged. Some would return different. And some would not return at all.
- A conversation? - Gleb clarified.
Alexander did not answer immediately. The corners of his lips twitched slightly - as if he enjoyed the fact that the governor understood everything without further explanation.
- Conversation is a valuable tool, - he said calmly. - Sometimes, it's just a conversation. And sometimes - it's an opportunity to come to an agreement in advance
Gleb did not need an explanation.
The people he nominated would still come to him with bows, swear loyalty, seek his approval. But once they passed through Kyiv - everything would change.
Some would return as they were. Others - with a noose tightened too securely to undo without consequence. On paper, they would be his boyars. In speech - his circle.
But he would no longer know who truly stood before him. Who was truly with him, and who had already made their choice elsewhere.
Who bowed their head out of loyalty, and who was only waiting for the moment to bow before another. And what if, one day, he gave an order and instead of "Yes", he heard: "As the prince commands"
Gleb did not lift his gaze from the table, but within him, a heavy, clinging premonition thickened. Power was a network of connections, promises, obligations. But now, there were knots in this network that he had not tied himself. He had gained more control, but now every step he took left a trace that led not only to him but higher - to Kyiv.
As long as he remained within this system, he held power. As long as he played by the prince's rules, he governed Turov.
But if he ever stumbled… if the prince decided that Turov needed someone more reliable… The same mechanisms that had given him power would take it away. Just as they were now taking it from Luninecky.
Alexander and Gleb both knew that Stanimir Luninecky would not submit easily.
He would fight. He would cling to his power, search for loopholes, weave intrigues. Now, every appointment went through Gleb. And every decision Gleb made passed through the princely seal - the final touch that turned his authority into someone else's instrument.
Luninecky was still a strong figure - but only on paper. In reality, his power no longer belonged to him.
Once, he could appoint his own people, challenge decisions, dictate terms. Now, his power had been reduced to one thing: waiting for others to decide.
The days of equal struggle were over.
Now, Gleb could openly strengthen his influence, place his people in office, weaken his enemies. But this was power granted on the prince's terms.
A system where he was strong - but not free.
The last point of their conversation was the question of regional governance.
Here, Alexander did not propose - he declared.
A Princely Council of Turov would be established in the Turov-Pinsk land.
It appeared to be a step toward stability: from now on, important decisions would be made jointly by the region's senior boyars, the governor, and representatives of the prince.
Formally - equal voices. In reality - the prince's hand on the region's throat.
Such a structure had never existed before.
In the regions, boyars did not answer to a unified governing body - each ruled their own lands independently, and matters requiring discussion were handled in private gatherings of the nobility.
Official councils existed only in Kyiv and Novgorod.
In Kyiv, it was a circle of senior boyars and the prince's closest advisors, who participated in state governance and deliberated on key decisions.
In Novgorod, it was the veche system, where major boyars and posadniks played a decisive role in governing the city.
Alexander decided to change the very approach to governance. Now, local leadership would not just be a gathering of boyars but a formalized structure, where power would be divided between Gleb, the prince, and those who joined the new council.
But Alexander understood that not every boyar would immediately accept these rules.
Some would approach the idea cautiously. Others would hesitate. And some might resist outright.
Gleb himself did not rush to respond. The council could grant him influence, could strengthen his position.
It could… but not without cost. For every gain, he paid in power - power that was no longer his alone but part of something larger. Something he did not control.
Alexander did not press. He made it clear that the boyars could decide for themselves whether to join the council or not.
But he knew that sooner or later, they would have to choose.
Those who joined the council would gain access to decision-making, trade privileges, and guarantees of protection. Their voices would carry weight, their lands would become part of a unified system.
Those who refused would soon realize they were being left behind.
The council would not wait for their approval. Decisions would begin being made without them, and sooner or later, they would have to either submit to the new order or attempt to resist.
But against what? Against an official governing body? Against the prince? Against the majority?
The council did not yet exist. But it already ruled.
Alexander saw how they assessed him. How they measured themselves against the new order, trying to understand whether they could survive in it - or if it was better to challenge it.
Some of them still hesitated. Others waited to see who would make the first move.
But the feeling of inevitability was already in the air.
The prince's words, his confidence, his calculated moves - some found them alarming, others impressive. They had expected to see a young ruler they could guide, perhaps even outmaneuver. But before them sat no boy. He did not bargain, did not plead, did not threaten.
He was building a system in which one could only take their place - or stand against it.
Gleb had received everything. Trade, the army, the right to appoint boyars. Increased influence. Everything that could make him stronger.
But what among this was truly his - and what was merely a leash, invisibly tightening around his throat?
The druzhina was growing, but it now depended on the region's taxes. If something went wrong, it would be the first to weaken. The boyars now answered to him, but every appointment required the prince's seal. If tomorrow Kyiv decided someone was unsuitable, the decision would already be made.
The council granted power, but it was no longer the power of one man - it was the power of a system.
He had become stronger. But not freer.
And the keys? The keys were in the prince's hands.
He lifted his eyes and met the silent gazes around the table.
Stanislav the Great sat calmly, as if he already knew how it would end. He did not seem tense, did not play at silence like the others. He simply watched - not the prince, but those seated at the table. For him, this was not a choice but an inevitability.
Olga Strumenskaya maintained flawless composure, but her gaze was sharp - not just attentive, but calculating. She did not refuse the game, but she wanted to know what pieces were on the board and how they moved.
Vasily Svyatopolkovich ran a finger along the edge of the table, never once lifting his eyes. His silence was not passive - he was weighing, comparing, deciding how the new order could benefit him personally.
Boris Stalnogorsky continued tapping his fingers on the wood - slowly, but no longer in idle anticipation. Now, it was as if he were testing the invisible weight of decisions.
Gleb Turovsky sat motionless, but his fingers tensed ever so slightly. He understood that the choice had already been made for him - all that remained was to accept it aloud.
No one objected.
No one argued.
The silence in the room was not fear, but something worse - the understanding that there was no way back.
No one spoke, but everyone knew: the rules were already set.
All that remained was to announce the sentence.
Alexander had no doubt - sooner or later, they would all find themselves inside the system he was building.
But power was not just a structure.
Its strength was not in dictating rules but in ensuring they were followed. Without control, even the most carefully designed system would become nothing more than a hollow shell, where everything was decided by money, connections, and bribes.
Alexander knew that if power left loopholes, it was not power - it was a feeding trough. And no one walks away from a feeding trough. They gnaw at it to the last.
In Rus', bribes were not seen as a crime - they were an inseparable part of governance. Judges received gifts for favorable rulings, governors for their patronage. It was not greed - it was the system.
But now, Alexander would set a new law: power would no longer be for sale.
After the coronation, he will begin a reform of the Rus Pravda, rewriting his father's laws to leave no gaps for corruption.
But a law, by itself, is just paper.
He needed mechanisms that would make greed useless and theft suicidal.
He could fight it as they did here, in the 11th century - with repression, executions, cruelty. But he knew another way. The time he came from had already seen those who had defeated corruption.
Lee Kuan Yew built Singapore by placing the system above individuals. One official was caught - ten thought twice. One was punished - a hundred obeyed. He did not merely punish bribe-takers, he changed the very approach to governance: now, it was not people who ruled the system, but the system that ruled people.
But Rus' was not Singapore.
Here, power did not rest on officials but on boyars, princely governors, and the senior druzhina. Here, corruption could not simply be burned out - it had to be reshaped, so that everyone seeking wealth could obtain it only through the prince.
Alexander would change the very nature of power: no longer could one buy a position, no longer could one buy influence. Now, the only currency was loyalty to the prince.
The first step would be harsh punishment.
Not just fines or exile - complete ruin of the guilty and their families.
Every official, from treasurers to judges, would know:
One bribe - and you are an outcast. No land. No protection. No future.
But fear was only a collar. True control lay in dependency.
The boyars had to understand: their power, their wealth, their status depended not on connections but on the prince. Now, it was not they who bought influence - influence was granted by the prince. Now, anyone who wanted to stay afloat had to stop seeking loopholes and become part of the system.
The second measure - high salaries and strict selection.
Princely officials would earn more than they could steal, but in return - ruthless oversight.
Secret inspectors. Double accounting. Unannounced audits.
Only those who sought power, not profit, would remain in the system. The rest would be cast out.
He would not eradicate human greed, but he would make theft pointless.
His power would be different.
Not a feeding trough.
But a mechanism.
Rigid as bone.
Merciless as hunger.
***
Thank you to everyone who reads.
This episode turned out to be very large - with many details and nuances, even though some of them I left for the future. Many points will be explained and revealed further in the story.
Once again, I have split the chapter, but this time into three parts, because it touches on five regions at once: the Turov-Pinsk land, Smolensk, Rostov-Suzdal, Vladimir-Volhynia, and Chernigov.
In the next chapter, I will take a closer look at how exactly Alexander is changing the traditional system of governance in Rus, using examples from other lands. Contrasts will be shown - how princes ruled before, especially his father Yaroslav, and how now, a unique strategy is being formed for each region.
In the previous chapter, I wrote that this one would include the storyline of Sophia and other characters, but it has temporarily taken a back seat. The reason is that I write in real-time, without a pre-planned script - I follow the events of the book's world rather than forcing them onto rigid tracks.
I take into account everything happening with the characters at the moment and make decisions not as a writer, but as an observer of their fates.
That is why there are no pre-determined deaths or events in my work. Characters do not die because "it has to happen" or "it was planned." They die only when the world of the book places them in situations where there is no way out.