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A day of celebration had been declared throughout the Empire. Her Imperial Highness, eldest daughter of the Empress and first in line to the throne, had given birth to her first child. There was cheering in the streets of a dozen worlds, the princess was told.
As she lay in her hospital suite, letting herself finally breathe now that all the doctors and attendants had left, she wondered if that were true. No one in the Imperial Court ever dared to bring her family bad news—not when they might be a convenient target for her mother's rage. But the princess had stolen a servant's cape and walked the streets as a commoner enough times to know what the people really thought. She'd seen the defaced statues, heard her family's name uttered like a curse.
Turning to the little bed beside her, she stared at the newest member of that family. It was hard to believe he was hers. She'd never imagined herself becoming a mother; like so many things, it had been the Empress's choice. "You need to continue the bloodline," the old woman had croaked. "I'm not about to let centuries of history die with you."
And so she had dutifully obeyed. But she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised when she still found a way to disappoint her mother.
"A boy?" The Empress had been aghast when the doctors delivered the news after the first medscan. "Are you sure?"
But it had been true. The princess ran a gentle claw across her son's face. His little eyes, still puffy and orange, blinked open for a moment, then he slipped back into whatever dreams he was having. She hoped they were good ones.
Her mother had visited the two of them briefly, but it was a formality. She hadn't even held her grandson. The princess knew she was already planning for the next child—they had argued the subject even before the birth. "You must have a daughter!" she'd insisted. "You were supposed to produce an heir, you dimwit!"
"And I did!"
Her mother had scoffed, vowing to continue the discussion later. She was the Empress, and she always got her way.
But not this time. The princess leaned over to kiss the little buds on either side of her son's head. You will be Emperor, Zurg. I promise.
She knew it flew in the face of tradition. There hadn't been a male heir on the throne in generations. But what had tradition ever done for her? A daughter wouldn't make her people hate her any less.
"But a son will make things worse," her mother had said.
Part of her knew the old woman was right. The excuses to riot were growing flimsier by the year. Even the ruthless efforts of the Imperial Guard had failed to quell the rebellious spirit stirring through the Empire. A contingent of loyalists still remained, mostly the old veterans from the frontier wars, but at last they too might turn against the Imperial Family if Zurg took the throne.
I t would've been so much easier if she'd had a daughter, the princess thought. But she hadn't. And she wouldn't. She'd never wanted children; she would have no more. But now that she had this one, she would see he was granted what he was due. He was her firstborn, and by rights the Empire was his.
" But only if you want it," she whispered to him. No one had ever asked her what she'd wanted, least of all her mother. She would be different. To hell with what the Empress said, to hell with what the people did. It was time she started making her own choices. And Zurg would make his.
This w ould be the very first day of both of their lives.