Ugly Empress

At long last, the war had ended… and I emerged victorious—or so it seemed.

I recall my very first battle, at but thirteen summers of age, standing at my father’s side upon the field where he met his death. In that grim hour, the burden of the realm was yielded to my elder brother. Together we fought once more, two years past, when I was five-and-twenty, and there he too perished. Thus was the crown laid upon me—Diemond Castiel Fond, second prince of the Empire of Thronarose. Thus became I both Emperor and foremost knightly commander, the one who secured triumph and glory, and at last brought peace unto this land for the first time in all its storied history.

Yet, as one reared amidst the clangor of steel and the smoke of war, the years that followed proved to be of the greatest hardship. No longer could I pour my wrath upon foes with the edge of my blade, nor weave cunning stratagems to undo them. Rather, I was compelled to wield wisdom most rare, to restore an empire left on the brink after seventy years of ceaseless strife. This realm had not tasted calm nor repose for generations. And I—once deemed unfit, and cast aside from matters of governance—stood where no man thought I would ever stand. For so long as my brother, son of the first Empress Senalia, yet lived, my claim was naught. She, ever the shrewd viper, labored tirelessly to keep me from the throne. Yet here I am, raised to a station I deemed ill-suited to my hand, and opposed by many who doubted my right to rule.

Slowly, however, I bent myself to the burden. I gathered to my side a retinue of noble men—some wise, some valiant—and sought their counsel in the mending of all that war had laid waste. First came the labors of repair, then the opening of paths toward the wealth of the land, striving to lift the empire’s strength in trade and in society, now that its dominion had been secured in arms and in state.

And lo, success beyond my own imagining attended these endeavors. The people themselves bore witness to my deeds; oft do I hear their voices as I wander the markets in disguise, praising that which I have wrought.

Yet this did not make me idle. Rather, it stirred my heart to grant yet more, that my people might dwell in greater comfort and splendor. But whilst I was thus immersed in labor, there came upon me that which I had given no heed to at all…

Chapter I : The Search for an Empress

– Your Imperial Majesty, the Most Honored Empress Mother has arrived to see you.

(Save for councils and formal audiences, this was the first occasion Her Majesty sought him in his study unannounced. Surely, the matter bore urgency.)

The Empress entered the study of Diemond Castiel, whose visage betrayed puzzlement as he beheld her usual serene, cunning smile. He rose to greet her, saying:

– It is an honor to receive the Sun of the Empire within my humble chamber.

She smiled as she seated herself opposite his desk, and replied:

– Enough of this, Cas. Thou art not pleased to see me in the least. In truth, I am the very one who strove with all her might to bar thee from sitting upon this seat. Yet behold the hand of fate: it robbed me of my son, and compelled me to ally with thee. To have my husband’s son upon the throne, whilst I remain as Empress Mother, is a thousandfold better than to watch my husband’s nephew crowned Emperor and lose all that I have. Dost thou not agree?

She laughed with scorn, especially as she marked the displeasure in Castiel’s features. He, however, remained silent, fixing her eyes with his own. Thus she added:

– Peace, do not be angered. I jest… or perhaps not. In sooth, thou knowest how dearly I care for the empire, for which both my husband and my son perished in its defense and in its building. Whosoever reigneth, what matters most is that he be worthy. I loathe to say it, but as I have done these two years past, I shall continue to lend strength unto thy cause. I shall make of thee the greatest son my husband begat, and the noblest brother my son ever had. Therefore, methinks the hour hath come for the next step.

At length Castiel broke his silence, now intent upon her words—or rather, upon the true reason for her coming. He smiled faintly and said:

– The next step? Many are the steps yet before us, Your Majesty. I would be most grateful if you revealed which one you deem foremost.

– Well then, seeing as thou shalt soon reach eight-and-twenty years, thinkest thou not it is long past due, as Emperor, to beget an heir to the throne? How much longer dost thou intend to remain unwed? As thou well knowest, now that the realm is stilled from war, tongues wag with matters other than battle. All eyes are upon thy deeds, aye, but now they turn toward another matter. Countless rumors have begun to swirl about thy person. Surely, thou knowest the kind of whispers I mean. Many of these may wound thy dignity and thy standing, both in court and amongst the commons. Added to this, thy witless uncle yet covets the throne, and would press thee hard into a political marriage with his daughter—that foolish maid besotted with thee—to see his schemes fulfilled. Therefore, I have conceived a remedy, one that shall sweep away these whispers and crush such vermin.

Castiel grew vexed at the turn of discourse, for in his eyes marriage was naught but a luxury, one that would hinder his labors in the building of his state. He well remembered the sway Senalia once held over his father, and how it shaped so many of the old Emperor’s decrees. Thus he answered with disdain:

– Ha! Marriage? Is this the grave urgency that brought Your Majesty hither for the first time? Well then, I mean no slight to thy famed wisdom in matters of state, but thinkest thou not this is a poor season to prattle of such a luxury—merely to silence idle gossip?

Senalia’s smile vanished. She gazed at Cas with sternness, saying:

– Even as I thought… thou art a fool, and a great ignoramus besides. Dost thou deem the marriage of an Emperor akin to that of some common soul? Hear me well: thou art not free. Thou livest not for thyself, nor shalt thou ever, so long as thou livest for thy people. Even if thou must play the dancing puppet to delight them and secure their loyalty, so it must be. Without their favor, thou art naught. Yet at the very least, strive to dance with cunning—before thou findest thy strings seized by other hands. Dost thou grasp my meaning?

Cas gave a weary laugh. He had understood. The marriage she urged was no marriage of the heart, but a tool to serve his image and secure the realm’s stability. He replied:

– Then, if I follow thy words aright, thy intent is to ensnare me in some dismal political union?

Senalia sighed, resting her cheek upon her hand as she cast a sharp look toward him.

– When I behold the smallness of thy mind, I miss my son Casmiel all the more. I shall endeavor to procure books on the sharpening of wits for thee anon.

A moment of silence fell. They exchanged glances of mutual aversion. Then Senalia lowered her hand and leaned her arm upon Cas’s desk, resuming:

– Let me be plain. We shall weave a tale of thy marriage for the public eye. And to make it wondrous, it must needs be exceptional. Dost thou not see? The nobles of all lands resort endlessly to political unions. It is tedious and worn. But what if—what if the Emperor himself were to fall in love? That would enthrall the people long into the years. Picture it: “A prince who spent his life amidst the clamor of war at last discovers his destined love, and vows to live none other life but hers beside him. Ere long, their union bears fruit, a child—the little prince—beloved, gentle, the very hope of the empire, heir to his mother’s beauty and his father’s strength.” And more besides. Tales and ballads would flourish about thee, and thy people would cling to thee the more. What sayest thou?

– From what I gather of thy counsel, either thou art unwilling to see me forced into some wretched alliance—and this, I admit, is unlikely, given what lies between us—or else thou biddest me find a maiden and stage with her a farce of love, to play before the world until they believe it. Which of these dost thou truly mean, Your Majesty?

At this Senalia broke into laughter, long and loud.

– How delightful, that my moves ever remain unforeseen and obscure to thee!

For a moment she was silent. Then she rose, crossing to the window behind Cas’s desk. As she gazed out, he beheld upon her face a smile strange and new to him—tinged with sorrow. She, his stepmother, spoke thus:

– Neither one, Castiel. I mean it in earnest: find a maiden thou lovest, wed her, and dwell with her alone. Beget all thy children by her, that they may be true brethren one to another. Mistake me not—thy happiness is naught to me. Yet none know better than I the havoc a loveless political marriage may wreak upon the fate of an empire. Surely thou knowest this as well. In the end, is this not the very cause we can scarce abide each other’s sight? Let us not persist in repeating these tiresome tales of thrones and intrigue. Even history itself is wearied by them.

She turned again toward Cas, drew a deep breath, and her familiar cunning countenance returned.

– Why so silent? I shall take thy silence for assent. Fear not—I shall aid thee in finding an empress befitting thy station, for thou art hopeless in such affairs. Prepare thyself, for I shall soon arrange banquets and gatherings. There thou shalt not fail in finding some suitable maid.

Without waiting for reply, she quitted the study swiftly, leaving the Emperor in stunned silence. For in that fleeting instant, he had glimpsed upon her face what he had never known before. To him, Senalia had ever seemed naught but a woman of greed, whose heart craved only power and dominion. He could scarce forget how she had schemed to lift her son Casmiel to the throne, turning even her husband against his younger son. Yet on this day, despite all she had wrought, he perceived that perhaps she too was a victim, perhaps even penitent, and perchance she longed to grant the realm a better future.

For once, he remembered what Senalia had been in her youth: daughter to a mighty duke, but no pampered child. She had been famed for her social labors, founding societies and guilds to protect the rights of the low-born and the common folk, striving to oppose bondage and injustice. Yet her high station doomed her to a political marriage with the first prince, Kazriel Fond. Though she longed for a match of true love with a common man, fate bound her to him. And yet, against her own heart, she fell in mad love with him after their wedding. But he never deemed her his true wife—only a tool for his designs.

Two years into that union, she bore the crown prince, and thought thereby to win her husband’s favor. Yet nothing changed, save the loss of her innocent spirit, her dreams and passions crushed. Still she did not yield. Not until her son turned seven, when she learned her husband had wed in secret a common woman he truly loved, and that already they had a child of two years.

But Senalia was not a woman to be led by sentiment; her mind ever ruled. She feigned forgiveness, urging her husband to bring the second wife and her son into the palace, that secrecy might not mar his reign. She pledged to treat them with kindness.

So it came to pass. Yet unknown to Kazriel, Senalia laid a snare. She appointed to the second queen a guard, the handsomest and most gallant knight in the realm, and bade him win her heart. With her aid, he succeeded. The court was shaken when word spread of the queen’s elopement with her guard, leaving her son behind.

Stricken, Kazriel turned back to his first wife, deeming it punishment for his betrayal of her. From thenceforth he exalted Senalia and her son, while scorning Castiel, whom she urged him ever to despise. Thus did the victim herself become an oppressor.

Yet not all was lost in her. For even then, she cherished the dream of her youth—to make the empire a fairer realm. With her husband upon the throne, she devoted herself to this cause, convinced that once her son ascended, her vision would be fulfilled.

But fate was cruel. She had scarcely recovered from her husband’s death when she lost her beloved son. Stricken, she saw it as divine chastisement for her deceit toward Castiel and his mother. And she knew, once more, that all were but victims of unjust customs and cruel laws. Thus she vowed the rest of her life to break such chains: no woman should be shamed for a man’s sake; no child should suffer for his parents’ sins; no soul should be bound to another without love. No more should brothers be set at odds, robbed of the very comfort of brotherhood. And above all, no nation should bleed for the follies of personal quarrels.

This, and this alone, was what she now sought to guard against—by upholding Castiel and thrusting him forward, for his vision was akin to that she herself had once dreamed, as a maiden of twenty summers.

Such was the understanding that dawned upon Cas in that moment. And upon it, he resolved to give thought, in earnest, to the matter of marriage.