Empress Serenity, Queen of Peace, Ruler of the Restored Lands, and Light of the East, contemplated the gray quill she held, as if uncertain whether to dip it in the inkpot or set the implement aside. One of many utensils to be found on her ornate writing desk, it was the simplest, yet also her favorite. After several silent minutes, she stood and approached the window, taking the quill with her. 

“I called you here for a reason, Noble,” she said, and at her voice, the man on the other side of the room straightened. She studied him in the waning afternoon light, barely making out his dimming eyes, sun-tanned features, and heavy-set form. 

She trusted few men, but although appearances could be deceiving, the Empress had not trusted anyone more than Noble since her early childhood and first betrayals. Sighing, she turned to stare outside at the palace courtyard. Guards had insisted on putting her bedroom in an easily defensible position with only one potential entrance or exit, but her study had been conveniently overlooked. 

A breathtaking view greeted her every time she stood like this to watch the world, and the sky seemed to hold a beauty impossible to capture in any other way. Chuckling to herself, the Empress smiled. When one was dying, they gained an entirely different perspective, one which the Empress had scorned her teachers for having years ago. However, a stab of pain twisted in the Empress’s stomach, reminding her of her reason for calling Noble. 

“I am dying,” she said, sparing no attention to blunting the blow for him. After all, she was the one who was dying, and the way she saw it, only she could complain until after she was dead. 

Still, he gasped, and the Empress turned to watch as a solitary tear trickled down from the corner of his eye. She did not suspect he had faked the emotion, for though Noble was smart, he was not cunning, and he had reason to be sad if she died. 

However, the Empress laughed at herself for thinking such thoughts. Her years of experience in espionage, warfare, and betrayal had served her well in all moments of her life except her last ones, for she now could gain nothing by assigning ulterior motives to her most loyal advisors. 

Strangely, despite all the failed assassination attempts she had experienced, the Empress was still afraid of death. The idea struck her as funny, so she laughed, throwing her head back and letting out the waves of joy as they shook her shoulders. Oh to laugh like this! It had been years since she had found something this funny! 

Aftermaths of the hilarity struck her again, and she wiped away a mirthful tear, chuckling still. 

“Oh, allow an old woman her fantasies,” she said, catching Noble’s horrified and concerned expression before he hid it. “And before you object,” she said, as he opened his mouth, “I am indeed an old woman, as I’ve been around almost 125 years…much longer than I should have lasted under other scenarios.” 

“Yet, we all knew these chemicals would catch up to me eventually, and I choose to use them anyway.” The Empress took a moment to reflect on her past choices. Deploying the biological weaponry had been a highly controversial decision, one which had garnered either much enthusiasm or much hate from all parties concerned. She had never regretted her choice though, for there had been no other way to win the war. 

Noble opened his mouth to speak again, and she nodded to him. Picking his words carefully, a habit he had had since childhood, he finally sighed and said, “Your Highness, with all due respect, what specifically ails you?” 

The Empress regarded her great-grandson with a matter of suspicion and annoyance. “Suffice it to say that I have seen several trusted doctors, and my condition has been declared impossible to treat.” Pain shot through her side again, nearly crippling her with its intensity, and she groaned despite herself, extending a hand to brace herself against the window. 

“But my death…” her voice, once so brave and confident as to never falter, trembled on the word. “My death,” she repeated, “brings up the matter of an heir.” 

She could see the situations playing slowly through his mind—for him, Noble, the first heir still alive, the throne would be his by right. Instead of validating his thoughts, though, she sighed, for this was why she had called him to her office. 

“I wanted you to hear this from me, rather than from servant’s gossip, but you will not be my heir.” She allowed him a moment to process what he had just heard, and she realized it had been unintentionally cruel of her to subvert his expectations in this manner. 

“Your…Your Highness?” he questioned, the hurt, betrayal, and anger showing in his tone. 

“Please, Noble,” she said. It had been an eternity since she had used the word. “You are not fit to be the Emperor of the largest domain anyone in Requiem has ever held. You are not a leader, and though you have tried to bend your inner nature, you will always be one to follow others.” 

His face somehow fell further, if such was possible, but the Empress paid him no heed. “If you were king, my councilman and advisors, who I do not trust within an inch of my face, would take over the policy making of these lands. You are the only one among them whom I trust, but I have other plans for you. I hope you will not harbor any resentment towards your grandson, for he is who I have decided will take my place.” 

Noble nodded. “I love my grandchildren, and I only want their success.” The Empress believed him. 

“Good. Please counsel your grandson and keep him doing the right thing. Give him wisdom and keep the others from snapping him up and gobbling him whole. I will help you train the boy while I am still alive. I will show him how to handle the advisors until he can take them all in the palm of his hand. I will show him the ropes of leadership, and I have faith that he will hold them well,” she said. 

“It will be as you desire, Your Highness,” he replied. 

“Bring me Prince Bronx then,” the Empress said. 

He stuttered through his next sentence, saying, “But Your Majesty! Surely you mean Prince Ezra—he is the eldest, not Bronx.” 

“Ezra is cruel and power-hungry,” the Empress sniffed. “Bronx is kind yet firm, bold yet cautious. He will make a better ruler, although his brother will likely be jealous and attempt to hurt him in some way or another.” 

“Your Majesty,” Noble tried again. “He is but a lad. Young, inexperienced…” 

“Do you not know who I am?” the Empress laughed, fixing her great-grandson with a raised eyebrow. “I have held this throne for 109 years, having taken it when I was only 16. In a few years or so, Bronx will be 16, and if we train him well, he will do a better job than any man in this entire kingdom.” 

The man opposite her swallowed tightly, but again he nodded, resignation settling into his features. “I will bring the prince.” 

The Empress nodded, and he turned to leave, stopping only at a word from behind him. 

“Thank you, Noble,” she told him, the words exiting her lips before she could stop them. “I appreciate your help.” 

He inclined his head but left her office rooms. The minute the door had closed behind him, the Empress sank to the floor, curling up from the agony the sickness produced. A light whimper crossed her lips, but she held back further cries for fear of alerting the servants outside to her distress. 

Biting her tongue until the taste of blood filled her mouth, the Empress savored the taste of the iron-rich substance for a moment before standing and hobbling back over to her writing desk. 

The gray quill was somehow still in her hand, and she considered it again. She had signed three important documents with the quill: a declaration of battle, an order for the biological warfare to continue, and an order for peace. 

Everyone had thought her mad for starting a war at such a tender age, yet Serenity had proved the victor, decimating the enemy’s forces, strengthening her own, and declaring herself to the world and her own cabinet as a ruler not to be trifled with. 

Now, she lifted the quill again, dipping it in the inkpot before her. With a trembling touch, Serenity signed her name to the top-most document in the stack of papers before her: the paperwork giving her kingdom over to her great, great, great-grandson. It was surprisingly easy to gift a kingdom, and Serenity knew that if she died before Bronx reached eighteen, she still wanted him to be the one responsible for carrying the world in his hands. 

Blowing on the ink to dry it, she took the treatise to her bookshelf, pulling down The Remains of Power. It was a suitably dry book, yet it held a certain significance, and Serenity smiled as she slipped the document inside. No-one but her would touch it. 

Having done so, Serenity returned to her desk, resolving to wait and scarcely move until Noble brought the young prince. 

~ ~ ~ 

In Bronx’s defense, thirteen-year-old boys were not expected to maintain proper decorum at all moments, even if they were a prince. 

Still, it was not a good look for him to be sulking in a corner in ragged clothing nursing a bloody nose when Grandpa Noble came to find him. 

“Should I even ask what happened here?” Grandpa asked. 

Bronx leaped to his feet in shock and dismay, shoving the bloody cloth behind his back, and holding his head high. “If you must know, I got into a fight,” he said. 

“And lost, from the looks of it,” Grandpa replied. “What, thought that if no-one knew you were a prince, then they would give you a run for your money?” 

Surprised, Bronx puzzled over the statement, before replying, “How did you know?” 

“I was once a boy like you too. And it turns out you were right, which means you need to get stronger,” he laughed. “But you look atrocious, and we certainly can’t have you going to see the Empress like that.” 

Bronx could feel his eyes widen as his entire body trembled with excitement. “I’m going to see the Empress?” 

“Yes, but only if you hurry and clean yourself up. Put on the best clothing you have and get one of the servants to help you. This could very well be the most important day of your life, but you need to hurry. The Empress does not like to be kept waiting.” 

Buzzing in anticipation, Bronx scrambled to his feet and took off running towards his bedroom. “Yes sir!” he cried. “I will be fast!” 

A half-hour later, he stood outside the Empress’s door, fully dressed in fine robes, hair slicked back with gel, and twisting his hands nervously behind his back. Grandpa Noble opened the door, considered him a moment, but finally beckoned him inside, where he entered, bowing deeply. 

“Tell me, Prince,” a woman said from across the room. “What were you doing before you came here?” Bronx risked a glance upwards, watching the woman on the other side of the room. Her black knots of hair were piled on top of her head in a staggering display, and her brown eyes were piercing and commanding. She looked young, despite her age, and Bronx found himself thoroughly captivated by the ruler. 

As he studied her, he noticed she was doing the same to him. The Empress sighed, gesturing for the two of them to stand. Bronx refused to lie to the Empress, yet he did not want to tell her the truth either. 

As if sensing his hesitation, the Empress said, in a kinder tone, “Honestly, please.” 

“I was fighting,” Bronx said, staring at the ground in mortification. “Your Majesty,” he belatedly added a moment later. 

“Did you win?” the Empress asked. 

“No, but I know where I went wrong,” Bronx said. 

The Empress nodded and smiled. “Then you have found the secret to success, boy. But keep in mind that a good prince and future ruler will not pick needless fights either.” 

Abashed, Bronx nodded, waiting for the Empress to continue. 

“Tell me, Bronx, if you were the Emperor, what would be the first thing you did?” 

He had never thought about the question before, knowing that it would be impossible for him to ever make it that high in the hierarchy. “I think I would ask for advice,” he said. 

“Advice? From who?” 

“Someone I trusted, like Grandpa Noble,” Bronx replied. The Empress glanced across at his grandfather and chuckled. 

“He is a good man to trust,” she said. “But what if you didn’t trust the people around you?” 

“I would replace them with people I did trust,” Bronx said. “And I would ask them for advice instead.” 

“What if the people you trusted all gave you advice that seemed wrong? Would you listen, or would you do your own thing?” 

Bronx hesitated, stumped by the question. “It depends on whatever the thing was. If it was really big, I would probably do what felt right. If it was something small, I would let them have their way.” 

The Empress nodded. “We think alike, I would say.” 

“That’s good, right?” Bronx asked. 

“Depends. If you asked the councilmen, they’d say nothing was worse. But I like who I am, and I like you, too.” 

The Empress liked him? Shock reverberated through his every bone, and he could not believe his ears when the Empress told him to approach her desk. She studied his eyes, and Bronx attempted to bring them back to a more normal pupil dilation. “We can teach you,” she said, coming to some hidden decision. She opened her mouth to say something else, but her face contorted and clenched tightly as if she was suffering from some form of hidden pain. 

“Your first lesson with me will be some time next week. I will send for you when I am ready,” the Empress said. “Until then, Noble will take over your immediate lessons, and you will join your brother in his.” 

Two thoughts crossed Bronx’s mind at the same time: I am going to be nobility! But boy is that going to be a lot of work.” 

“One last thing before you leave,” the Empress said. “Right now, you are a cub, small, cute, and weak. Before I finish with you, you must become a tiger: big, fierce, and strong. Keep that in mind as you train. You are a prince for now, but soon you will be a King.” 

Bronx nodded, storing the information away for later, not entirely certain what it meant. 

“Now get out of my sight,” the Empress finished.

Author's Note: This is the second short story in a series I have begun known generically as the Requiem Chronicles. Set in Requiem, a dystopian fantasy world of my own devising, each of these stories so far was inspired by a prompt from the incredible Thalassa Brytaye! I would love to see more photo prompts in the comments below. I look forward to hearing from you!