Eivaley slowly scanned the crowd of Kurlatra from the high balcony of the palace, letting her pause linger, heightening their anticipation for her next words. They had hung on her every word for the past half hour, waiting with bated breath each time she breathed. They clung tightly to each word as if it were gospel. They did this not only because she had been their empress for nearly a decade at this point but also because this address was an announcement of the long-awaited reunification of the Kurlatra empire.
This war had gone on far longer than she had ever wanted it to. Initially, she hoped it would end at dawn on the Night of Ash, but that was her being naive. Hundreds of nobles across the planet had been influenced by Therulay’s ambitions, while others sought only to seize power for themselves.
Whatever their reason, it did not matter; none wanted to capitulate to her right to rule or her claim to the throne.
The nobles' protracted guerrilla wars and terror campaigns rendered the prolonged conflict an unfortunate inevitability. Through the sheer tenacity of her warriors, a focused campaign of humanitarian relief, and the efforts of Burlai—now her spymaster—all were either brought to their knees or buried in unmarked graves. Burlai even took to having all records of many of them stripped from history, turning them into pariahs.
Today marked not only the reunification of the empire but also the unveiling of a project Eivaley had spent years working on alongside her allies and the people.
“Today, I am proud to announce the formation of the Kurlatra Transitory Imperial Government. As of today, we have established in all reaches of the empire representatives that you elected, who will work with the long-standing nobles to transfer power, and assure you all will be the first and foremost resource and valuable the empire holds dear,” Eivaley proclaimed, holding her head high, at long last being able to say those blessed words.
Years of screening representatives, ironing out details with the GU, and masterful negotiations were required to convince the old nobility to relinquish power. Eivaley was thankful she did not have to assassinate many old rulers who had not rebelled. Their experience was invaluable, but the few who could not accept that their way of life would not be significantly impacted by the changes had to be dealt with in some way, especially when they were working in the shadows against her goal of casting away the gilded shackles she had worn for her entire life.
She took no joy in ordering deaths, but such was the grim reality of being an empress during wartime.
Now that the people had elected those they wanted to fill advisory councils across the planet who would gradually take over roles from the nobility, she was free. The role of being an empress was behind her.
Even here in the capitol since the night of ash, she had been gathering advisors to take over. Her council had been working hand in hand with her for years. After today, unless they wanted her advice, she was free. Her hand was Conor's alike.
Conor had played a significant role in selecting the council for the capital. He had been doing this because Eivaley believed that if they did not assure men were on the council, they would quickly slip back into the old ways of women dominating nearly every aspect of government and leadership.
The men he had chosen were a good lot; hell, she could not have found better if she had a hundred years, and he picked a cabinet in two. Vitul and Rokoyu were two, while on the female end, he had assured Peekala had a job that was not blasting rebels apart with her mech. Eivaley was still shocked that battle junkie was willing to take a role in government. Still, according to the former mech pilot, she was just doing what she thought would be best for the empire going forward, a commendable rationale in Eivaleys mind.
The crowd before her roared at such a volume it registered on the Richter scale. The majority of the populace did not hate what they had as life before Eivaley's changes, but once she abolished all forms of sororicide and declared the practice to be abhorrent and akin to premeditated murder, almost all men instantly supported her.
They had grown tired of seeing their daughters mindlessly slaughter one another. The same went for the brothers of those dead women.
With Kurlatra's near-equal birthrate of men and women, her support among the majority of the populace grew quickly. No longer would mothers bury countless daughters or fathers witness their children tear each other apart for petty rivalries.
Eivaley was not so shortsighted as to believe all would follow her decrees. They had all grown up with killing your sisters as the norm. Changing a culture took generations, not just a snap of the fingers. But in her own way, banning that practice was her planting a seed for future generations. At long last, the Kurlatra would grow up under the shade of a tree that did not have knives in the dark.
Eivaley raised her hands, gesturing for silence from the crowd once again. It took a few moments, but the volume gradually decreased until all that could be heard was the warm summer winds rolling across the rebuilt city.
“I thank you all for your support as we have gone through these trying times. I pray that you all support your new councils and be lenient with your leaders as they grow into their new roles,” Eivaleys smiled, holding her hands up to the heavens. "They have many changes to adapt to, but I am sure you all will aid them in these changes. For you are all Kurlatra, all proud and caring people. You all shall guide our species forward and claim new heights as we work toward a better future. Be you poor, rich, noble, common, or offworlder, you will rise to the occasion."
The crowd once again grew to an uproar, one that this time she did not attempt to quell; no, she met and exceeded their fervor.
“Long live the empire! Long live the Kurlatra! I love you all!” Eivaley shouted into the microphone, the speakers barely able to match the crowd's volume.
She breathed deeply, flicked a switch, deactivated the microphone, and turned about, putting that role behind her. All that mattered was before her the most extraordinary man she had ever known—Conor, her rock, her guiding light in darkness, the savior of all she held dear.
Conor remained tall and muscular, his commanding presence undiminished by the years. However, his hair had turned somewhat grey, a consequence of all the stress he had been under for the last decade and his use of stims.
They had explored the idea of him being wired down, but it was impossible. The only gearhead who understood how his nerves and body intermingled with his tech was long dead. So they just had to accept that as reality and keep their fridge stocked with his life-sustaining meds.
Along with that tell of his age were the wrinkles along his eyes and the slight slouch in his once-ramrod posture. Conor even had to slow down on his morning conditioning runs enough so Eivaley could keep up with him. Eivaley, however, suspected that might just be him being kind to her.
Eivaley minded none of it. She still found him as alluring and confident as many years ago. If anything, his having a bit of grey was just a sign of his experience. Now, his body matched his razor-sharp mind.
Like him, she had slackened and looked less youthful. In her case, the shimmer on her scales had dulled, lacking the vibrant shine they had when she became empress.
She also added a few kilos to her build, which resulted from eating too many sweet and late-night snacks while reviewing fresh legislation. Conor did not mind; he enjoyed having more meat on her to grab—a fact he would jubilantly admit when they were in their private quarters.
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Despite the years, their love had only deepened, their rare moments of solitude now brimming with passion. Even now, as she closed the gap between them, his desire for her burned brightly in his eyes, the flames flickering across her lissom body.
He reached out and matched his hand to her life coil, perfectly matching their bond's marking. At the same time, her tail coiled around his neck and lashed tightly, reminding him that he was hers until the stars died.
They waved one last goodbye to the crowd. Both were well-known figures universewide. Everyone knew of Eivaley and Conor. They were the faces of the new empire and stability, after all.
The GU, COS, and free space had bartered for their favor for many years. To their disappointment, neither would open full trade or talk about deals of any kind, no matter how many credits they offered. Things like intergalactic politics would have to wait until their planet's problems were settled.
All they focused on was the good of the Kurlatra. The wider universe had to wait its turn, simple as that. The last thing they needed was to add more to the volatile political soup of their planet's existence. Life was arduous enough as it was, and adding that would only be a detriment to stability and the future of their people.
Conor led Eivaley inside and closed the doors with her. He grabbed one side while he did the other. They had done the song and dance of addressing the people thousands of times now, and they had their own little system to make the hell of confronting them more bearable. Closing the door together was one of their steps. Thank Urla; this was the last time they would have to do that.
Eivalay still loved her people, but after uncountable meetings and trillions of questions, she was tired beyond belief. Thank Urla that now that she had announced the transitional government, she was officially the last empress.
Once the sun rose tomorrow, none of the issues of politics would be her concern. She had her entire life with Conor to look forward to, a thought that still made her heart flutter.
“You did great,” Conor smiled once the doors behind them closed, blocking out the sounds of the dispersing crowd.
“Was it?” Eivaley asked, leaning against him and savoring his firm embrace.
“Fitting for the last empress,” Conor replied, resting his forehead against the top of hers.
He, like Eivaley, had thought much about the role they had been playing over the last decade.
While she had been politicking her tail off, he had never rested. At least once a year, someone tried to kill her. That number was nearing the hundreds the first year they took power, but after all the assassins ended up dead through his myriad of creative killing techniques, the number had dwindled to zero in the last ten months.
Alongside that, Conor had been managing the war efforts with the generals. He had not been making massive strategic decisions; grand tactics and multispectrum warfare were not his forte. He could lead a few good men, but battalions and armies were far too extensive for him to command.
Instead of directing the flow of the war front, Conor was a liaison between several parties. Through his efforts, the military, Burlais spy networks, and Eivaleys Guard all acted independently while tackling the efforts on all fronts.
Eivaley's guard was no longer the little rag-tag group of veterans and Lost Ladies it had been ten years ago. It acted essentially as a government-sponsored kill team that Eivaley had complete deniability about even existing.
They would look like your average citizen and make no effort until they could cut the heads of particularly difficult-to-remove nobles. They were undoubtedly effective, handling the most dug-in rebels while experiencing little to no losses.
Burlai, on the other hand, was around almost all the time. Since Mulaney was injured at the start of the fighting, he refused to go back into the field. Instead, he acted as the main contact for all spies under Eivaley's influence, all while playing the part of the happy family man, ensuring his wife adapted well to her new cybernetic implants.
Mulaney, for her part, had spent countless hours with Conor, learning how to use implants and cybernetics. Additions to your body like that never came easy. It was amazing that she had someone who was more metal than man to show her the ropes.
It only took Mulaney a few months to walk and a year or so to master her new augments. Now, she was far stronger and faster than she was in the past. The only thing that seemed not to be affected by the recovery process was her sense of humor. It was still dry and typically to others' detriment, but that did not matter.
It was a good sign that she could still hold her head up high and had not fallen into depression. Most who received implants did not naturally take to them, but she treated them as something she was born with.
Everyone around them had played to their strengths, and they changed the world by relying on one another. They rebuilt the empire from the ground up. Nothing would ever be the same from now on.
Just as Nikitals, the first Champion, and Eyalta, the first empress, had united the planet from thousands of factions of waring overlords and fractioned tribes, they had done the same. However, unlike a thousand years ago, when they established nobility, Conor and Eivaley ended the influence of the few and handed the power to each individual to reach their futures.
They were the dawn of the new age, the last Champion, and the last empress, and neither would change anything about that.
“I'm glad you think it was,” Eivaley purred. Now, as much as I would like to stay here and reminisce about the last ten years in this office, I think we should go home. We have guests, after all.”
After the throne was destroyed, their office was selected as the head of state's location. With a need for a place to conduct official business, Eivaley had settled on using Vuraley's old office.
She decided this would be the optimal location because it had all of Vuraley's books, ranging from ancient history to modern philosophy, military strategies, and even a full collection of old fantasy novels. His old desk and medals were in the room along with the library, their shimmering surfaces and notations reminders of a man greater than anyone had ever known.
Eivaley might have said she selected it for practical reasons, but she could not trick Conor. She missed her father, and being here reminded her of the old warrior. He had caught her plenty of times, flipping through pictures of them, reminiscing about times when she was young, listening to him weave tales she would never know the end of, or staring at some of Vuraley's awards on the wall.
He could not hold it against her. He missed the old man, too. This entire war would have gone much smoother with that man's wise words to guide it. But life was cruel and took him away before his time.
“We do, but that's not until tonight,” Conor replied, sweeping Eivaley up in a bridal carry.
“What are you doing?” Eivaley giggled, steadying herself by holding onto his shoulders.
“We have a few hours until it's time to go home, so I figured we should relax a little first,” Conor explained while slowly walking across the room and plopping down on a couch they had for visiting dignitaries.
Eivaley looked up at him and was about to remind Conor that dinner with her mother, Mulaney, and Burlai tonight was his idea, and they could not be late, but he was still an oh-so-crafty man.
Using his metallic thumb, Conor sabered the top off a bottle of wine, the top flying across the room and clattering against a bookshelf. “I figured a little private celebration for us was in order.”
Conor swirled the bottle before her, letting the sweet, fruity scent infect her nose. Her body shuddered, and she nearly started to drool. How many months had it been since they had actual alone time? She could not even recall; they always had someone bugging them and demanding their attention.
Their lack of privacy was so bad that at least once a week, when they tried to make love, someone would interrupt. Eivaley was nearly to the point where she wanted to shoot one of her advisors. Lucky for them, Conor telling them to return in a few hours usually was an acceptable response to their wish to tend.
“I think I will take you up on that,” Eivaley smiled, taking the bottle by the neck and sipping at it before melting against Conor.
Mulaney and Burlai would understand if they were late. They were never prompt for dinner dates anyway, and the only one she worried about was her mother.
Euyurali had survived the night of ashes. But she had to become a Lost Lady to do so. She had survived, but not all of her. The reaper had taken his toll. Her eyes still lacked luster, and smiles rarely reached her eyes. She survived, but that was all.
Eivaley's mother was still not living. Her relationships with her remaining children are all she had left. Because of that, Eivaley would ensure they arrived on time. Her mother needed them.
They shared the bottle for the next hour without a care in the world. The only thing that mattered to them was the other—their paramour, their love. Now that their golden shackles were gone, that was all that would ever matter for them.
Conor looked down at Eivaley, appreciating all she was and all she had done. He would still be stuck in some shell hole across the galaxy without her. He would be nothing, with nothing to look forward to in life. Now he had each morning and each sight of her ruby red scales to look forward to. He was Conor, the Wolf of Eivaley—a former mercenary who, through love, had not only escaped Heavalun but discovered his true purpose.