When Sophia and her siblings were still young, their mother and father made a concerted effort to try and get everyone together for common events. Their father, whose own grandparents were a peasant-elevated dame and imperial knight, insisted on the simple things: dinners, picnics, nights simply spent in each others’ company.
Unlike in many royal families within the Ensolian Continent and its Peripheries, this generation of the Elise family did take a much heavier hand in the raising of their children.
Commonly seen shadowing one or the other before their coming of age, the five children were often pictured and found in provincial visits, war council meetings, and almost all events in between. Most of the foreign powers grimly imagined that it was all a façade. That deep within the Palace walls this family of seven was strife with conflict; interspersed with power plays and attempted assassinations between siblings and even parents. It was said that to live in the palace was to live in the crossfire of a war for control over the Silver Throne. To be an Elise: a death sentence.
Tragically, the actual truth was far more naïve than that incredibly cruel vision. Probably the biggest bout of violence in recent history was when Beatrice tried to steal one of Sophia’s rationed donuts two years prior (she still hasn’t said sorry for that).
So when they were all gathered together, here in the Silver Chamber before the Silver Throne, they tried not to think too heavily of the situation. Mother’s official invitation not having any of the usual flair required by the court, and even then the fact that the chamber was completely devoid of any of the usual ceremonial rabble of nobles, priests, and various other members meant that they were quite tense.
One especially.
It was court tradition that demanded that nobody speak on the silver walkway, no matter what rank or title you held. In fact, whenever an emperor would take the official entrance to the throne, even they would need to be silent all the way till the chair.
And so the usually talkative bunch of siblings remain quiet on the approach to their mother’s currently seated position on the Silver Throne; their theories to this sudden call left to themselves.
Except for one, she knew the truth.
The Empress Annia had called this council of heirs without any forewarning, the day directly after Sophia’s own coming-of-age. Naomi, Natan, and Beatrice (the three eldest) assumed that at this point in time, now that there were four possible heirs that could take her place, their mother would call for a Trial of Succession.
In the more savage ages of the Silver Era; such a call would pit armies against one another in a controlled, yet bloody battle (Naomi would, without question, destroy them all with her personally commanded First Legion). Even in the middling times of the Ceramic Era it wasn’t unheard of for a Trial of Succession to boil down to a deadly duel with pistols or swords (Natan’s side hobby of collecting ancient weapons may perhaps help him in such). However, the most recent Trial a hundred years prior consisted of a simple snap vote of confidence from the great houses (Beatrice could easily win that one).
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
But a Trial of Succession at the end of the Ceramic Era and between four of them? Mother (or the people of the empire for that fact) would never permit anything remotely dangerous. Violence was so out of the question, both Naomi and Natan wondered if they should even float the possibility of a friendly rifle marksmanship competition. Maybe she would redo Emperor Johann’s snap vote technique, but with perhaps a bit more inclusivity. A popular election? Something of the sort bordered on the dangers of maintaining government legitimacy but did seem like the logical, and fair, step forward.
But even then if such was to be called, then where was the required presence of both parents? Their Father was of course currently trapped in the Amorain Republic, his aerostatic transport still grounded due to poor weather (and they all couldn’t imagine what he was feeling having missed Sophia’s coming-of-age ceremony). So if it was not a Trial of Succession, then what could it be?
Sophia knew exactly what they were here for.
When she had asked that cringed question her mother had simply given her a light smile and assurance that all would be revealed in due time (that did not build her confidence at all), and when the summons came to her room a mere hour later she couldn’t help but worry.
They were before their own mother now, all of them halting for a perfectly measured four seconds before bending themselves to their liege.
“Rise.” She speaks, that voice booming through the utterly empty throne room. “Stand at ease.”
Goddess, there really was nobody here. They all think as they stand.
Traditions fulfilled, the Empress of the Ensolian Empire speaks to her kin. “You are here for a Matter of Blood, by tradition and by action.”
She just gave it away. Sophia takes a moment to wallow. A matter of blood is either someone betraying the crown or getting married and between all of us it's definitely the latter…
Traitors?! Naomi, Natan, and Beatrice immediately think as the utmost of serious terms is spoken by the liege. Which one of us?! How?!
The Fourth Princess lets a small nervous lurch in her diaphragm. Me, I’m the one getting married.
“Sophia Elise the Eighth of Ensolia.” Her mother declares. “Step forth and face the Court. Announce your Matter of Blood!”
Beatrice lets out a yelp of shock, Naomi and Natan’s own jaws falling slack. Sophia… the traitor?!
If the court today was, per usual operation, packed full of nobility, of advisors and foreign observers (and tourists sometimes); there would be no way Sophia would even be able to stand in front of them. Reduced to atomic particles, scattered like dust to the north wind. And even now, observing a literal empty room and her four siblings she feels like she was facing down a firing squad.
Oh gracious mercy thank you my lovely mother for not making this a court announcement.
She squeaks out her unrehearsed speech, staring at the collected feet of her gathered siblings. This wasn’t real, and it couldn’t have been happening. “I-I… Sophia Elise the Eighth, am to be m…”
That’s a big word, say it slowly…
“M-mmmm…”
Come on Princess, you can do it.
“Married.”