“What do you mean the Atenians lost a fortress and a fleet to—they don’t even know who?” was Empress Katharin’s response to the report that came from the Imperial Military Headquarters. The pristine wooden desk, atop which a two-page article laid, shone weakly in comparison to the Empress’ brilliant eyes. With her were two subordinates: from the military side, Admiral Scarnhorst, and from the civilian side, Minister of Palatial Affairs, an experienced, old bureaucrat by the name of Rumroyen.

“It is as written, Your Majesty,” Admiral Scarnhorst replied. “Vice Admiral Bugo absconded with ten thousand ships and Starfort Bassano.” Since the end of the war, Admiral Scarnhorst’s Sixth Fleet was assigned to guard the worlds near the Throneworld, so she was almost always at hand for the Empress to consult with.

Empress Katharin let out a small, impolite laugh. “We had no hand in this, I take it?”

“Not unless someone eluded our Marshal’s bird-eye view on the entire Imperial military, Your Majesty.”

“So, what do you think happened, Scarnhorst?” the young empress crossed her legs, her eyes brimming with vitality.

“There’s report that Vice Admiral Bugo was paid to abscond. The exact amount is yet to be known, but it’s said to be at least five trillion Republican dollars.”

“That’s around 1,25 trillion Imperial marks ... enough money to feed an entire family’s bloodline for practically forever,” Katharin remarked.

Katharin’s legs crossed more intensely. Her mind immediately went to the likeliest, yet strangest, scenario: a third party purchasing Vice Admiral Bugo’s fleet and fortress. She thought the Aten commander had simply escaped to be a pirate lord or some such, but news that someone paid him to escape threw a wrench in her ideas.

“Have our intelligence divisions be examined. If any of our own dared to commit such a scheme without approval, I will personally wring the life out of their necks,” Empress Katharin said.

“At once, Your Majesty.”

Scarnhorst immediately left her liege’s side to deliver instructions. “I hope you brought me some interesting news, Rumroyen,” the Empress said.

“News are often dull, Your Majesty,” Rumroyen replied with utmost courtesy.

“It appears you and my other courtiers are pushing me towards marriage, Rumroyen,” the Empress said, holding up a file detailing the biography of a certain duke’s son. “I wonder why.” As if seized by some supernatural anger, she tore the file into two with her battle-hardened fingers.

For a short moment the Empress’ sheer vitality overwhelmed the old bureaucrat’s mental stability. “Your Majesty, it is customary for monarchs of the Empire to marry and continue the Nassau line,” Rumroyen said matter-of-factly. “The remaining nobles, too, are waiting for it anxiously.”

“Why so then, Rumroyen?” the Empress asked. “Why is it that the Nassau line must continue?”

“Your Majesty ... if the Nassau line does not continue, who will assume the position of emperor?”

Empress Katharin smiled. “Tell me. Have all emperors of the Nassau line ruled properly?”

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“Each of the Emperors have contributed greatly to the nation ....”

“So the official lines go. But many of them are full of shit. My successor will be one with equal or greater ability than me. And so will my spouse be, Rumroyen. Not these children with little else but bloodline and inheritance to their name.”

“Your Majesty, surely there is no equal to you.”

“I’m not so conceited to think so.” At this, Rumroyen swallowed his own spit.

“Then, do you have a candidate in your mind?”

“Perhaps later. Return to your duties now.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Katharin’s gang of fleet leaders had grown unexpectedly close. In the old Empire, officers often butted heads with one another for the sake of promotion—and with that, martial glory. But the new Empire—or at least its key military officers—had changed.

One thing didn’t change: the human proclivity to gossip. With light music and fine wine in front of them, Admirals Valentina, Scarnhorst, Thompson, and Radbruch sat together with their youth and spirit quelled a little. “I heard the civil officials are spending a lot of time convincing the Empress to marry,” Thompson said. “Say, Scarnhorst, you’ve been spending time in the Throneworld lately. Is that true?” Merely calling Katharin the Empress signified the trust that Katharin put in her admirals, which was greater than that which she put in her civil officials. The only exception is Scarnhorst; as a defector from the Tollerwald League, the Empress felt a need to put a small barrier between the two—at least for now.

“It is,” she said with a small laugh. “I don’t know why they’re so pushy about it. It’s almost like they’re trying to push her buttons.”

“It is quite unprecedented for a monarch to be unmarried at this age of—what is it, 21? 22?” Radbruch said.

“That’s mostly just to pacify the nobles, though. They’re always making power plays, and if the monarch has no heir they can move more easily,” Valentina pointed out, “and now the nobles are gone. I still can’t believe we played a part in such a historic event.”

Radbruch grinned. “They were just asking for it. All the anger and dissatisfaction of the people ... it only took a match to detonate everything, and we got a damn great one.”

After several bottles of wine down their throats, their talk turned back to gossip. “But why exactly is the Empress so reluctant to marry?” Valentina wondered. “Is she just a romantic who’s waiting for the perfect one? Just like you, Scarnhorst.”

Scarnhorst had been engaged with an old sweetheart in few months. She thought he had been imprisoned after the Imperial Civil War, but it had transpired that his family had secretly sided with the Empress and fed her intelligence. “You know, this might be baseless gossip, but could it be that the Empress is in love with that man from the Republic—who was it—ah! Abbas al-Salem?”

“She saw his face, like, once,” Thompson rebutted. “Besides, she knows nothing of his personality.”

“I actually like that theory,” Radbruch said. “Like an amazon of old tales! She’ll only marry someone who has defeated her.”

“I’ll be the one who takes that man’s skull,” Valentina said, a streak—no—a tsunami of rage temporarily taking hold of her, only barely held in check by a wall of sanity. “Not the Empress.”

Valentina left early. “You know ... one of us should get to beating him soon,” Radbruch joked. “Or else I can’t imagine what Valentina will do to him if she gets her claws on him.”

Lephelia. Capital of the Republic. For centuries, it remained the chief bastion of republican democracy, unassailed even by the Empire, if only by the grace of its distance to the Imperial heartlands.

“The first army to take Lephelia ... will be us, soldiers of the Republic. It’s all rather ironic,” Yue remarked after battle plans were prepared. “I wonder which one would be a worse tragedy; this or a complete Imperial victory.”

“That is a difficult question to answer,” Abbas lamented. “The only solace is that this should be over soon.”

“Yes ... it would be over soon,” Yue said with a soft smile. “So, have you thought of a wedding venue?”

“What about your own battleship, the Cutrose?” Abbas suggested with a shade of pink on his cheeks.

Yue smirked. “So much for professionalism.”

The turtle ship Tiangong boasted many decades of service. It had been custom built for Marshal Tang when she reached the rank of Rear Admiral, and had bore witness to many historic events.

“Steady, old girl,” the one-eyed marshal said to her ship as it led a grand fleet to Lephelia (which was probably enough to get anyone else admitted to mental hospital immediately). “It’s time to settle our score with Cadorna.”