Theodorian sat in her rooms with just her servants, carefully applying the kohl to her eyes. Like everything she owned, the kohl was the finest that money could buy, imported from the Circiniad states. The southern savages didn't make much of value, but she couldn't argue with this or their woodwork. She wasn't supposed to wear makeup at a funeral, but there was nobody left who could stop her. They'd barely be able to see it under her olive-green robes anyway.

She had never been entirely pleased with her looks; some called her beautiful, but what could she do with beauty? Her father told her often that she was nothing special and had nothing to offer. These rooms had been her sanctuary away from him, and everywhere she looked there was only the finest of everything. Luxury was the one thing she enjoyed about being part of the royal family.

She hated being part of the family, part of the court, all the scheming and lying and backstabbing and jostling for position. She didn't want power, and she certainly didn't want to be Doukar. She just wanted a simple life. She didn't want to be a royal, a patros would be fine – nothing above, say, the level of a primus. Her father had always refused to make her primus, saying she had no idea how to rule a province. Now he was dead, she wanted to find out if Fornulus would let her leave the capital.

Cordelian would be the problem. Fornulus had always followed his younger brother's lead, and she doubted anything would change now. But Cordelian might be willing to let her go. Without her here, he would be the most senior sibling in the family after Fornulus, which would please him. Even though she was his only full-blooded sibling, Cordelian prioritized his political goals over family. In that, at least, he was like their father. But then again, if she left, she'd be leaving Vicca, her only true friend and soon the new Empress, all alone to face the court.

Vicca had offered her personal condolences to Theo over her father's death. Vicca was caring like that. She needn't have bothered, as Theo wasn't sorry her father was dead, not like she had been when her and Cordelian's mother had died. She wasn’t even as sorry as she had been when her husband had died. The truth was, she'd been dead to her father long ago, as he'd told her himself. Right from the start he'd had no time for her, as Fornulus was his heir, and then Cordelian and Meronion had been more interesting to him in various ways. She was no diplomat, or general: neither especially clever nor brave, she had no gifts her father valued.

Therefore, she interested her father only in her use to him in marriage, as a way of binding another powerful family to him, just as he'd used his own wives to do. Ironically, her marriage had finally ended her relationship with her father. Before her husband had died, thrown from a horse, she'd gotten with child many times, and every time her child had died within a few months, still within her body. She'd never managed to give birth to them. Her father had come to see her while she was still recovering from the last loss. She still remembered exactly what he had said to her:

"You are a dead branch of my family. You can contribute nothing to my legacy. You are nothing. Do not enter my sight again."

It hadn’t been all bad. He still paid for her lifestyle, and after her husband had died, he hadn't attempted to make her remarry, which suited her just fine. He probably wouldn't have been able to find a match for her anyway, as any patros would want an heir, and no noumens would be good enough for her.

Her departed husband, Markos, had been a boring man, but a decent one. He hadn’t been her choice, of course, but still, he hadn't demanded much from her, and although it had grieved him they'd never had children, he'd never blamed her. She sometimes missed him, and she never bore him any ill will. Mostly she missed her mother. It had been well over twenty years since she had died, but there were days when the grief still felt fresh, even at thirty-two. She'd felt the loss most keenly when her unborn children died. How she wished she’d had her mother then.

She tried not to dwell on it. It wasn't like she was all alone up here. She'd become good friends with Vicca and her children, Cordelian still spent some time with her, and she had the occasional adventurous young patros man around to visit. She spent most of her free time visiting her friends and making jewelry, her favorite hobby.

A servant entered to announce the arrival of her brother, Cordelian, and Theo told the servant to admit him. She'd been waiting for his arrival: as full siblings, tradition dictated they go to the funeral together.

Cordelian came in ponderously, already fully immured in his ceremonial robes and armor, with their familial sigil of the stylized olive tree. Behind him his own servant, Agathio, entered humbly and remained at the back of the room. His strigulos, personal guards, must be waiting outside. Theo noticed Cordelian was wearing a circlet she'd made for him a couple of years ago, which was slightly damaged. To her eyes the damage was glaring, but he hadn't noticed it.

"Not ready yet Theodorian?" His smile was mild; she wasn't late yet, but he knew her habits. She didn't care if she was late or not, they wouldn't start without her. Let them wait.

She gestured to the circlet. "You've bent it."

He reached up curiously, and, after realizing what she was referring to, took off the piece from his hood. "Indeed? Ah, I see, here." There was a small bend in a gold leaf.

Theodorian took it from him both irritated at her work being damaged, and happy as she did enjoy tinkering with her pieces. One of the slaves disappeared into another room before quickly returning with a small leather bundle of some of her bronze tools, which she passed over to Theo, before retiring to the back of the room again. It only took Theo few moments of her delicate work to bend and reshape the gold back into her original design. Be able to work with pure gold like this was always a pleasure.

Cordelian bent down to allow her to place it correctly on his head.

"You are a wonder Theodorian. No wonder some of your pieces have been selected for the Doukar's tomb."

Theo huffed. "I'd rather they were out where they could be seen and worn, not shut up in the necropolis with him."

She continued to get ready in silence for a few moments while Cordelian waited. Eventually he spoke again.

"Now that father is dead, no doubt many things will change in the court."

"Let's hope so."

"Of course, we shall always remain brother and sister. Without our parents in this world, that's a bond we must never forsake."

She knew what he was getting at: “choose me over Fornulus” was the message.

"We're lucky to have many siblings." She didn't feel like humoring him.

"I wonder how Fornulus will rule," he mused.

"I'm sure he will be a kinder Doukar than father."

"Perhaps. But kindness can lead to weakness, and weakness can lead to a fall. Such was the lamentable fate of Doukar Loxon the Just, after all."

Theo scoffed slightly. "Fancy yourself another Mekos, brother?" Four hundred years ago Loxon had been overthrown by Mekos, with the help of many of the patros, as they were now known.

"Why not? Cordelian the Magnificent, or no, Cordelian the Wise. That has quite a satisfying ring to it."

She looked at him sharply. He returned her look with a bland look of his own.

"Let's give Fornulus a chance," she said.

He looked at her through hooded eyes for a long moment.

"I'm not asking you to do anything Theodorian. All you need to do is surround yourself with luxury and stay out of politics, as always. Then you can keep living this comfortable life, no matter who ends up ruling the empire. Let Oma decide all our fates, otherwise someone else might decide yours, and that would break my heart."

She snapped a gold makeup case shut sharply. She didn't appreciate her little brother threatening her. "If you don't mind, I need to get changed now."

"Yes of course, I'll wait outside. Do try to be quick." His expression was so pleasant again as he left, like he was just her doting younger brother.

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Euphastolon entered the chambers of his older sister, Meronion, with trepidation. He was supposed to love his sister, but she wasn't pleasant to be around, so he tried to avoid her as much as possible. This irritating funeral forced him to go see her now. She had an unbending sense of martial honor because nobody had told her about the last two hundred years, and she made it clear her younger brother didn't match up to her standards. She nagged him worse than his mother did.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Unfortunately one thing after another kept her in the capital. First her husband had decided to investigate the bottom of the sea, requiring her to come back for the funeral, then she'd given birth to the latest baby, one who'd never know her father, and now Dad had died. Who knew when he'd finally get rid of her at this rate. He much preferred it when she was far away fighting somewhere. Maybe he'd get lucky and the Monar would invade after two hundred odd years of peace, forcing her to leave. You never knew. He could ask Cordelian to arrange it.

Meronion looked around a doorway to see him in the antechamber. "Euphastolon, why are you loitering around out there like a weasel? Come in here at once and help me with her." There was the affectionate sister he knew and loved.

Euphastolon moved further into her apartments. He decided to aim her irritation at a different target. "Where's little Ophelion?"

It was easy to get Meronion to complain about their little full-sister, who was yet another massive disappointment to her. Come to think of it, Euphastolon had trouble thinking of anything Meronion didn't find disappointing. Knives and spears, maybe. Euphastolon suspected Meronion was even disappointed with her pet cat. He preferred his little sister's company to his big sister's, as Ophelion more or less accepted him as he was. Her light-hearted babble could be entertaining too – you could at least have an amusing conversation with Ophelian. Half the time you asked Meronion something she'd berate you for wasting her time with "nonsense".

"She's probably off gossiping with Pelagius somewhere. How should I know? Do you know how many duties I have as Milem? My troops are guarding all of you right now, and need my constant supervision. Rather than bother me about it, you should have found her and brought her with you today. It wouldn't kill you to be useful for once."

Meronion's complaints continued, as Euphastolon did his best to tune them out and instead went to help Meronion with "her", which turned out to be her oldest daughter. The girl was struggling against being put into her ceremonial robes, yellow like both of theirs as their mother had chosen. Piss yellow, more specifically. The baby, Meronion's second living child, was off to the side with a servant attending to her, although she was just lying there blinking at the world. Why Meronion insisted on doing things like this herself instead of using the servants was beyond him. She'd always tried to keep servants out of her family life as much as possible, insisting on doing so many pointless and dull tasks herself.

"Dori, stop complaining and be a big girl. You," she gestured to the servant, "is Hera ready?" The old woman did have the baby ready.

Surprisingly, Meronion was gentle and patient with her daughters. They were not yet old enough to fail to live up to her demanding and inflexible expectations, and so she was still affectionate with them. Just wait another ten years and they'd see how awful she could be. The older girl, Doricassian, was still too young to understand funerals, although she did ask to see her grandmother. Meronion began to explain that they wouldn't be seeing much of grandmother anymore, but the little girl couldn't understand things like customs and retirement. Euphastolon couldn't remember exactly how old they were, but the oldest one was not yet five, he was pretty sure. Euphastolon wondered if Meronion would have a favorite, as she had been their father's.

The old Doukar had believed his eldest son to be an idiot and had dismissed Theodorian as useless. You had to give it to the old shit, he was perceptive. While Holophian had respected Cordelian's skill at wrangling the Patros, and made use of it frequently, Meronion was closest to his ideals. Euphastolon didn't know whether his expectations caused her to have such high standards, or her high standards were the cause of his favoritism. As the fourth child Meronion wasn't likely to become Doukar, although their dad could have made it happen if he'd really wanted to. Instead Holophian pushed her into the military life, which she had embraced whole-heartedly, turning out to be a superb Millem by all accounts.

He'd often thought that his sister was born in the wrong time. This peaceful era didn't suit her. She would have been much happier as one of Doukar's or Danrian's warlords, conquering all that lay before her.

"Hera?" He said, realizing what she'd said before.

"What?" She broke off from trying to reason with the child to look at him again.

"You called the baby a name?"

"Oh, that. I'm going to call her Heraclasus." Meronion looked abashed for once. She was violating custom by naming the girl before the first year was up. "Hera for short."

He raised an eyebrow and she got defensive.

"I have a good feeling about this baby. She's strong, she's going to live."

Fornulus hadn't named his baby girl yet, Euphastolon knew. No point in it until they had lived the past the first year. Too many of them died. Lots of them died later too, but fewer than did in the first year. Meronion herself had lost what, at least two, as he recalled. Although her first born had lived three or four years before getting ill and dying. The gods didn't care whose children they were, they took them all the same. What had been the boy's name anyway? He couldn't remember.

He didn't say anything. The dead children were one of Meronion's few weak spots and pressing the issue would only cause a fight. He wasn't in the mood for that right now. She changed the subject to start moaning about how he wasn't married yet.

Euphastolon tried to ignore her. He wasn't interested in marriage. Being a prince meant he could sleep with any woman he wanted and nobody cared – in fact, he frequently got thanked for it and given gifts by moronic patros who thought maybe their daughter would be the one to tame him. So why get married? To have children? Having little brats hanging around him expecting him to do things for them sounded like a nightmare, and he'd probably end up drowning them like the puppy he'd had as a child. Meronion better not hold her breath. Now that his father was dead, nobody could force him to get married. Fornulus was too weak to bring him to heel. Meronion would make some noise, but he was too slippery for her. He could take the complaints; nothing would stop her moaning anyway.

He wasn't the only unmarried royal. Holophian hadn't made much effort to push most of them into getting married, since Fornulus had gotten a couple of brats from his wife early on, securing the royal line. The old man hadn't given a damn about the rest of them. Theodorian's first husband had died falling off his horse like a moron some years ago (how he'd laughed), but dear old Dad had given up on her long before then, since she would never continue the line. Cordelian had a different reason for not getting married, as he preferred to sleep with men rather than women. The church didn't approve. Idiotic, if you asked Euphastolon, and he knew their father privately agreed, although he carried the church line, since he was the head of the faith and all that. The old man had never cared what Cordelian had gotten up to, as long as he was useful to the empire. The Doukar had never had much time for the church at all.

That was one of the few things Euphastolon had liked about his father. He thought the church was a joke too. Euphastolon never had any respect for clucking old priests whining about how you shouldn't have any fun, because Oma wouldn't approve. He thought the old pantheon was far more plausible: a bunch of spiteful, petty, vindicative gods explained their world better than some benevolent and all-powerful creator. He didn't believe Oma existed. Once, a couple of years ago, Euphastolon had come across a particularly mouthy priest in a dark corner of the palace and had given him a little bit of a stab. It had just been a spur of the moment kind of thing, and he hadn't meant to kill the man. Accidents will happen though. Here he still was, with no punishment from Oma in sight. No lightning bolts or plagues to strike him down, instead he'd had a couple of his boys chuck the body down a temple well, and he'd never heard anything else about it. Meanwhile, all the junior priests were drinking rotting corpse water. Oma could lick his boots; all-powerful and all-knowing, what a load of horseshit.

He felt something brushing against the bottom of his robes and looked down to see his sister's cat nuzzling up to him. For some reason the cat liked him, even though he never paid any attention to it. He ignored the unremarkable tabby. It sat around all day sleeping in the sun, having royals feed it, and occasionally torturing something smaller than it. What a life. How he envied the furball.

"Have you found work yet?" Meronion asked him. Oh good, this again.

"Yes, I'm a Prince. I bring cheer to the people's hearts with my magnificence."

"You're lazy. You're getting close to thirty now and haven't done an honest day's work in your life."

"I'm twenty-six, I'm not that close." Every time he talked to her he felt the years piling on though.

"That's only two years younger than I am and look at you compared to me. I was Milem by the time I was twenty-one. It's not just me and Cordelian who work. Pelagius does more than you and he's only sixteen. He's quite eager to help me with some of the military work."

Euphastolon rolled his eyes. "I'll send him a bouquet. Or maybe a pretty girl. I hear Pel likes those."

"Yet he still works."

"For your information Meronion, I help Cordelian with his duties," he said.

Meronion, still shoving her girl into tiny boots, gave him a sidelong glance from her one eye, before being distracted with shushing the little brat who began whining again. Euphastolon knew she didn't like Cordelian one bit. She thought Cordelian was a liar and a schemer who she couldn't trust to look after her horse, let alone the empire. She was a good judge of character. Cordelian was too powerful, and too outwardly polite, for her to say anything publicly against him, so she had to settle for "subtle" moans behind his back, often to Euphastolon.

Euphastolon couldn't care less. He’d always known Cordelian was going to end up on top once their father was gone, and he was going to clamp onto his brother like a leech and ride him all the way up. What choice did he have? Fornulus was going to make about as much impact on the empire as pissing made on the sea. Cordelian was going to eat him alive. Besides, a nice succession struggle might give him the opportunity to settle some old grudges and have some fun at the same time. There were plenty of people around here who needed to be put in their place, if you asked him. For a start, Fornulus's wife, Vicca, the silly tart. She'd always looked down her nose at him, a royal. Uppity provincial village girl, with an accent as thick as pig shit, looking down on him. The nerve. Next after her would be his brother Nikolonium, the foppish little hypocrite.

"I'm glad you're helping our family, just...be careful around that man." She finally said.

"'That man'? He's our beloved older brother, our Eukrates." Euhastolon tried to needle her. Irritating people was his specialty, but Meronion was a tough nut as she couldn't care less what people thought of her. She preferred to use violence to settle problems rather than insults.

"You know what he is. He's dangerous. He'll be a new Zecorates if he gets his way," she said, referencing the infamous tyrant.

Euphastolon shrugged, unconcerned. He wasn't in danger from Cordelian, and neither were Meronion or Ophelion. All of them were younger than Cordelian, and so weren't between him and crowns. Besides, he and Meronion were both useful to their big brother. Meronion for her military skill and Euphastolon for his willingness to do what Cordelian needed to be done, but was too squeamish to do himself. Ophelion was useless, but her sheer lack of talent or brains ironically ensured her safety. She was about as much of a threat to Cordelian as a pail of butter. So even under Doukar Cordelian, they'd be safe from the heartsman post. True, Fornulus, Vicca, and Nikolonium were flat out of luck, but he'd never liked any of them anyway. As long as he was safe, the rest of the world could go jump in the Rubo for all he cared.