The royal herald burst into the economic planning room, but before the Emperor could scold him, "MY LIEGE, we have wonderful news. The Empress has bore yet another heir." The Emperor stopped mid knife hand, transitioning to a full sprint towards the maternity room in the medical wing of the palace, his rant about interrupting officials having been nearly forgotten. Two seconds ticked by in discomforting silence before one of the many advisers spoke up. "We know that the Royal Family is plagued with bad timing. So, we knew this was likely to happen and still need to know whether or not to press the vote on issues 719 to 1452."
Trencos, the Harold, was halfway out of the chamber when another adviser cleared their throat, stopping him in his tracks. "In accordance with the Emperial Code, in respect of things requiring the Emperor's approval when he or she is predisposed, any member of the Royal Family that is of age and knowledge of the decision at hand may temporarily act as a stand in for such decision making. So, unless you were disowned, Trencos, you as the brother of Emperor Karcos are hereby made to stand in the place of our beloved ruler." Trencos hissed as his lavender eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up, like he just burned himself.
Trencos was a wiry, flamboyant fellow. The presumptively homosexual twin of Emperor Karcos was just that, presumed to be homosexual. He was very flamboyant and extravagantly dressed for any occasion. Traditionally when a new Emperor or Empress is named, everyone not permitted by the new ruler has a month to leave the palace or be executed.
Trencos was permitted to stay due to how close he was to his brother and everyone was just waiting for proof of his confirmed bachelorism.
A personal war was being fought in the maternity room with the doctors, nurses, and pregnant Empress trying their best to keep everyone alive and sane in the face of quadruplets. People were shouting, running, or taking cover from the newest wave of screamed insults and thrown projectiles. The Emperor peered around the edge of the doorway only to pull his head back to avoid the thrown fabric shears, that were now stuck in the wall where his head had been. With the change of the atmospheric tone, the Emperor dove into the room, landing right behind an overturned table.
The Empress Yitan was typically a well mannered and loving lady of station. Her looks and mannerisms made her the best choice of partner for any male... typically. She was the model of beauty and power for all young females in the Empire and only stopped being such on rare occasions. This was one such occasion.
"I'm tearing them off next time I get my hands on you pretty boy", the Empress Yitan threatened.
"Love you darling. You're doing great", Emperor Karcos replied, ducking back down to avoid an instrument tray.
"Fuck you" was her response.
"So, how is she doing", Karcos asked the nearest nurse.
"Three down, one to go, and don't forget the afterbirth."
"Don't remind me cretin", Yitan screamed.
Costan dreaded his life. He had picked up a couple of jobs to fund his hobbies but still was forced to spend at least two days out of every twelve days at the palace. Sure he was very young, but nobody outside of the palace was going to question the fact that the Emperor's seventh son and fifteenth child overall was working to secure his own place in the world outside of the Royal Such-n-Such.
He had hoped he could just spend his two days eating and sleeping, but had forgotten that the Empress was pregnant and supposed to birth soon. The non-stop screaming for the better part of those two days reminded him, in a very thorough manner. "No rest for the weary", Costan muttered, getting up to shower and begin his morning routine. Jog, basic workout, second shower, breakfast followed with study and then off to the groomers for a long overdue trimming.
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Of his years of education, study, and work he was still far too young to want anything to do with child birth or even child creation, and somehow even less so child raising. Costan's two triplet siblings were still trying to figure out the difference between hidden and gone. They are the same age, but somehow they did have a far higher success rate in social matters despite being less intelligent.
He didn't like the palace or it's groomers with "over four hundred years of grooming experience". They always nicked an ear or something, every time. Then that stinky shampoo they had started using, which is why he took that second shower.
"I'm the odd one, I get that; but during the grooming courses at the college I didn't nick or cut any of the twenty people I had to groom. Maybe it's because they don't like my black fur?" Costan's thoughts were interrupted with another scream from across the palace.
"Bleh, gross. Not 'mature' until thirty... everyone looks at me like a bad omen midget hybrid. Two jobs, apartment of my own, in college, and despite multiple scientific papers and inventing a faster drive, I'm only twelve and nobody likes me. Faster space travel is apparently not what they want, maybe a better way of killing each other or something."
Costan broke from his thoughts to look down at the reflection pool outside the groomer, uncaring if anyone was around. Ears forward, he spoke, "It does not matter what you achieve if nobody likes you", his green eyes narrowed and ears pent back, "they will brush you aside and act like you do not exist."
"Don't you think you are a little young to be giving up on the world, besides your mental condition is supposed to make you oblivious to social issues", Giagan, the Guard Captain, joked.
The joke was lost on Costan, who rounded on the Captain, brandishing his claws. Captain Giagan did not waiver or budge, some variation of venting or lashing out had been coming for a few years, also Costan was still a child. What followed was describable as a child trying and failing to beat up a Guard Captain. Captain Giagan waited for Costan to tire, then grabbed the cub up by the nape of the neck, eliciting a grunt from Costan.
Captain Giagan was usually a strictly formal individual. Being a high ranking veteran of multiple military campaigns and the official Captain of the Royal Palace Guards would probably do that to most people.
"I'm going to wager that you were on your way to be groomed, young one", Captain Giagan said before turning with the grumpy child to face the groomers and carrying them in like living luggage.
The Royal Palace Groomers were the same three ancient, spiteful, hag-lile "females" plying their trade in the same place they had probably always been.
"Ah, Captain Giagan, it is rather early for you. To be back so soon, were you unsatisfied with our work? Oh, young Costan, fifteenth heir of Emeror Karcos; I didn't see you there, under all that fur." Heged was always sarcastic towards Costan, even though she and the other two groomers were below him on the social ladder.
Costan could not wait for the perceived eternity of the next eighteen years, when he would be able to simply buy the permit for a set of clippers and groom himself or pay someone other than these old hags to groom him. His only choice was to comply for now. He knew that same old bag Heged would ram the clippers into his ear to leav it bleeding again, as she always did. Then the water started running.
The wretched smell of their newer soaps and shampoos were something everyone tried to avoid. It is why Costan always bathed before coming, but the small tantrum outside had made him sweaty. He ran through his mind trying to figure a way out of smelling like whatever that scent was supposed to have been.
"Captain Giagan, what is the official Palatial ruling about scented soaps, candles, and incense", Costan started, "because that does not smell like lavender, lemongrass, saffron, dondon berry, grenkon, or any other approved scent."
Captain Giagan stopped looking at the ancient selection of printed media and walked over to where the bath was being prepared. He took one sniff of the air. He then walked over to a seemingly disused cabinet, pulled out a plastic evidence bag used for contraband and demanded any regulatory noncompliant material.
They complied. Compliance is the only choice with any Palace Guard, even more so with the Captain.
"It seems that you all have forgotten standard number four, subsection beta fourteen, lines one through fifty of the Palatial Acceptable Perfumes and Fragrances Act within the Palatial Guidelines of Form and Function. What is the reason that you have detergents used on prisoners and vagrants within the palace walls?" The Captain was in full officer mode now.
Meanwhile, back in the medical wing, the doctors finally managed to administer pain medication and mild sedatives to the Empress.
"You guys are fuzzy," Empress Yitan said, the medications having done their part. She had an anesthesiologist in a head lock petting the poor girl like a cub. "Sooooo sofft."