The Empire. Grayson Reyes-Cole

      Alone in her chamber, staring out at the dense, night-green forest to the East, Raeche felt safe. No one ventured to that part of the palace unless bidden and Raeche, who cultivated and nurtured and was seduced by her solitude, rarely bade. Even Taritana, her Personal, only came once at Light and once at Dark, at which times the Personal waited and monitored–hunger of a different sort in her eyes–to make certain Raeche took enough food.

      On this day, the Personal had long since come and gone, so Raeche exploited her freedom to do as she always did when alone. Sitting at the window with one hand tangled in the thick, embroidered window covering, she studied the sheltered entrance to the East Forest–though it never changed, nevermore produced a dream in the shape of a man. Having a thought to be sad about this, Raeche sometimes summoned sorrow. Her throat closed when she realized the emotion, though carefully constructed, remained completely inauthentic. Manufactured longing where true longing should have been.

      In truth, during these past cycles of the nightstar, though Raeche had grieved, it had not been for the loss of a true love. She grieved for the absence of definition. She was nothing of her own, had never been anything of her own. Raeche had always been the Empire.

      “What is your greatest fear?”

      A spark jolted her heart and she jumped, wrapping an arm reflexively around the swell of her belly. The Emperor’s deep voice had pushed through her shield of silence and isolation.

      Perhaps he had knocked at the door and she had not heard. He usually knocked despite the glaring truth: an emperor did not have to knock to gain entry anywhere.

      Perhaps he had intentionally startled her. What is your greatest fear?

      In moments like these, when a surge of power signaled his nearness and her heart raced, Raeche understood in her Spirit that she would never be safe.

      Yet, as dictated by breeding, she recovered quickly. She stood to face him.

      “Emperor.” Her voice more air than tone, she raised her right hand, thumb and forefinger together, then bowed her head slightly in a greeting which showed respect but was absent of deference. For in this strange, strange world to which she had been born, Raeche was his equal.

      “Your greatest fear, Empress,” he continued, “once was my bed, but now that I no longer require you in it…”

      A single slow step brought him into the chamber. Another and he stalked her. Two heads taller than she, with shoulders almost as wide as the doorway, his presence shrank the large room. Raeche believed she might never breathe again. He took yet another step. When she did finally breathe, his earthy scent curled in her nostrils, filled her lungs. He smelled of the East Forest. His eyes–the color of the Clear Pool beneath the trees there–bored into her.

      From childhood to present, she had never truly mastered gathering her thoughts when he came close. Pregnancy had only enhanced that affliction. He both repelled and magnetized her, inspiring confusion. In turn, that confusion served to excavate more of that certain madness which constructed her nature. Wildly, she wondered if he could or would kill her while this babe grew inside her. He had never been known for violence toward women or children but perhaps a man who had bathed in the blood of so many would have no conscience when seeking revenge for such intimate treachery.

      “I wonder what it is now…”

      Closer still he came.

      A thump and thrum within her made Raeche’s chest heave. She placed one hand over her belly, the other over her heart, while taking care to hold his eyes with her own despite the insistence of instinct that she lower them. Desperation sped her pulse. Something foolish made her stand her ground, refuse to step back or make herself even smaller, more fragile.

      This infant rebellion had started within her cycles ago and grew as her baby did. She felt something when in the Emperor’s presence she had yet to unravel. The emotions were, perhaps, easy to identify–anger, terror, misery–but their cause remained a mystery. He had only brought her pain in one way and it had been unintentional. Since that time, he had treated her with persistent coolness and formality. His fine masculine features rarely creased or lined or even colored to demonstrate that his Spirit yet lived behind his deep green eyes. He spoke pretty platitudes to her.

      Distance. The Codex of the Empire listed the Spirit of Distance in the Appendix of Cultivation. The Emperor wielded the Spirit of Distance as weapon and armor both.

      Standing before him, close to him, she raised her chin. Dared him, though all reason urged against it.

      He licked his lips. Bent closer. “Your greatest fear.” His tone glided over her skin like the fur of a shaksa.

      Another woman may have found it seductive. After all, no man in the Empire wielded such an abundance of desirable circumstance. Through inheritance, intelligence, and brutality, the young emperor ruled the West and North with absolute power. Now, through his marriage to Raeche and his deserved legend, he preserved his rule of the East. At rest, he appeared cool and calm. Amiable. Even now, he cultivated the Spirit of Distance with a soft tone. His hair, warm blond like the color of the daystar, and his hooded, pale green eyes reflected the appearance of peace and serenity. The Empire had fallen in love with the alluring façade, yet Raeche knew the truth. Inside, he raged.

      Invisible sparks rained from him–showering over her, scalding her skin, burrowing into her body, scaring her even as they heated her with something she dared not confess. Inside the Emperor dwelled a beast he unleashed at will and with joy whenever he needed to secure what he believed to be his own. This included all things–plant and beast, soil and sky, water and hearth–in the great Empire. It included a virginal, frightened Raeche in his bed so many rings before.

      Raeche knew these things and this knowledge made clear the picture of her doom. As long as he practiced Distance, she would seek to bring forth the beast.

      Lost in thought, she had somehow lost track of him. The heat of his presence had become molten and, if she looked up, her nose would be a mere inch from his throat. He placed his hands on her stomach so lightly she could barely feel the touch, but inside her, the child rolled and kicked and reached for him in greeting.

      The Emperor smiled and Distance shattered. Expressive lines around his mouth turned an already handsome man into one that both mesmerized and frightened her. Wed for nearly three rings, betrothed and known to him since birth, Raeche’s abject fear of him had been immediate. It had not lessened in all this time. In recent rings, it had developed into an all-too-physical, near-debilitating reaction. Even in this moment, even as he smiled in pleasure and