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Marathi winced when she saw the telltale spot of blood on her undergarment that signaled the start of her cycle. After nearly a year of marriage and increasingly frantic bedtime activities, she still had yet to conceive a child for Raumesys.

Marathi closed her eyes and tried to ignore the wave of fear that rushed through her as she realized she once again had to inform her husband that her cycle was as regular as ever and that he could not expect a child to be born in the next nine months. Raumesys had made it clear when she had married him that she was expected to produce his heir if she did not want the same fate as her predecessor and Marathi could tell that what little patience he had was growing thin. To make matters worse, Raumesys’s temper had been particularly volatile in the aftermath of his top Admiral’s treason and the court assassin’s resulting failure to eliminate the Kyattese president and the threat he presented to Raumesys’s war against Nuria. The only reason Admiral Starcrest had been exiled and not executed was because Hollowcrest had somehow managed to convince Raumesys of the wisdom of keeping the brilliant naval strategist alive. As far as she was aware, the assassin was still recovering from his punishment, the details of which she had not been given nor did she have any desire receive.

After a slow exhale, Marathi forced herself to change out of the stained clothing and flagged down a servant to get her some tea to calm her nerves. While she waited, she wondered how many more times she would have to fight back the incumbent panic that increased with each cycle before Raumesys’s seed took and she bore him a child to appease his need for an heir.

The servant delivered her tea and she took a small sip, trying to enjoy its herbal warmth.

Not for the first time, she wondered if perhaps all of her efforts with Raumesys were futile, if Alta’s failure was in fact a result of an impotent spouse. In the past, she had pushed these thoughts down, thinking them treasonous and passing them off as unhelpful. After all, what exactly would knowing that her husband was physically incapable of impregnating her achieve? Telling Raumesys of her suspicions was entirely out of the question and it was not as if though she could find some alternative bed partner and waltz up to his door in hopes of seducing him.

Her current situation must have made Marathi more likely to consider doing insane things, because she paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. Perhaps finding a different man to impregnate her was not as out of the question as she thought it was. It was certainly not the safest option available to her – Raumesys would surely kill her if he found out – but taking no action would also become increasingly unsafe with each passing cycle. If her husband was indeed infertile, fidelity would only ensure Marathi’s death. Then again, her mobility was limited to a small bit of the Imperial Barracks where everyone knew her face. Even if Marathi was willing to take some risks, no sane man would dare sleep with her knowing that, were they caught, Raumesys’s wrath would ensure both of their deaths.

With a resigned sigh, Marathi finished her tea and steeled herself to face her husband.

It was not until later that night, after Marathi found herself on the receiving end of an unprecedented slap to the face that left her shaky and desperate for a solution that her inspiration came in all its shining glory.

*****

Initially, Marathi thought she would take action as soon as her cycle ended, but it took several days for her to work up the gumption to slip out of the bed she shared with Raumesys and make her way through the Barracks toward her destination. She had no cover story, no idea what she would do or say should somebody catch her wandering through the halls in the middle of the night.

She had decided to wear only a robe, no shoes, no undergarments, figuring that the longer it took her to undress, the greater the chance that she would lose her nerve.

As she slipped through the halls, doubts clattered about her mind. While she had not had a hard time convincing herself that the assassin could produce an heir with a skill set ideal for a Turgonian emperor, she was less certain that she would be able to convince the boy to sleep with her in the first place. When the idea had first popped into her mind, she had not considered anything beyond the simple fact that the assassin was a fifteen year old boy and that in her, albeit limited, experience, the typical fifteen year old boy was not likely to do much thinking at the prospect of having sex.

Of course, the assassin was not exactly one’s typical fifteen year old boy. As much as Marathi wanted to assume that some sexual desire lurked beneath the boy’s seeming lack of any sort of emotion or even humanity, the reality was that he had been taught from the cradle to defer to Raumesys’s and Hollowcrest’s every order. While she doubted that an inordinate amount of time had been spent indoctrinating the boy to avoid sleeping with the emperor’s wife at all costs, Marathi probably would not have found herself a few doorways down from his room were it not for the fact that, more than two weeks after the debacle with Admiral Starcrest, the assassin was still recovering from Raumesys’s punishment for his failure in his last assignment. In what she hoped was not foolish optimism, she figured that there might be some resentment for being so harshly punished.

Blood banging in her ears, she raised her fist to knock on the assassin’s door, reconsidered and, trying her best to appear cool and collected, pushed the doors open without invitation.

Marathi had intended to walk confidently into the room, but she faltered when the assassin, who either had a nighttime habit of staring at the door in case wayward empresses happen by or had somehow sensed her approach despite her efforts at stealth, pinned her with a steady, emotionless gaze. Feeling as if though the assassin’s cold eyes pierced her soul, Marathi realized that in her nervousness over the possibility of being caught and put to death at Raumesys’s order, she had forgotten to consider the fact that this boy was entirely capable of killing her.

She took a steadying breath. This was not the time or place for these thoughts. Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, she undid the sash on her robe with steady hands that belied her unease and discarded the garment at the door. Stark naked, she crossed the room and climbed onto the assassin’s bed.

The boy did not react at all, except to track her movements across the room, nor did he accommodate her space in the bed. A moment passed before Marathi realized that the boy was fully clothed. That would probably need to change if she was going to succeed in her endeavor tonight. Noting that he was not making any move to undress himself, she decided to take matters into her own hands in the hope of speeding matters along. She reached forward with the intent of helping him to remove his pants.

The assassin moved out of her reach.

“What are you doing?”

Marathi was not entirely sure how to respond to his question, but she decided to focus on the fact that while he was not immediately amenable to her advances, he had remained on the bed and she thought she might have caught him break that unnerving stare of his to glance at her bare breasts.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She would have tried to blink coquettishly, but couldn’t quite manage it under the boy’s cool gaze. She shifted on the bed to move closer to him and reached for the waist of his pants for a second time, but he continued to evade her hands. Not knowing what to do to move things along, she sat back and dropped her hands into her lap.

After a pause, the boy spoke again. “Why?”

Dear ancestors, was she going to have to explain her suspicions and fears to the boy? “Does it matter?”

A longer pause this time. Had his gaze flitted downward again? “Yes.”

Marathi felt like she was banging her head against a wall. Why couldn’t he just succumb to his teenage urges and let them get this over with? Then again, the fact that he had not made any move against her could be construed as a good sign. She hoped a quick explanation would be enough to convince him. “I need to get pregnant.”

The assassin did not say anything for several minutes. Marathi shifted on the bed before deciding to take his silence as an invitation.

She received no resistance as she slipped her hands under his clothing.

*****

Marathi had assumed that she would be less on edge when she began to show. Her assumption only proved to be partially true. While her marriage vastly improved in the anticipation of a child, Marathi began to wonder whether or not her subterfuge could remain hidden indefinitely. Although the assassin remained as stoic as ever, she woke up with a jolt one night to the horrible realization that she had no control over what her baby would look like. What if the baby inherited the assassin’s blond hair? She had no understanding of what process determined the child’s appearance, nor had she any inkling of how to explain away hypothetical errant details of the baby’s appearance.

Her concerns mounted after the assassin was sent on another mission and came back with several decapitated heads. She knew that the teen had been raised to be an assassin, but how many of his murderous tendencies were a result of his upbringing and how many were simply a part of his nature? What if the baby growing in her womb turned out to be a born killer?

At least she would have more control over the baby’s personality than its appearance. Marathi resolved to do everything in her power to raise her child in such a way that would discourage any latent homicidal urges and she resolved to start early.

Three months into her pregnancy, Marathi took an opportunity to hold a private conversation with the assassin.

Either out of patience or disinterest, he waited for her to speak. When she explained that she would prefer him not to be involved in the child´s life, listing several reasons that focused more on not getting caught than her concerns that he would be a bad influence on the child, he remained silent for several long moments. When his response came, it was short and emotionless: “Yes. It would be suspicious for me to do otherwise.”

Grateful for his apparent disinterest in the child, Marathi thought that perhaps the coming years would not be as bad as her initial doubts had led her to believe. Still, her worries did not completely abate until after the baby was born with hair a safe shade of brown.