I love my Empire. I love my subjects. And they love their Empress. I will not take a consort, or a husband. I have decided my heir will be conceived from the ranks of my foot soldiers. Those who will be expected to die for Our safety and Our glory.
Each month, when I am ripe, and my blood is high, I tell my Captains to select their best – their most fierce, most loyal, most honorable, and send them to the palace. For a week I visit each in turn.
Their bonds are more symbolic than anything else – a nod to the advisers for my safety. But I know they aren’t necessary. Each of them gives of themselves to me, all that I ask and more. Each fights more fiercely, drives his brothers harder, with the knowledge they might be the sire of the next Empress or Emperor.
The full winter has passed since my decision. And the spring is perfumed and fecund, as I am. The time is right. In my bones I know one of these men will father my successor. Tasting this one’s lips, feeling the hardness and power in his cock in my hand before I take it in me, I wonder if this one will be it.
I do not know his name, and I never will. Yet he moans his Empress’ name, my name, into our kiss.