The Southern Empire

Empress Amalina Kalliani had served Tharena for more than a century by the time her body finally slowed enough to piece off more and more of the duties that she had shouldered to the rest of her family. Her son could handle the ruling council by his own just fine, and the military inspections she had planned could be carved away and given to Grand Duchess Hestina. In a sense, the slowing of the body that came with age was a blessing. She may have been able to do less for the empire, but the same number of hours passed in each day. Instead, those hours could be spent in the company of her wife.

Tharena — both the Southern Court over which she ruled, and the Northern Court, with whom peace had now persisted for a century — were very different to how she had been born into them, both in ways that she could track over the course of her life and in ways that she and her contemporaries had set in motion and would play out in the years and decades yet to pass after her death. The twelve ancient ministries of the Empire still stood, though in their seats on her ruling council sat Gentens, and Muella, and Ssar, and Wildborn. For the first time, a Slimefolk clad in skin of living leaves sat as the Vice-Duke for the Ministry of Development.

The Great Houses, of course, still existed. Still wielded immense wealth and power, and still had tendrils extending into every nook and cranny of politics. But, they had retreated — taken a step back from active governance, and instead promoted those of their ministries with the talents to serve in the highest ranks. They still held the title of Duke, and with it the right to appoint their representative on the council, but even that was quickly shifting from real power to formality as examinations and practical results became more and more the truth behind the answer.

It was inevitable, then, that in the fullness of time, Amalina's descendants would retreat, too. The throne would become a thing of ceremony, yielding up the power that now dwelled at the Empress' fingertips to lesser men and women. That, in a very real sense, had been Amalina's choice. It was not a choice that she regretted, but it did not escape her that the weight of that choice would fall not upon her but her great great granddaughter some centuries hence.

But the choice was made, and the throne would wither. Perhaps its withering would give rise to the furtherance of reunion between the Imperial courts? A ceremonial Empress in the South could more readily be accepted by the North as its sovereign, tying the governments together in federation. Perhaps, too, its withering would give opportunity for ambitious souls to tear the Empire apart for their own betterment.

Amalina sighed, and stood from the now-empty council table. The choice was made. What good would it do to spend the twilight of her life dwelling upon it?