Putting on Heirs
© 2021 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  baroncoon, color by  marmelmm



“Dorvan?” The kam finished putting on his shirt and turned to look at the vir. “Will you be all right?” Varit r’Vam asked from where she laid on the bed. She was lying on her back with her head hanging slightly off the bed, so she was looking at him upside down.

Dorvan chuckled and walked over to her, his tail straightening out his shirt so that the deep cut in the back of it fell evenly on either side of his trousers’ tail-gusset. He squatted down facing her and the two shared a nuzzle before he replied, “I’ll be fine. I have to do this once every year. The Family wants to be absolutely sure that I’m capable of replacing Father if he dies.”

“And if you’re not?” Varit asked, rolling over onto her belly. Her tail flipped the bedsheet over her buttocks.

The Imperial Heir frowned. “They’ll start examining my sister Narin, but having two of the Sovereign’s children becoming unacceptable . . . “ His ears and tail twitched and he gently stroked the fur on her cheek. “Are you sure this is the kind of life you want?”

Varit smiled. “I love you, Dorvan. As long as you’re there, I’ll put up with anything.” She extended a hand.

He took it, their fingers twining together as they gazed into each other’s faces before he nuzzled her again. “I’ll be back in a cycle or two,” he said, “but remember that we’re having lastmeal with our families tonight.”

“I’d best get cleaned up then.” The two shared a chuckle and another nuzzle before Dorvan stood, stepped into a pair of comfortable sandals, and left the apartment.

As he made his way down the corridors, murals by long-dead artists looking down on him from the ceilings nearly ten meters overhead, Dorvan chided himself. He’d been confirmed as Heir years ago, and every annual assessment had ended with that approval being reaffirmed. Still, there was the possibility; he considered his conduct at the Fleet engagement off Kirnakir to have been a failure, despite the High Admiral, his tutor and his father approving of his actions.

He came to a halt facing the doors to the Family Council’s chamber and placed his palm against the annunciator. “Who requests entrance?” A vir’s voice, old; probably his great-aunt.

“Dorvan son of Tarval,” he replied, “n’Lanya; Plēstānin branch.”

“Enter, please,” and he slipped inside.

The chair at the far end of the long table was empty. His father was head of the Family, but the Council’s current task didn’t require his presence or input. The empty chair was for him, and Dorvan recalled the first time he’d been called to face the representatives of the entire Imperial Family.

After that, he always went to the garderobe beforehand.

He smiled and gestured to several of the members and finally took his seat. “The Council has summoned me. I am here.”

“Cousin,” one of the younger members said, “we’ve read through your latest medical and psychological assessments, as well as your service records as Home Fleet commander.”

Another spoke up. “At this point, the Council has decided, unanimously, that you are confirmed as Heir for another year.” She smiled. “Congratulations, Dorvan.”

Dorvan smiled as several others offered their congratulations, sighing in relief.

Before recalling that he and Varit had to face their parents over dinner that night.


***


“Vladmir?” The ten-year-old leopard cub glanced up to see his father. “I need to speak to you,” Felix said.

“Yes, Father?” the younger feline asked, turning away from the padd that bore his latest lessons as the older man sat down. “Is anything wrong?”

“Has – has your mother told you what’s going on?”

Vladmir nodded solemnly. “Mother said you were going away.”

Felix smiled and nodded. “That’s right. I have to,” he said, silently thanking Deus that Alys had prepared the ground for him. “And I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.” The cub’s whiskers went straight down, and Felix pulled his eldest son into his lap as Vladmir’s eyes filled with tears. “Ah, my son,” and Felix hugged him tightly, “don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

Vladmir looked up at him. “Why?”

“The Kashlani,” his father said simply. “They want to talk to me.”

“Is – “ Vladmir paused to sniffle, and he wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve, “is it because of th-the war?”

“I’m afraid so.” Felix took a deep breath. “Son, I have to say this to you.” When the cub finally got himself under control, the Terran Emperor said quietly, “I need you to be a grownup while I’m gone. You will be the Emperor, in my place.”

“Emperor? I don’t know how.”

Felix nodded. “You’ll have plenty of time to learn. I’m making sure that you’ll have the best teachers, and your mother will take care of you and help as much as she can.”

Vladmir swallowed, hard. “When do you have to go?”

“That, I’m afraid, is up to the Kashlani. But I’ll be here as long as I can, and I’ll leave you plenty of advice. Now,” and he ran a fingertip along his son’s face, “let’s get you cleaned up and your nose blown, and we’ll have dinner in the garden.”

“Okay.”

Later, after the children were put to bed, Alys kissed her husband’s cheek. “How did it go?”

“He’s upset, of course,” Felix replied. “But I think he understands.” His ears dipped. “I only hope he won’t hate me when I don’t come back.”

“You don’t know that, dearest.”

Felix kissed his wife, and despite himself he felt the sting of tears. “Sometimes, Alys, I wish I had your optimism. But we’ll make sure of things.”

“We certainly will,” Alys said, and she recited the al-Sakai family motto, “’Failure to plan – ‘”

“’Is planning to fail,’” Felix finished the motto for her, and he chuckled before kissing her deeply. “No matter what happens to me, Vladmir will be acclaimed as my heir, with you as Regent. I’m told that there’ll be a great deal of sympathy for you both.”

“Will it last until Vlad’s of age?”

Felix snorted. “Probably not, but that’ll be in your capable paws.”