Emperor Vaelorian awoke on the third morning of his reign feeling unbelievably well-rested, content, and creatively invigorated. He and Riven had barely left the new Imperial Residence, focusing entirely on a luxurious, blissful union.
They were dressed in simple, matching clothes, enjoying a breakfast of sweet Imperial fruit and strong coffee when a soft chime sounded. It was the Emperor's personal line—a line they thought they had muted.
Vaelorian, answering the chime. "Good morning Mother, I thought we agreed on fourteen days of absolute privacy."
They could hear the former Empress sighing before replying. "We agreed on fourteen days of rest, dear. I heard you two have other plans, the kind that doesn't involve rest. And no rest means you two have no plans for a successor. Now, I understand your situation is unique, as Riven is not precisely… maternally equipped. However, we need a plan."
Riven, chuckled quietly. "No need to worry, mother. I promise I'm trying my best to become pregnant through sheer willpower."
The former Empress laughed. "Humor aside, my love. You two are rulers now. You need fourteen days of uninterrupted decompression. After that, the pace will become relentless. Your father and Sir Eryndor agree—you are not to engage in any governance. Rest. Eat. Enjoy your time together. And then come up with a plan for your successor."
Vaelorian sighed loudly. "Very well, Mother. We'll surrender to this mandatory relaxation. And let you know about our plans for a successor later."
And so, the first two days were a blur of excessive comfort: eating in bed, sharing a ridiculously large bath with essential oils that only Anya could truly appreciate, and making love like wild beasts, celebrating their freedom and their power without a single filter.
By the third morning, however, the winning mindsets that had guided them through the Senate and the Sovereign Empire began to reassert themselves. The Imperial Residence suddenly felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage.
On Day Four, they allowed the first official visitors: a small, trusted contingent of allied House representatives who had come to pledge their loyalty to the new regime. The meetings were short, but the reality of their new power settled in.
On Day Five, Vaelorian and Riven were back at the desk, looking at the schematics for the massive "Wall of Unity" that would separate their chambers from the rest of the Palace—the final, symbolic slap to the old guard. They were discussing the Crown Initiative Act when the inevitable question arose.
"The Crown Initiative Act is ready to be signed tomorrow. But Vaelorian, we are now Emperor and Consort. The moment our mandatory rest is over, the Empire will demand to know the plan for a successor. We can't hold this off forever, you know?"
Vaelorian sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I know. Our situation is unprecedented. The bloodline must continue, but without a traditional Empress, the logistics are a bit messy. We need to stabilize the throne before the Senate can use the lack of an heir as a weapon against us."
"We need a surrogate, Your Majesty. A suitable, healthy, and highly discreet individual."
Vaelorian reached for the comms unit. "Let's get Anya on the line. She is the Imperial Health and Wellness Consultant; she is the only person we can trust with this."
Moments later, Anya's calm, familiar voice filled the room. "Your Majesties. I'm afraid I must object to this call. You are currently on mandatory rest."
"Anya, this is not an official call; this is a deeply personal dilemma. We need your medical expertise. Riven and I need to begin the quest to find a suitable surrogate to carry the future successor of Lumina Empire."
Anya sighed, the sound conveying both exasperation and immediate focus. "I suppose a dynastic crisis overrides a forced honeymoon. Very well. Let's get to it. Finding a surrogate for the Imperial heir is not like finding a donor for the Blood Bank, Your Majesty. This requires discretion, genetic compatibility, and absolute, unquestioning loyalty."
Vaelorian, suddenly invigorated by a complex problem, leaned over the desk, pulling out a fresh scroll and quill.
"Exactly. We need a list of candidates. Not noblewomen—their loyalty is to their House first. We need someone connected to the Crown, someone whose commitment is completely absolute."
"Someone we trust implicitly. Someone whose motives are pure. Not political gain, but dedication to the Crown." Riven added.
Anya hummed thoughtfully. "The primary factors will be genetic health and emotional stability. I can run an initial biological survey of potential candidates, focusing on Imperial staff with appropriate genetic markers. But the choice, Your Majesties, is psychological. Who would hold the heir of the Empire for nine months and then surrender the child to you without ever speaking a word of it?"
"I have one candidate in mind already, Anya. A Knight of the Imperial Guard. Someone whose loyalty is unquestionable, who is physically robust, and who understands sacrifice." Vaelorian spoke with complete certainty.
Riven furrowed his brow. "A Knight? That is... unconventional, even for us."
"Unconventional is how way we operate, my love. And this quest for the future Empress or Emperor requires the same strategy as all the missions we've ever been on, absolute secrecy, ruthless efficiency, and the best person for the job."