Marry, Breed, Obey—Or Else...

Jo's stomach twisted with hunger, a sharp, gnawing pain that had become all too familiar.

She could ignore it for a while, push it to the back of her mind, but not forever. Hunger was patient. It waited. It hollowed her out slowly, making her limbs sluggish and her thoughts foggy.

A gust of wind rushed through the open square, snatching up dry leaves and spinning them through the air before scattering them across the stone ground. Jo watched them go, the green remnants of summer tossed away like nothing.

It made her think of the past—of when she had been younger, smaller, and unaware of the world's cruelty.

She had plucked leaves from these very trees with idle hands, back when there was still time to waste. Back when she hadn't yet understood what it meant to be hungry.

Now, there was no time to waste.

She pulled her coat tighter around her thin frame and walked across the square, keeping her head down.

The sun beat down relentlessly, making the air thick and sticky, but Jo barely noticed. Her eyes stayed fixed on the worn cobblestones at her feet, avoiding any unnecessary attention.

She didn't want to be seen.

Dark hair was tucked neatly beneath a roughspun cap. Her trousers were loose-fitting, and her shirt faded and unremarkable. She was one among many—another faceless figure in the shifting crowds. Dozens of others dressed just like her, with quick fingers and sharp instincts, knowing how to blend into the market without standing out. It was an unspoken rule: the moment you became noticeable, you became a target.

The market was alive with noise, voices rising in heated negotiations, merchants calling out their wares, and children weaving between stalls with bare feet and sticky fingers. The scent of roasted meat and spiced apples wafted through the air, making Jo's stomach clench painfully. But she forced herself to focus.

She had a job to do.

As she moved, she kept track of the gold cloaks. They were scattered across the square—five of them, as far as she could tell. Two were near the butcher stalls, one idling by the well and the other two patrolling the edges of the market, their armor glinting in the sunlight.

They weren't paying attention to her. Not yet.

Then, a voice cut through the noise, louder than the rest.

"Make way! Make way for Her Gracious Highness, the mother of our Emperor, the mother of his people!"

The market stilled. Heads turned. Conversations broke off mid-sentence.

A man beside her straightened instinctively, his gaze locking onto the approaching litter—a towering, gilded construction that shimmered under the harsh sunlight. It was carried by men dressed in the pierced sun of the Mother's family, their muscles straining beneath the weight of their burden. Thick curtains concealed the woman inside, but that didn't stop people from looking. Even without seeing her, they knew who she was.

Jo seized her opportunity.

She moved smoothly, brushing past the man without a second glance.

"Excuse me," she murmured, barely audible.

He didn't even flinch. His eyes were still locked on the royal litter, his mind elsewhere. He never noticed the light tug at his belt, the subtle shift of weight as Jo plucked the purse from his side.

By the time he did, it was already too late.

Jo walked away, her fingers curling around the heavy leather pouch. Silver stags and copper stars clinked inside, a satisfying weight in her palm. It was more than she had hoped for...

At least More than enough to eat like a queen tonight.

She was already thinking about where she'd go, what she'd buy—warm bread, maybe even a bit of cheese—when the inevitable cry rang out behind her.

"Thief! Thief!"

Her heart stopped.

The man had realized.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him pointing at her, his face twisted with anger.

"That boy has robbed me!" he shouted, voice cutting through the thick summer air.

He mistook Jo as a boy.

Damn it.

The gold cloaks snapped to attention. All five of them. Their helmets turned in unison, eyes narrowing as they spotted the small, wiry figure clutching a suspiciously full purse.

Jo didn't wait.

She ran.

The market exploded into chaos. People stumbled backward, startled by the sudden movement. She pushed through the crowd, weaving between bodies, her breath sharp and fast.

"Stop!" one of the gold cloaks barked.

She didn't.

"Stop, boy!" another shouted.

Hah! Do they think I have my brains rotten?

Did they really think I would stop just because they said so?

Her lungs burned, but she didn't slow down even a bit. She darted between carts, ducked under a wooden stall, and nearly collided with a woman balancing a basket of apples on her hip. The ground was uneven, her boots slipping against the worn cobblestones, but she forced herself forward.

The alley was close. If she could just—

A leg shot out in front of her.

She saw it too late.

Her foot caught on the stranger's ankle, and suddenly the world was tilting.

She hit the ground hard.

Pain burst across her ribs, the air forced from her lungs in a choked gasp. The rough stone scraped against her palms, her cheek stinging where it had struck the ground. The purse tumbled from her grasp, coins spilling into the street, glinting in the sunlight.

She tried to scramble forward, but the damage was done.

The children got to them first.

Like ghosts, they appeared—small hands flashing, snatching up silver and copper alike before vanishing into the crowd. By the time Jo lifted her head, the money was gone.

A shadow loomed over her.

"Make way," a voice growled.

Jo blinked against the bright sunlight, her vision swimming. A man stood before her, broad shoulders blocking out the sky. His arm was raised, and wrapped around his wrist was a thick leather whip.

Fear coiled in her stomach.

Behind him, the gold cloaks were closing in, their armor clanking with each step.

"Thief!" someone called out again.

Jo forced herself to move, but pain flared through her limbs, locking her in place. She coughed, tasting blood. A thin trickle of it slid down from a cut at her temple, warm against her skin.

"Just—" she tried to speak, but her voice was barely a whisper. She coughed again, chest heaving.

The servant standing above her paid no attention to her struggle.

"Make way for Her Gracious Highness," he repeated, voice steady, unmoved. "The mother of our Emperor. The mother of his people."

The royal litter passed behind him, golden and untouchable, uncaring of the chaos below.

Jo's body ached. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

"Just a moment," she whispered again.

But no one was listening.