She was resting well, weary but content. With Prime Designate Jora’h gone to Theroc on his diplomatic mission, Nira had plenty of time to think here in the Palace. She could feel her body’s changes with the growing pregnancy. As soon as Jora’h returned home after seeing the worldforest, she would tell him the joyous news. Although he already had numerous sons and daughters, this one would be different from all the others, and she hoped he would be pleased. Together they could decide the best possible future for their hybrid baby, a child that was sure to have remarkable potential.

Nira did not expect any lifelong commitment, such as human marriage, from the Prime Designate—that was impossible. But she had already seen how devoted Jora’h was to his other children, how kind he remained to his brief lovers. And Nira knew that the two of them shared something special.

Now that her handsome prince was gone, however, Nira concentrated on reading the Saga of Seven Suns to the potted treelings. Today she and Otema had recited one stanza after another, enjoying the magical Ildiran legends for hours and hours. At the end of the day, Otema smiled at her assistant, complimented her on a job well done, and sent her to bed….

In silence, seven muscular guards pushed their way into Nira’s quarters, startling her from a deep sleep.

“Take her,” said a gruff voice as she fought her way back to wakefulness. Strong arms gripped her, and she bumped into thick body armor, smelled pungent bristling hair and the odor of penned animals. She clumsily peeled off her blindfold and blinked in the dazzling light, trying to focus on the rough features of Bron’n and other guards she had seen around the Mage-Imperator.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Take her,” Bron’n repeated, and the burly guards yanked her to her feet. They held throbbing katana spears with white blades and chipped, faceted edges.

Nira squirmed and thrashed. “What have I done?” She reached behind her, fingers extended, trying to touch a nearby treeling in its pot.

“Don’t let her close to the plant!” Bron’n snarled. With a jerk they tugged Nira away. Her soft fingertips barely brushed the ornate enameled pot. The treeling wobbled, but did not fall and shatter on the floor.

“The Mage-Imperator ordered us to be quiet and efficient,” Bron’n said. “Others will return to these corridors soon.”

When words and actions failed her, Nira finally screamed. Bron’n cuffed her hard on the cheek, and she crumpled. Terror turned her limbs to water as the guards hauled her out into the corridor.

“Do not damage her,” Bron’n ordered. “She is fertile and necessary.”