William let out a loud groan as he looked up to see Lydia, who was impatient to get the horrific duty out of the way. Prince William had a macabre fascination with the terrorist attack that had shot him up the succession. She put down his breakfast tray. A dated tradition, of service. But an unhealthy meal was a luxury only the richest were allowed to indulge. Offset by a glass of real OJ, from real oranges. Only tainted by the air of anti-poison that was added to his every meal.
Part of his morning routine was a penance, involving visiting the survivors of the attack. As far as the empire was concerned, there were no survivors. Lydia knew the guilt he felt... survivor guilt someone had explained to her. But, as part of the inner circle her contract was enforced by nanites. They allowed no wiggle room, deceit or revelation so she was inside.
Prince William headed off to visit the survivors. The Imperial doctor had had to declare them incompetent, and incapable or rising to the throne. Part of him wished they'd been granted the mercy of death, rather than the existence they now suffered through.
But, with all the protections, even a mercy killing would be a killing, would still be Regicide, and prevented by forces stronger than mere laws.
The terrorists were now dealt with, even if that brought no real peace to the family. The constitution enforced its will even on the royal family. Forced to choose parters from beyond their blood line. No inbreeding would be tolerated, and for William it was a blessing and a curse.
Every citizen could rise to the Imperial family, wife, husband, concubine, or consort. In his weaker moments he even doubted wether Lydia would have ulterior motives, or marriage plans...
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