A woman of dark complexion, with straight black hair and eyes the hue of warm hazel, lay in the throes of labour. Yet her mind was not consumed by the pains of birth, but by the outcome alone. One question burned in her thoughts: What shall be the gender of my child?
"Your Royal Highness, you must push harder! At this pace, the babe shall not come forth!" cried the head lady, her voice edged with concern. The sounds of anguish echoed through the estate of Royal Consort Mariah, a lady of noble birth hailing from the Country of America.
At long last, after fifteen agonising hours, the cries of pain were replaced with the tender wailing of new life. The tension in the air eased, if only slightly.
"Emily," Mariah gasped, struggling for breath, "tell me… the gender of my child."
"Your Royal Highness… I am sorry," replied Head Lady Emily, her eyes brimming with tears.
"A girl!? No — no, it cannot be! I will not accept this." Mariah's voice hardened. "Emily, George — send word to the eunuch dispatched by Her Majesty the Empress. Tell him that I have birthed a son… and that his name is Oliver."
"Your Royal Highness!" Emily cried. "We cannot! Such deception must be upheld until the child is grown, and if this truth be discovered, it shall mean death for every soul within these walls. I beg of you, reconsider!"
"Head Lady Emily, calm yourself," said Jasper, the Consort's head eunuch, stepping forward. "I am willing to give my life for Her Royal Highness, and I know you are as well. We can carry out this ruse."
"It is not that I lack the will to lay my life her," Emily said, her face shadowed with sorrow. "It is that I wish to shield her from the dangers such a secret shall bring in years to come."
"You two — leave us," Mariah ordered the attending maids at the door.
Once the chamber was emptied, Emily fetched a blanket of deep blue and swaddled the newborn princess. The child was then carried through the estate, so that all who laid eyes upon her would believe that Royal Consort Mariah had delivered a son.
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Meanwhile, beyond the estate gates and into the forest that lay behind, the two dismissed maids hurried along the narrow path.
"The child… is a girl," one whispered, her face pale.
"Her Royal Highness lies," the other answered, her voice trembling. "But what shall we do with such knowledge? We dare not speak it."
"To hide this truth is to invite ruin," the first said, halting mid-step. "I am sorry… but I have a family I cannot see destroyed. I must take this crime to Her Majesty, the Empress."
She turned to go, but had taken no more than five steps when her head fell from her shoulders, and the emerald grass drank deep of her blood.
The other maid screamed in horror, then turned to flee — only for an arrow to lodge deep between her shoulder blades. She collapsed, her breath fading, yet not before her gaze found the figure who had ended them both.
It was Royal Consort Mariah's personal guard, who had shadowed their every step from the estate.
"You are both disgraceful," he said coldly, wiping his blade clean before sliding it back into its sheath. "That mere maids would dare to end Her royal Highness's life… it is unforgivable. We must be far more careful henceforth."