I stared out the cottage window and admired the garden. Mother was quite the horticulturalist, filling the small space she had with herbs and vegetables, but what captivated me most of all were the flowers. Lining the perimeter of our little garden was a multitude of flowers which showcased what seemed to be the entirety of the color spectrum. The flowers were sectioned in neat and orderly portions, yet they grew wildly within their space, abandoning all ideation of segregation. Royal blues tangled into bright yellows which hovered below blushing pinks and reds, made all the more vibrant from the recent rain. 

I watched bees bounce between them, thinking how even these tiny creatures must obey their monarch, when my attention drifted upwards to the neighbors across the way. Whatever intrigue they shared must have been quite upsetting, for the two carried sullen faces with the faint tint of disbelief. What the peasantry lacks in most aspects, they certainly seem to make up for with gossip.

“Oh, Krig, it was an awful sight,” my mother told him. “Plenty of faces already familiar to Beverly’s, but there were neighbors there that I thought had reserves to last them through the season at least, and others still that I had never seen before.”

My father was working at the table in the kitchen skinning a squirrel. “Must have been the storm. Donovar mentioned lots of families having food spoil with their cellars flooding, and our village didn’t even have the worst of it. It’s no wonder they went to Bev’s. Who were the others?”

“Folk from Logriss. Apparently the storm destroyed many of their homes, ripped from the ground like weeds by a gardener's hand.” 

Logriss? That’s a silly name for a village. It seems my spirit had not only abandoned Zobrus, but all manner of culture as well. I crawled in my parents’ direction, in case they required more of my opinions, which was probable.

“Well, not everyone is fortunate enough to live in a fortress as sturdy as ours,” my father said. My mother looked at the pots and pans hanging in the kitchen, still drying from the rainwater poured out of them. “Did you have enough stew for everyone?”

“Yes we did, but only just barely, Maker’s mercy. We should have enough bread and broth to last a bit, but we’ll need fresh meat as well. Any luck on your hunt?”

“You’re looking at it.” My father passed the skinned carcass to my mother, who began cutting and dividing the meat. “The storm must have made the game sparse too. It shouldn’t be a problem for long.”

“I hope it isn’t. It’s not as if we’ll receive any aid from the emperor or his noble subjects; have you heard his new decree? He’s demanding additional crops from every village for the next year.” My mother’s tone quieted, but the resentment in it was palpable. Wait. What was all this about?

“Doubt he’ll ask for less once the year is up,” Father replied. “What does he need the crops for?”

“Oh, as if he would tell the likes of us. Everyone in the village has their speculations though; it’s all anyone can talk about. My bet is on something superficial. Honestly, he’s as bad as the last one.”

“Well, what can you expect from men who place their needs above everyone else? These emperors do nothing for the people except sentence them to foul magicless lives. They covet artifacts in that palace of theirs just to conquer the lesser lands within their reach. The nobles would sooner watch people like us die than lend a hand, for fear it may become dirtied.” 

Despite the clear contempt my father held for the ruling class above him, he scooped me up and bounced me whilst wearing a big grin on his face. Had my mind reverted to the capabilities of a newborn along with the rest of my form, I’d be none the wiser of his hate.

Expansion I could understand, and artifacts of power should be safeguarded from those who don’t understand how to use them, but at least I strived for greatness within my empire. Whoever this emperor was certainly sounded like a self-absorbed piece of--

“Sit,” my mother said as she carried a pot of bubbling stew from the fire toward the table. “You deserve to rest after your long day. You’ll need to feel fully capable tomorrow if you and Donovar are to catch a stag for Bev’s Kitchen.”

My father set me back down within my crib. “You’re quite the optimist. We’ll be fortunate to catch anything larger than squirrels.”

“Anything you and your guildmates can put on a table would be more than the crown provides.”

“Shall we pack our belongings and head for the nearest kingdom over?” my father teased. “I hear the nobles are much kinder out east; hardly any beheadings.”

“If it were truly different, I’d begin walking today, but I think I’ll save my feet the blisters; royalty is all alike. No, my faith lies in the skill of my husband.” My mother gripped Father’s hand, shaking it exaggeratedly. “So bring us back something plump and plentiful before the whole village starves!”

Royalty is all alike? I suppose, with what limited perspective this world offered, one would reasonably arrive at that conclusion, but, still, the notion stung. If only there were some way she could have witnessed me in my previous life: firm, but just. I, of course, was not without my critics, but it was expected that one’s subjects may not always understand the way of things. Like a child punished by their parents, it can be difficult for the child to understand that it is done in their interest.

My mother approached me. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your dinner now as well, Crow. Come along, come to Mommy!”

She lifted me from the crib and cradled me in her arms. I supposed the point was moot now. I would instead have to focus on surviving this life, as it seemed the hardships would be plentiful. Still, it was hard not congratulating myself on the way I ruled my own empire, given the competition’s subpar performance.