Bonus Epilogue
Engineered plants with perfect leaves and symmetrical blooms line the walls of Bled’s Hall. They sit in recessed beds, not showing a spot of decay, nor a single imperfection.
I run my fingers along a petal; it’s unnaturally smooth. My own engineered skin isn't so different, in a way.
I've seen images of old-world forests, of course, and been inside the one surrounding the dam and the one cupping The Estate, but their serene beauty is abandoned to an aggressive need to survive.
They are thicker, sharper, more deterrent.
Wild but still beautiful in their disorder.
Cairo wanted to eliminate humanity until even the Common have the Xin De gene somewhere—to bubble to the surface.
I drift to the heart of Bled's Hall.
The Trade ladies and men around me are all selected for this important event. They move with Purpose, unfurling rainbow silks across long tables and arranging plates, toys, lollies, and shimmering statues of birds.
Glittering roses perfume the air, their engineered scents mingling with the buttery exhalations of pastries fresh from the Lower-tower kitchen.
I breathe it in. My shoulders, once stiff to the point of pain, spine taut, against The Trade's expectations, now loosen with each breath.
The rainbow silks unfurling across the tables aren't merely decorations for a celebration—they're the first brushstrokes of the world I mean to paint: one where children's eyes aren't dulled by a lack of choice, where their small hands reach for dreams instead of a tool to live their Purpose until they die.
This is phase one.
A step in the right direction.
Across the Hall, Essen stands with Dear One and Dear Two circling her like hummingbirds. Their slender fingers trail along her arms, their painted lips whispering secrets that bring colour to her cheeks.
"Dears, allow Essen to do her Purpose," I call over, unable to suppress my real smile at her flustered expression.
My tough Essen doesn’t blush.
It’s wildly entertaining to witness.
I imagine Lord Bled's chambers at night—a tangle of limbs and whispers, five bodies moving as one in warm sheets— a whirlwind I cannot comprehend.
That’s not for me…
My nights are simpler, yes, yet infinitely more profound. Kong's tattooed arms encircle me, his breath warm against my forehead, his love more consuming than his formidable physique. From first-light’s early blush until night's deepest shadow, we live as one.
In a way, we always have.
He is my Guardian by day.
My lover by night.
And our souls are eternally bound.
I watch Ana discussing something with the Trade Musicians as they tune their instruments. From their strings, soft notes weaving through my Army Ladies’ and Bled’s House personnel’s chattering. Ana is visiting from The Estate for a few days, for this very special event.
One she holds dear.
The children will arrive soon—all ten-year-olds from the Lower-tower. They stand on the brink of their Purpose, ready to learn and grow into the roles they were born into—bred for.
“Meaningful Purpose starts at ten,” I whisper to myself as I catch my reflection in one mirror lining the hall.
Royal purple silk falls from my shoulders, embroidered with tiny golden bees that catch the faux light when I move.
My hair hangs loose and unadorned, a simple curtain of gold against the rich fabric.
I study the distinctive features of my face—my eyes and their spacing, the gentle curve of my nose, and the shape of my brows— recognising these in the unborn baby at The Trade-tower who is mere months away from entering the world.
I’ve visited him, watched him float in that serene sac.
Initially, I felt a kind of disconnect, a struggle to fully embrace him or what he is. The second visit was no easier, but then Kong suggested I bring Eagle Rome along. That was the turning point; I stopped resisting my emotions, stopped my marble conditioning, and warmth enveloped my heart.
With each encounter, I accepted this growing bond.
Then, I finally named him. Geneva.
My mind sprang into action with fantasies of his future. Will the historians title him The Trade Master of Peace, while I hope to be seen as the Children’s Queen and Mother—not marble, but soft. The first monarch to focus on improving the lives of the children of The Cradle.
That is my aspiration, my dream for us both.
I exhale slowly, watching. Soon these doors will swing open, and I'll welcome each child by name, making sure they know they matter to The Cradle and to me.
A warm prickle races across my skin—that familiar sensation of being watched. I don't need to turn to know it's Kong, but I do anyway.
He stands before me, his massive frame softened only by the tenderness in his eyes when they meet mine, though his jaw remains set with the vigilance of a Guardian who never truly rests.
"It's very pretty, little queen," he says, talking about the room while staring straight at me. "Though it pales compared to you."
I feel a blush creep up my cheeks despite myself. I try to focus on the event, saying, “Tell me, is everything secure? The children will be here any moment.”
He nods, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "All is safe, little queen. I've seen to it. You're safe. The children are safe." His gaze lingers on mine, and I catch the subtle shift from formality to something more personal.
“You queen-proofed the Hall?”
He grins.
Sighing, I stare at the rainbow silks, at the lollies and toys. "It's not enough."
I wish to change the world…
Kong's eyes soften. He understands without my explanation.
"Ten years old," I whisper. "They're just children, Kong.
Born for Purpose before they've even… before they understand.
" I twist my hands together and feel my spine stiffening—an involuntary response to the dread I feel surfacing.
"The system works perfectly—every Trade filled, every role assigned.
The Cradle never falters. We always have skilled workers, always have hands and labour, but at what cost? "
Kong's deep voice wraps around me as he says, "Centuries of societal structure cannot be unravelled in mere months, little queen.
" The timbre of his words resonates through my body, stirring memories of last night—how his groaned devotion reminded me I am not marble but flesh and blood and claimed in his arms.
"I know,” I whisper. “But I can find the vulnerable ones. The scared ones. The ones who aren't ready for… their Purpose.”
Ones like me.
"And you will."
I gesture at the Hall around us, suddenly feeling small—little.
"Is all this foolishness? The Wing, my Army Ladies mentoring the children as they enter Purpose, the registration ceremonies, the mental health assessments…
" I have hundreds of extra Ladies now—picked from a variety of Trade girls not quite suited to the Purpose they were born for.
They will all be part of my new initiative—The Wing.
Kong's knuckle grazes mine—a feather of contact that steadies my world.
Something plush presses into my palm: Eagle Rome, tatted from decades of clutching and squeezing.
"Remember," he says, voice low, "the Queen and the little girl inside you need not be separate. There is a place for Little Tuscany.”
I let our fingers tangle briefly. "You're watching my monsters?” I ask, though my chest warms like oatmeal and brownies. I run my thumb over Eagle Rome's balding patches. "Imagine if every child had one. Could we arrange that?"
“A Guardian to watch their monsters?”
“No, an Eagle Rome.”
"An army of stuffed eagles." A soft chuckle rumbles from him. "As you wish, little queen. Each child will have their fluffy toy guardian, just as you have yours."
“You’re not so fluffy,” I tease.
“Keep feeding me chocolate, and I will be.” He holds my gaze a moment longer—promises and devotion unspoken between us—before turning and walking to his station by the door.
I watch his retreating form, remembering last night when we shed our duty and Purpose like discarded clothing. In those private hours, his strength becomes tenderness and possession, his duty transforms to passion and desire. The memory alone sends heat blooming beneath my dress.
He is so male.
So stunningly virile.
My dark, formidable knight.
Then the double doors swing wide, releasing a stream of chattering children into the Hall, their faces alight with awe, bouncing from the toys to the lollies.
This celebration marks their beginning into Trade life. I watch them flood in with a real smile on my face, clutching my beginning—holding Eagle Rome proudly while aware of the warm gaze that has been on me since I was ten.
I can’t choose my Purpose any more than the children filtering into the Hall can, but I can choose the path that weaves through it, can discover new ways rather than follow the old worn one.
And I have a love that will hold me—Guard me—through it all.
THE END