Chapter 29 #2
Rage boiled in me, blacking out my vision for a moment. While I had expected that this meeting was in regard to the events of the last week, I hadn’t thought they would so blatantly ask for me to call off the wedding.
I leveled a stare at each Council member in turn, letting them bask in the uncomfortable silence as I sifted through my thoughts. Blowing a gasket isn’t going to get you the result you want, Oliver.
Finally, I spoke. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? No need to mince words; this is a private meeting after all. You want me to end my relationship with Ms. Levy because she may or may not be able to conceive and produce heirs naturally, is that right?”
Again, several of the Council members squirmed, and most of them avoided my gaze.
“Yes. That is correct,” answered Head Councilwoman Bates. She at least had the decency to look cowed when she said it, though I was still considering pasting a photo of her face over my dart board later.
I laced my hands together and placed them on the table in front of me. I still wore the hospital blanket string tied around my ring finger. “In that case, I have a few questions for you. First, can someone please remind me who is eligible to become my heir?”
Head Councilwoman Bates glanced nervously at Councilman Rupert to her left, a man with a pointed nose and watery eyes that made him resemble a mouse. He shuffled through a stack of papers, looking between the words on the page and me as though afraid he was stepping into a trap.
“The law states that succession to the throne begins with the eldest child of the king and queen, going in order of birth regardless of gender. After that, it goes to the sovereign’s siblings, again in order of birth regardless of gender, followed by—”
I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Thank you, Councilman Rupert. That’s enough.” I leaned forward, pinning the man with my eyes. “Does it clarify or state anywhere in there how the children must come into the family?”
Again, Councilman Rupert scanned the pages in front of him before looking back to me. “N-no, sir,” he stammered.
“Quite right. Now, another question for the wider group. Does anyone know how many people of reproductive age experience infertility?”
Silence blanketed the room.
I continued, “I didn’t know this statistic until recently either.
It’s one in six people worldwide. That’s an estimate, of course, as there are many reasons that prevent perfect data on this topic, as with any public health issue.
But going by that approximation, somewhere between five and seven of the people in this room have been or will be affected by infertility.
” I watched their reactions, noting several who looked stricken by my statement.
“Based on some of your reactions, I’d say that was a fairly good guess.
“Now, for my final question. Why did you not require me to have my own fertility tested prior to taking the throne?”
Eyes widened around the table. You could have heard a pin drop, it was so silent.
“Head Councilwoman Banks?” I prodded.
“Well. I…it…it’s never something that’s been done before…”
“Right. I see. So, allow me to summarize, and please correct me if I get any of this wrong. The law does not specify how a king and queen’s children must come into the family in order to become heirs, so children born via IVF or surrogacy or who enter the family through adoption are considered part of the line of succession in the same way that children conceived naturally are.
“Further, you have never before required a reigning sovereign to prove their own fertility before taking the throne, despite the prevalence of infertility worldwide across both sexes.”
I leaned back in my chair, resting my right ankle on top of my left knee and folding my hands over my abdomen.
“So, what I am left with is you determining that Ms. Levy is not fit to be queen, not because of any moral or ethical failing on her part, but because her private medical information was leaked to the public. Is that correct?”
Silence.
“Let me be perfectly clear: I intend to marry Ms. Levy on June 1, as has been the plan for months. I do not wish to make an enemy of the Council, but I find your judgment in this matter to be unconscionable. It does not take any political savvy to recognize that Ms. Levy has the makings of a wonderful queen and strong leader, and that is without witnessing the poise and eloquence with which she fought for some of the most marginalized members of our communities in this very building just a few days ago. The matter of her fertility is irrelevant to me and should be irrelevant to you as well. Women have been fighting for decades to be seen as more than their fertility, but this conversation today has shown me just how far there is to go in that battle. I suggest you all do some reflecting to determine exactly how we ended up here today and how you all can better do your actual jobs—which, to be clear, include advocating on behalf of your constituents, not policing their bodies.”
Uncrossing my legs, I pushed back my chair and rose. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll see myself out.”
I spun on my heel, prepared to exit the room, when I heard Head Councilwoman Banks speak again.
“Your Majesty,” she began. I turned to find her glancing between the Council members, sharing a fast, silent conversation.
“You are right. Ms. Levy will make a wonderful queen. We are sorry to have wasted your time today and we stand in support of your upcoming wedding. I will release a statement to the press today summarizing as much.”
I inclined my head once. “Thank you. I look forward to celebrating with you all in just a few weeks.”