Rene let out a low whistle, his mind reeling at the import of Solae’s words. There were many good reasons, both medical and political for the blanket prohibition on outright cloning. The potentially destabilizing effect of noble families that no longer needed to make alliances through marriage was incalculable. In a matter of a few generations the upper echelons of Imperial society would atrophy into a few increasingly powerful families. The lower level nobility, forever locked out of advancement and faced with a regime of increasingly genetically unstable masters, would naturally seek to redress the scales with violent revolution that might bring on a second Collapse. Even when Emperors had been fools, or insane, they had maintained the ban with ruthless efficiency. What a family with the power of the Falias might do with illicit technologies and their collection of black mail material was an even more staggering thought. Marriages could be broken, lines of decent questioned, wills undone, it would be easy to force other families, especially the middling ones, to their will. If they had been slicing DNA into their line a little at a time, they might one day claim a tie to the Imperial line. It wasn’t inconceivable that their might be a Falia Emperor or Empress one day.  Rene looked over at the woman that he loved. She looked fragile, shocked, shattered. He reached over and took her hand in his.

“You are still you,” he told her gently, lifting her hand and pressing it to his lips.

“You are still you,” he repeated, wrapping his arm around her and holding her close. Neither of them were their parents or their families or even the Steallar Empire. They were just two people who loved each other. Rene was silent for a long moment, the closeness of his body conveying the fact that this knowledge changed nothing more eloquently than any words could have done.