Next thing you know, you’re pasting a fixed smile on your face, shaking the hand of your chaste, octogenarian daughter-in-law and wondering how much it will cost to get her removed.
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Wait – you did marry him off before you let him go, right? You didn’t?! Now he’s free to choose his own wife. Right? You give him some titles and off he goes, leaving your court to establish his own and begin building his prestige. Since it’s a mite difficult to rule a kingdom whilst in the womb, game over. Belatedly you recall that your wife has a high intrigue rating and a jealous disposition. Score – one baby on the way! Then you die. The tooltip says you have a chance at producing a bastard child! You click “Woohoo!” as quickly as your mouse will allow, brain already alight with plans for legitimising your bastard and using it as an heir. No, not that, thank you! An event offering you the chance of an affair. A beautiful young courtier looks at you in a certain way, and something pops up. After 20 years of marriage you still haven’t got a child. Two months later you notice your wine tastes funny… What’s the worst that could happen? This could be the turning point of your relationship, the start of many years’ happy contentment and, more importantly, the source of a child or three. So your wife hates you, you’ve got no children, and she’s just gained the ambition to become your spymaster? She’s got a good intrigue score, and fulfilling her ambition will make her happy. Did I mention kindly Uncle has a different dynasty name to his darling nephew? Control will not pass to him should Tiny Tim have a tragic accident…
In no time at all moron-boy is reduced to count of a single African province which provides no income and no levies thanks to being recently conquered. Along comes dear uncle with his shiny blood claim, and it all goes like the proverbial fairytale. Thanks to dear Daddy’s martial exploits, the treasury is empty, the armies are dead, and family authority shaky. Your new character is a 2-year-old with the ‘drooling moron’ trait. Back to square 1 say hello to fraternal in-fighting, and freshly predatory neighbours. Where before you were the King of England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland, you are now the King of England, with neighbourly Kings of Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. All “duplicates” at that level will be handed out to the younger heirs. Suddenly your realm fractures – and you discover that under gavelkind law, the eldest heir only receives a single “copy” of the highest level title. Heirs pose no problem: you’ve got sons and to spare. Title after title falls into your sweaty little hands. Then the plague/Mongols/assassins/tournament come to town, and before you know it, people are dropping dead left, right and centre due to freak bad luck. So you’ve done your duty and provided for the succession. Marry your little princess off in a standard marriage – in which she joins her husband’s family – and it’s the end of your line, no matter how many bratlings she produces. It means that her offspring will inherit her dynasty name, i.e. If your heir is female, it’s the single most important word in the English language after “tea”.
No sons, no other applicable males, and no time to rush through that female inheritance law.
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