She turned seventeen three weeks later. Jannali was reluctant to have any sort of celebration, but Aisha had already begun to plan a gala without Jannali's knowledge, and by the time she found out, it was too late to cancel the arrangements. So she was forced to sit through a false party with false gifts and false smiles. The royal birthday was celebrated with as much extravagance as Marrok's had in April, even though Jannali had only been part of the family for five months. The ballroom, ever filled with music and laughter, was decorated in every corner with roses and silver garlands. The fifty chandeliers sparkled with crystal and diamonds, while an enormous fountain carved from marble sat in the centre of the room. Around the flowered rim flowed not water, but rich milk chocolate, in which guests could dip an array brightly-coloured fruits.

Princess Jannali had a hard time keeping the sweet liquid off her lips as she enjoyed, one after another, several plates of chocolate-coated fruit. It was either being a glutton or conversing with the court ladies, and Jannali found the former to be much more entertaining, so she sat by and hoped that she wouldn't make herself sick.

Marrok hadn't spoken to her once all evening.

This was by her instruction, though. They had to keep up the illusion of indifference to each other. The news that they had consummated their marriage spread through the court like wildfire and fizzled out just as quickly. Now, harsh whispers were shot in Jannali's direction everywhere she went, mocking sneers and malicious grins beneath fluttering lashes. They all giggled about the prince's mystery mistress and sighed that they'd love to be in her place. They hissed that Jannali should have too.

What they didn't know was that throughout the gala, Jannali had to constantly wave away Marrok's flitting gaze, rapt with desire and longing. She too wanted to be in his arms, to dance with him and shut up the preening courtiers. But she simply narrowed her eyes and put her hand to her breast. He could wait a few hours—then, they'd be free to make love all night.

She picked up a sixth plate of fruit. Her stomach churned, but she didn't allow herself to stop. More and more chocolate went into her system, in the vain hope that it would satisfy her.

"Oh, Jannali! I've been looking all over for you!" Cynthia chirped, and Jannali turned to see her mother approaching—alone, much to the princess' relief. As she came to a stop, Cynthia's brow furrowed. "Why, what are you doing by yourself?" She gestured out over the balcony. "This party is all for you, and yet you're holed up here!"

Jannali forced a tender grin. It was the best method of appeasing Lady Delacourt, and she called it her 'mother smile'. "I have a headache, Mama. I informed Her Majesty of this, but it must've slipped her mind." And it wasn't a lie this time—she felt an insufferable pounding in her skull, and she hoped that by the end of the ball it would subside and allow her to enjoy her time alone with Marrok.

Cynthia's brown eyes widened. "Again? It's been a long time since you've last complained about your migraines..." Lady Delacourt's gaze flitted down to Jannali's middle. "Perhaps there is another cause?"

Jannali felt heat rising in her cheeks. She hadn't considered the possibility of her being pregnant; the thought had barely crossed her mind in the past few months. "Perhaps," she whispered, bringing another strawberry to her lips.

"Well, you take it easy then," Cynthia said, pulling out a shawl from her pocket and gently wrapping it around Jannali's bare shoulders. The princess suddenly felt comforted—she hadn't even realized that she was cold. And, gently still, Cynthia came down and kissed her daughter's forehead. "May I soon have many beautiful grandchildren."

Jannali smiled, putting a hand to her flat stomach. Cynthia had been correct in her assumption; the next day, Jannali was told by the royal family's doctor that she was five weeks pregnant. She decided to keep it a secret for the time being and the doctor willingly complied into doing the same.

One would have to be a fool to think that being with child would stop her from going prospecting. She refused to let anything interfere with her night life—and besides, there was a lot of work to be done with Marrok. It wasn't until the fourth hunt that Jannali had let him actually stick it to their prospect. She then quickly realized that he had no idea how to kill properly. If she didn't educate him right—and soon—he would bring the authorities right to their heels, and her entire life would come crumbling down.

She would without a doubt be executed.

Jannali had briefly considered just ending him there. And she could! As the child within her belly grew, she felt her place in the royal family cementing even further. Once it was born, she could do whatever she wanted with Marrok and no one would suffer, for there was another heir for the throne to fall back on.

But she quickly stamped down the thought as she remembered, her cheeks flushed, how Marrok would accompany her on every outing and jumped at the opportunity to help her take down her next victim. His eagerness to learn her craft made her soften in ways that she loathed, but the sickening thought of throwing away such an excellent mate made her stick by her decision to keep him alive.

Marrok proved to be a quick learner. Before long, he had memorized the rules of the hunt and actively sought for Jannali to take him out. He learned to kill with finesse and without leaving a trace; it was so different from court executions, where Marrok could only watch as the convicted were beheaded or stabbed or tortured. Jannali had shown him how exhilarating it was to kill up close and personal. It was only until Jannali grew too fat and tired that they stopped prospecting and committed to lying low for a while. By then, the news of the princess' pregnancy had thrown all of Luna into a frenzy. And yet, Jannali felt oddly disconnected from it all; it was an inconvenience, not a cause for celebration. Her aching feet and bulbous middle kept her bound to her bed for most of the day.

The prince kept his distance, as commanded by Jannali (as always), much to the dismay of the queen. She wanted to see her little Twinkles be a father, and not leave his exhausted wife with only the maids for company. But Marrok stayed away. At least, when under the scrutiny of the court—at night, he would often sneak into Jannali's rooms and slip into bed with her, gently massaging her feet or her back.

The idea came slowly at first—just a little thought in the back of Jannali's mind. And when the baby began to kick inside her, keeping her up at all hours of the night, it bloomed into a strong desire, the all-too-familiar bloodlust. She had often asked herself what the ultimate pleasure might be. What would be her greatest kill, her most precious prospect, the small bones of her newborn child.

Infanticide.

It was a fantasy that filled her to the brim with excitement and curiosity. She came to want it, to crave it. And fury coursed through her every pore as she realized that she couldn't have this child, that she belonged to the crown, to Luna. By then, they knew it was a girl, and Jannali would have no say in how her daughter was raised. She had no desire to bring up a snot-nosed brat, of course, but still—the thought of having her ultimate fantasy stripped from her was infuriating.

When she had told Marrok of her new whim, she was shocked to see his expression somber and his fists clench. He had said nothing for a while before leaving Jannali's bed to go sleep in his own chambers. Jannali was left alone, cold with her nuisance child kicking up a storm. She figured that perhaps Marrok was simply going weak, the way men do, at the thought of his unborn daughter. He certainly didn't show a great interest; he was young, barely twenty, and still caught up in the whirlwind of first love. He had no time for babies. Still, he must've wanted to keep the little one out of prospecting.

But it didn't matter what Marrok thought. This child would live and become queen after her parents died. That was it; her path was set in stone. Her mother would not interfere.

But the next time, Jannali promised herself. Next time she would be free to act on her desires. Her second child would be hers to do with as she saw fit.


The princess was born in May, on the heels of her father's own birthday. Jannali was surprised by how quickly the birth passed; within three hours of her water breaking she held a screeching bundle in her arms, fists bunched and face contorted as she cried. It took all but ten minutes for Jannali to send off her daughter in the arms of a nurse, to be seen again sometime or another—before she had even been released from the hospital, Aisha took it upon herself to whisk away the baby to the nursery and begin coddling her. Jannali couldn't find it in her to feel annoyed—a rare occasion.

Aisha gave her granddaughter the name Channary; Jannali herself wasn't too fond of it, but she hadn't enough energy nor care to really protest. Marrok didn't seem too affected either. Throughout the

celebrations of Channary's birth, he stayed by his wife and gently rubbed her healing middle, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and planting kisses on her shoulder. This was all done under the guise of the prince taking yet another mistress and leaving his wife alone in her chambers. Jannali accepted his kisses with a sort of relief—he had scarce spoken to her at all for the past month, and she was glad to see that any earlier misgivings had been forgotten.

Once in a while, she would spend some time in Channary's nursery. Unsurprisingly, Jannali had already set her sights on her next prospect. Despite it only being three months since Channary was born, she was ready to go out again. With much gusto, she did the usual analysis of her victim—from where she sat on a lush window seat, she watched as Aisha waved a stuffed wolf in little Channary's face. The baby cooed loudly; she was a stupid little thing that was easily amused by anything that moved.

"Oh, Sweets, she's absolutely charming!" Aisha crooned, gently running a finger behind Channary's tiny ear. "A real angel—just like her father had been. Marrok was the most adorable little scrap..."

Jannali forced a laugh, although she was genuinely amused by the thought of her husband as a baby. She wondered if his hair had been as messy back then. "I hate to spoil your fun, My Queen," said the princess, tightening the belt of her robe, "but may I be so inclined as to ask for a moment with her?"

Aisha blinked, then let out a laugh of her own. "Oh, you're such a well-spoken lady, Sweets. But you don't have to be like that with me. Please, call me Mother."

Jannali simply smiled as Aisha gently placed Channary in the crown princess' arms. With a little wave, the queen left the room, leaving Jannali alone with the squirming baby. Looking down, she was met with Marrok's deep brown eyes, warm like chocolate. She licked her lips.

"Why, hello there," Jannali whispered, lightly flicking the baby's nose. Channary let out a mewl in response.

Jannali continued to look over the child, and was a little disappointed to find that she looked a great deal like her. Another one of Jannali's fantasies was a little girl with an ocean of freckles and Marrok's wild red mane. She gently ran a hand through Channary's thin brown hair.

"I hope you don't stay this stupid your whole life." A wicked smile on her lips, Jannali pinched the baby's cheek.

No one had asked, later on, why there was a small cut on the infant's face. It was nearly as if neither Aisha nor the nannies had even noticed. But Jannali could still remember the sweet taste of the child's blood on her tongue for days, and even months after.