Despite having spent the afternoon together, Sybil and Channary did not come to get along. Quite the opposite, in fact; Sybil came rushing into her mother's chambers with tears in her eyes, complaining that the princess had taken all her toys and barricaded them.
"She told me that she'd put me under the rest if I took them back," Sybil sniffed.
"Under arrest, dear." Alegria ran a hand through the girl's hair.
Jannali took the king's hand in hers and smirked. "Should we let her get away with it, dear?"
"Of course not," said Marrok. With both annoyance and slight embarrassment, he called for one of the guards. "Tell Channary that I order her to return Lady Sybil's toys to her," Marrok told him. "Such behaviour is unacceptable, and if she refuses, then she's to return to the palace immediately."
The guard did as he commanded, but by then, Sybil had no desire to return to her rooms and play with the ruthless princess. She instead opted to remain on Alegria's lap and listen in on the adults' conversation.
"You've never met Their Majesties before, have you?" Alegria crooned. Sybil shook her head.
"You are a very lovely girl," said Jannali, fiddling with the lace on her fan. "Your mother has been telling us that she hasn't taken you out prospecting."
"What's...prospecting?" Sybil asked, clutching onto her mother's hand.
"It's just a little game that we play. A game for adults."
Marrok crossed his arms over his chest. "What games to do you like to play, Sybil?"
"Well..." The child looked up at the ceiling. "Me and my friends like to play thaumaturge sometimes."
Both Marrok and Jannali raised an eyebrow. Alegria forced Sybil's head down so that she could look at her sovereigns in the eye. "Speaking of which, was there not something that you wanted to ask Their Majesties?"
The girl seemed sheepish as she thought of what to say. "Could I...could I become a thaumaturge someday? When I'm grown up?"
"That will take a lot of training, depending on which rank you're aiming for." The queen's smile had frozen on her face.
Sybil seemed perplexed and disappointed, obviously not understanding. She was barely three years old; what was she doing, fancying herself a thaumaturge? Her gift hadn't even really manifested itself yet. Jannali didn't say any of this, though, to avoid Alegria's wrath. She knew enough from the past three hours of conversation that the woman was very protective of her little girl.
"Oh, don't worry." Alegria picked her up and set her on the floor. "You're still young—you should be going out to play."
Sybil looked back at Alegria. "But I don't want to."
"Shoo," said Alegria, waving her hand. "You have a piano lesson in half an hour, anyway."
Both Marrok and Jannali still held each other's hands as they watched Sybil leave with much reluctance. Alegria sat back down with a flourish, and she smiled that toothy grin of hers. Marrok was reminded of an organ's ivory keys.
"I'm sorry about that," Jannali laughed. "Channary has never been one to share."
"Oh, neither has Sybil. I'll bet she's just as guilty as your girl."
The two once again began to prattle on, and Marrok excused himself to get a bit of rest. His time in the city continued much like this, at least until the last night when Jannali insisted that they all go to hunt, for old time's sake. The queen insisted that it would be great fun.
When the sun rose the next morning, Marrok decided that their visit had gone on long enough and the royal family returned to the palace, where the gaping maws and eager claws of the court waited to pull them back into the tedious thrum of life in Artemisia. The king was their favourite thing to chase, and the nobles would hound him with questions and requests for an audience. Courtiers demanded positions in every office, and before long Marrok was forced to create more and more fake jobs just to keep them satisfied. He didn't remember his father being harassed like this; was he too much of a pushover?
And to make matters worse, Jannali's irritation returned full-force and it became a bomb that was ready to detonate at any moment. Every day he felt her breath hissing on his neck and her nails digging into his flesh as she took out her frustration. There was nothing worse, he knew, than a bored killer.
But prospecting didn't seem to appease Jannali anymore; by the time evening rolled around Marrok was often too tired to even think. He would fall asleep by nine and leave Jannali twiddling her thumbs. The queen despised going out alone—she was addicted to the thrill of having her beautiful husband by her side, a graceful creature that murdered like a god and hunted like a panther. She didn't want to kill if she wasn't able to watch him do it as well. So she was confined to endless days with the court ladies and sneaking off as the king's newest mistress, but even that charade had become tiresome. Locking themselves in a room or a closet during their lustful ruts began to feel less like passion and more like a chore.
Through all this, though, Jannali never snapped. Months passed, and then a year—still, no sign of anything drastic that might break the queen's composure. She still neglected her daughter and her husband was the wall on which she painted her complaints. It was all taking a toll on Marrok, that much was obvious to anyone, but Jannali's quiet rage always prevented him from finding any peace.
He was afraid, he realized. Afraid of what she might do if left idle like this. He had no one in whom he could confide—James was a nonentity in his life and Alegria was unhelpful when it came to serious conversation. She simply laughed and said that Jannali would eventually relax. Marrok had wanted to scream at her. How could the queen relax, when she spent her time faking vapidity and frivolity while her fury flowed like molten lead through her veins?
Sometimes, when Jannali would finish ranting and fall asleep at his side, Marrok thought of his mother. He wondered if she would've been happy with his rule. If she would've still loved him. If she would've still been enamored with the spoiled little brat that Channary had become. At five years old, she ruled the other children at court and terrorized the servants at every turn with her endless demands and tantrums. If she didn't get what she wanted as quickly as she liked, everyone was quick to pay for it. Her parents would rarely offer to spend time with her and when they did, Channary was quick to refuse, instead opting to go hide in her expensive playhouse.
To this day, Aisha's words still haunted him. It was true; he had abandoned Channary, and look what had become of her—she refused to listen to her tutors and constantly skipped her lessons in favor of showing off her new dresses to some hapless noble girls. She was the next queen, and yet, she didn't even seem aware of that fact. At the very least, she didn't seem to give a damn.
The idea began to grow in the back of his mind during an exceptionally dull meeting with the manager of AR-4. He drowned out the woman's constant talking and lost himself in his thoughts. Channary paid no heed to her parents, just as they took no interest in her. She belonged to the crown and all she had in common with them was her genes. But Marrok began to notice some of the other noblemen at court, how they would pamper their sons and daughters with affection and praise. They prattled on about their accomplishments and how proud they were. The king wondered if he could love a child like that, given that he had the opportunity to raise them himself.
He knew that Jannali would be difficult to persuade. Enduring a second pregnancy was not quite desired, after the inconvenience that the process had shown before. The queen would not want to relinquish her body for the nine months it would take to produce another heir. But Marrok saw it as the only way to break the monotony of their royal lives—and that maybe, just maybe, Jannali could also discover the joys of motherhood.
He was really beginning to get on her last nerve.
Jannali could hardly stand to put with Marrok rhapsodizing over how much he longed for a second child. He said that pregnancy would prove to be a distraction and that afterwards, they'd have a new baby all to themselves to pass the time. Marrok's ignorant remarks only increased her anger. Who was he to say what would be a distraction? It wasn't him that would have to live with what was essentially a parasite for the better part of nine months. It wasn't him that would have to work to maintain his figure after the child was born. She wanted more opportunities to kill, not something that would keep her chained to her bed with fatigue.
It took a good year and a half for her to agree. It wasn't a gradual change of mind; oh no, it came suddenly and unbidden. As she bowed to a pregnant aristocrat one night during the salon, Marrok's desire became hers and she wanted to have a child in her belly just like the meek Lady Yocheved. But she didn't want it to love and coddle. Her ultimate fantasy, that she had so desperately shoved to the back of her mind, filled her every thought and dream. She could do it this time. She could kill a baby, her baby, just like she wanted. Doing so would appease her increasing bloodlust and leave her sated for a good while. She nearly burst through the halls in her excitement, and in preparation for their next night together, the queen began forgoing her daily birth control pills. So what if Marrok didn't go out with her as much as she craved? She would get something even better than a peasant prospect.
Everything had to be perfect. Jannali had turned his room (although she liked to think of it as their room) into a warm haven as she waited for him to return from his final errands of the day. She had drawn the curtains and turned on the holographic fireplace. The walls, basked in yellow and orange, made Jannali feel soft and aglow with want—it was the effect she was going for. Beneath her robe, she wore nothing but a flimsy piece of silk that could barely be considered a nightgown. Satisfied, she sat on the bed with her book of formulas in hand and studied them again, like she had a hundred times before, as she waited for her lover's return.
She did not have to wait long; Marrok walked in with a look that indicated pleasant surprise at what Jannali had done with the place. He took off his coat and locked the door behind him, leaving his guards out in the hallway. "What's all this?" Marrok asked, although he already knew the answer.
"Just come and kiss me," Jannali crooned, slipping off her robe and revealing her lacy garments. "Please."
Before either of them realized it, they were both intertwined on the bed with his lips to her neck. The fire flickered without a pause as they continued their kisses. They sank down and their passion was reignited, as they moved in ways they had a thousand times before. Jannali held him in her arms, lost in the pleasure of their union. He was her perfect fit. Her king, her mate, her husband.
You will be my stars at night and my sun at dawn.
Her everything.
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