The news spread through the palace with unbelievable speed, and only one thing was on anyone's lips: Queen Jannali was once again pregnant. After a couple weeks of nausea and headaches, Jannali had this fact confirmed by the royal family's new doctor, Elliot-something-or-other.

Marrok was elated at first, and he found himself already daydreaming the future. Would it be a prince or a princess? Would they be intelligent, beautiful, talented, nimble...

And would they love him as he hoped he'd love them?

The brief blip of joy was soon dimmed, though, as Jannali became quite ill. It wasn't just typical morning sickness—although she was only three months along, she still had to spend whole days in bed simply to keep herself from collapsing with exhaustion. In her stubbornness, she insisted on going prospecting, but Marrok quickly put a stop to it when Jannali fainted in the middle of Dianan's city square, leaving him to carry her back to the palace.

Secretive as always, they still slept together on occasion, but even then, they would often be forced to stop due to the pain in Jannali's back. Alone in the darkness of her room, he fell asleep to the sound of Jannali's angry sobs. She thought that it would be like Channary: easy and over before she knew it. However, this second pregnancy proved to be an obstacle unlike anything she had ever faced. Marrok regretted ever suggesting the idea, as much as he felt himself growing more and more attached to the thought of his unborn child.

Cynthia Delacourt's death also didn't help matters. As her only child, Jannali was expected to take charge of her funeral and deal with the company and estate. The entire family was thrown into despair after the aged woman's body was discovered one morning, slumped over her desk—Cynthia had found her end at the bottom of a glass, the contents of which had spilled to the floor and congealed into a sticky mess. The Delacourts' lumber plant, Jannali decided, would go to her eldest cousin, but she chose to keep the bulk of her inheritance in money and finery to herself. Much of Cynthia's vast jewel collection was committed to the royal treasury. A few of them, though, Marrok quietly slipped away in his room with the intention of keeping them for the baby. Among these was a precious silver pendant with a butterfly charm carved from a shard of amethyst.

With the stress of her pregnancy and her mother's passing, Jannali chose to retire herself to her chambers throughout the day with her ladies-in-waiting, playing cards and faking comraderie. She was ever-so-fond of complaining, but Marrok didn't have that privilege—life flowed on without pause for the king and he resigned himself to the kingdom's work as his wife's belly grew. So he decided that he would pick, pick, pick at the mountain of demands that plagued his every waking moment, at least giving himself the illusion of rest.

"So that, My King, is why I believe that we should consider re-establishing trade with Earth. The outer sectors would greatly benefit from the income of food and other resources; that way, with a content populace, rebellion would be out of the question," said Thaumaturge Mavelin, a tall woman with hair so big that it must've been full of secrets.

At last, she had finished her long discourse on the unruly spat that had broken out in one of the agricultural sectors. She was prattling on for nothing; everyone knew that Luna was in an unfortunate economic position. Marrok kept her around solely for the distraction she provided from his mound of paperwork. Updating archaic policies and arranging a full-earth gala for the court sapped his energy faster than he could say 'exhausting'.

"It is Earth that has cut off all links with us," Marrok drawled, picking up his fork from the edge of his desk. In the king's warm study, the smell of roasted meat and grilled asparagus could've made anyone hungry—if Mavelin was, she didn't show it. He picked picked picked at his plate like a pigeon, without any desire to eat. Marrok didn't even remember why he had ordered the divine stuffed duck to his desk. In all honesty, he didn't have much appetite for anything these days.

"A mistake on their part and a burden on ours," the thaumaturge continued. "I do believe that several members of court have also been concerning themselves with this issue; I'm sure that they'll be quick to discuss their solutions with you." She put a hand to her chest. "You didn't hear it from me."

"Yes, thank you. That will be all." The king waved a hand.

The thaumaturge glanced down at her pinging port. By then, Marrok's gaze had shifted to the budget of the court's next meeting, the food that would have to be catered, the social that would be held afterwards...

"And Your Majesty?"

He glanced up at Mavelin, who had not moved from her stone-cold position. Marrok raised an eyebrow, his way of saying carry on.

"Lord James Abrasax has requested a private audience with you. Should I let him in or would you prefer that I arrange a later appointment—"

The thaumaturge had his attention at once and Marrok sat speechless; caught off guard, he managed to clear his throat. Of all the times for James to finally show up out of nowhere... "No, I would like to speak with him now. Thank you again for your time, Thaumaturge Mavelin."

The thaumaturge bowed and escorted James into the room. The lord threw her a thankless smile and came to stand before his former best friend, all pomp and circumstance. "Your Majesty." James knelt in utmost respect, and Marrok couldn't help the irritation that crept down his spine. James never showed such courtesy in earnest; it was always followed by a snicker behind his back.

"To what to I owe the pleasure of your company, Lord Abrasax?"

"I wanted to congratulate both you and Her Majesty on her pregnancy. May we soon celebrate the birth of a child of Luna."

Marrok forced a pleasant smile. "Thank you. Is that all?"

It was not, of course. James always had something to say. "I also wished to bid you goodbye."

The formality of James' words made Marrok uneasy before, but now, he was horrified to find that he didn't recognize him. Even his appearance had changed dramatically; his black hair cut at a respectable length, his silk shirt buttoned up properly, his eyes no longer sparkling with mischief. He didn't have a glass of whiskey in hand, either. "Goodbye?" The king echoed, gripping the armrest of his chair.

"I'm to be married next month," said James, holding his arms behind his back, "as I'm sure you're aware, and I'll be moving to Dianan with my wife to help her run the pharmaceuticals industry."

Marrok had no idea that James was engaged. No one spoke of it at court, and he hadn't seen Lord Abrasax in person since his coronation. "I see. Will it be a big wedding?"

James shook his head. "Naila wants to keep it small and low-key. Close family only."

And you're not invited. The words never left his mouth—no one would be foolish enough to say that to their monarch's face—but it was heavily implied, and they both knew it. Marrok was angry, of course, but he couldn't help himself from wondering why. Why did James hate him? What had he done to cause such a rift between them? Marrok wanted to ask, to beg, but his pride and denial kept him chained to his seat. Why was he the one that had to reduce himself to pleas? He didn't push James away. It was all him. And if he really wanted to keep their friendship, he would've apologized and taken Marrok out for a drink and everything would once again be merry.

"I wish you all the best," Marrok said, folding his hands in his lap. "You will be greatly missed at court."

James let out a snort, and for a moment, the king could see the remnants of his precocious playmate beneath the mask of refined grace. James was quick to hide it beneath a grim smile. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Silence. Marrok felt like he would need a knife to cut the tension.

"Well, that's all I wanted to say." James turned on his heel, slowly, deliberately, as if he waited for some sort of protest from Marrok. But when the king said nothing, he quietly left the room as empty and warm as it had been prior to his arrival. It took all of Marrok's strength to keep himself from bursting through the door and flinging himself in James' arms. It was over. He had known this for years; yet, he only then began to accept it. Friends will come, and friends will go.

But family lasts forever. He constantly reminded himself of this as he abandoned his work in favor of accompanying Jannali to the hospital ward to find out the sex of their child. He ignored the photograph that James had discreetly slipped on across his desk before he left. A picture of the two of them at eight years old, wearing paper hats and floating paper boats across the lake. Marrok's hair had been an explosion of curls and he was missing two teeth from his wide grin.

Yes, life flows on—so sublime...but only if one stops and takes the time.


They came to learn that they were having another little girl.

The news didn't seem the least bit perturbing to the queen, even though she had been so eager to have this child before. Marrok told himself that it was just the difficult pregnancy that was wearing down on her, and that she'd soon come to be as excited as he was. He saw it was a chance to redeem himself, to raise this new princess with love and devotion. To be finally seen as a worthy father.

He thought he was already doing well, if the fear he felt for his daughter was any indication. Marrok still hadn't forgotten what Jannali had said when she was pregnant with Channary—how I'd like to kill a baby, she whispered. It was a thought that chilled him to the core. Surely she didn't mean her own baby. Where was the fun in killing such a defenceless creature? Babies weren't prospects. They never have been.

Besides, he decided, even if Jannali wanted to have her as a prospect, Marrok refused to have any harm come to his new daughter. He took to calling her sweetling and even began to write out a list of possible names. The child's nursery was originally planned to be built right across from her sister's, but Marrok ordered that it be set up right beside his own chambers instead. It would be connected to the far room by a pretty white door.

Jannali didn't seem pleased by these developments. He was made aware of this by her refusing to let him sleep in her bed, ordering him back to his rooms every evening. She said that she needed time to relax and that the constant activity around the nursery was giving her migraines. In retaliation, the king settled on a name and began commissioning clothes and toys for the coming baby. This is how he found himself touring around Artemisia's various shopping districts, motivated in part by his desire to spoil his daughter rotten, but also just to get away from his nagging wife and hounding court.

Accompanied by a small entourage of three guards, the king saved AR-4 for last. It was Aisha's favourite place to hang around with her ladies, and there were a certain number of shops that she would ramble endlessly about. The entire place was chic and well-decorated, screaming of riches and luxury. Money certainly talked here. It all seemed so lively in comparison to the glum air of his palace, and Marrok found himself smiling in spite of his anxiety. His guards stayed a good metre behind him, allowing the king to pass through the bustling crowds without too much notice. The shop he had in mind was right around the corner, a bright place painted in white and beaming with cheer. His mother had been quite fond of this seamstress' work.

He ordered his guard to remain outside. They complied, of course they did, and Marrok released his white glamour, replacing it once again with that of the blonde boy. He nearly felt like a teenager again.

"Oh, hello!" A pretty girl—the owner, he presumed—waved at him from behind the front desk. "May I help you find anything specific?"

He glanced at the display behind her head. It showed off fabrics embossed with initials and obviously personalized designs.

"I was wondering," Marrok wringed his hands, "if you, perhaps...embroidered blankets?"


"His Majesty had gone out again, My Queen, but I promise that I will notify you right away of his return."

Jannali's hands balled into fists at her sides. It was the third time that week—she was really beginning to tire of her husband's on-and-off again absences. "Thank you, Serenity," she seethed. The queen then left her lady-in-waiting to attend to Channary, who was left alone with her governess' long-awaited retirement. In the rush to find a replacement, Serenity saw to it that Channary was kept out of trouble—at least, as out of trouble as the tyrant princess could be.

Jannali found herself wandering down the halls to her husband's rooms, although her walk was now something more of a waddle. Despite all the pain she caused her, at least the child in her belly didn't keep her up at night with her constant wriggling. Come to think of it, she had only kicked maybe ten times or so in the six months of pregnancy.

To Jannali's relief, the nursery's construction had been completed two days before, and she was able to wander about Marrok's bedroom in peace. She knew that he had been going out and buying things for the baby, and at first, she thought that he was simply going along with the charade, although it was odd that he was doing all of this himself. Someone else had been sent out to assemble a wardrobe for Channary. And the fact that he had the nursery adjoined to his room made her worry greatly. She refused to let it get to her, though. Marrok's strange obsession with this child was all part of the show. There was no reason for her concern.

She snooped about the shelves and drawers that lined nearly every single wall of the main bedroom. Nothing was really out of place—various trinkets, immaculately folded clothes, books, trinkets from when the king was younger; Jannali went over to the nursery next, unsatisfied with her search. The child would certainly be comfortable in there—instead of marble floors, there was lush white carpet covering the ground and delicate purple sheers covered the drooping windows. A pretty display of stuffed toys and porcelain dolls adorned the far wall. In the corner sat a rocking chair, nice and close to the cradle. The thing seemed a bit excessive, with a frilly white mattress and satin canopy hung from the ceiling.

She sneaked around the furniture. In the closet was a collection of tiny dresses, bodysuits and nightgowns—the socks were so small that Jannali could barely slip one over two of her fingers. All of these things had the look of having been chosen with care. Tucked away in one of the drawers was a white box, tied with pale pink ribbon. Jannali picked it up and narrowed her eyes. She pulled out a baby blanket, made of violet silk. It had stencils of graceful butterflies embroidered skillfully from the hem. In the left corner, a name had been sewn with purple thread—the cursive was elegant so that the loops of the letters intertwined perfectly with a butterfly's wings. They spelled out L-E-V-A-N-A.

Levana. Jannali hadn't expected Marrok to name the child himself. Nor had she ever expected him to have this soft blanket made. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen—just from the feel of the fabric, she could tell that it was worth a fortune. She wondered, irritated, why Marrok had kept this a secret from her. They told each other everything. She had shared her body, her heart, and her every desire with him. She would expect that he did the same.

And it was all pointless, anyway. The child would not live to see her first birthday—she would perish under a knife or poison to fulfill Jannali's deepest, most intimate fantasy. Marrok knew this, surely. But as the weeks passed, as Jannali confronted him about the secret that he had kept from her, doubt and concern and began to brew within her along with the morning sickness. Fear that she would not be able to finally have what she wanted. And dread that Marrok's heart may have already been taken by the silent presence in her womb.

But Jannali reassured herself that whatever Marrok felt was insignificant. He may have been the king, but she was the one in charge, and he would cave, like always. She would never let a man take what was rightfully hers.

The small bones of her newborn child.


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