Levana was supposed to have been born in February, just in time for the full earth. But in mid-December, one afternoon, Jannali was caught off-guard by sudden waves of pain in her belly, like a knife slicing through her tender flesh. It had nearly knocked her out of her seat, which resulted in splashes of scalding tea landing on her skin and nightgown. Marrok was quick to call for a nurse, and the queen was carted off on a hovering gurney to the hospital where she would be declared into labor. The entirety of the palace was thrown off guard by this news; Her Majesty wasn't due for another two months, and yet, she found herself blinded by the pain that flared in her middle. She didn't remember it being that bad with Channary.

The doctors had feared this. Jannali's pregnancy had been unstable from the start and anything could have caused a complication, or worse, a miscarriage. All they could do was hope that an early birth would not result in an impaired child or a deceased queen.

She had never been in so much pain, nor had she ever been so afraid. It felt like something burrowing through her body, trying to force its way out. Hours passed, but the doctors' panicked muttering told her that there had been no progress, that she wasn't dilated enough, that they would have to put her under. She had no chance to protest—it was either surgery or death. She was pulled through the muddy waters of anesthesia as they cut her open, sticking a scalpel into her belly, mutilating her. All to free the writhing creature that had held her mother down for the short seven months that she spent within her. Jannali obviously hadn't met Levana at her birth, but by the nurses' mouthes she learned that it was a mercy she didn't have to see the poor thing, small and wretched as she was.

Instead, she slept like the dead through the night, and it wasn't until the next afternoon that the anesthesia wore off. Through the haze of unconsciousness, the room where she had been put to rest came into view agonizingly slowly. Jannali forced her sticky eyelids open. The pristine white made her regret her decision and she turned her flickering gaze to her hand, to the small needle poking out of her skin. Attached to it was a cable that lead to the heart monitor, which bleeped along steadily with every rise of her chest.

Her other hand began to make its way down her torso, memories of the birth flooding back into her mind like a tidal wave. Her cries, the doctors' panic, Marrok's look of pure terror as she was whisked away to the hospital ward. That look had frozen her to the core—because for the first time in her life, she felt fear, true fear, leeching through her blood as they put her down on a pristine bed. She thought that she would die. And she couldn't. Not yet. There was still so much to be done, so much to live for—

Jannali let out a whimper as she pressed down on her flat middle, where she knew a deep suture wound hid beneath a roll of bandage. There wasn't anything to be afraid of now. It was out of her.

She was snapped out of her self-induced pain by the door's sudden opening. It slid back to reveal a tall nurse pacing—quite slowly, it seemed—to Jannali's bedside. The door shut behind him. The queen, for her part, had not requested any medical attention; despite her injuries and drowsiness, she was tempted to send him away with a good slap.

But the nurse's image dissipated and Jannali was met with her husband's face as he came to kneel beside her. He looked defeated; he had dark shadows under his eyes and his hair was unkempt, the way Jannali liked it. He took her hand in his and kissed it, looking up at her with his puppy dog gaze. "Are you alright?" Marrok whispered, his voice hoarse.

Jannali beckoned him forward. He complied, and with a flush to her cheeks, Jannali brought his head down and pressed his lips to hers. "I'll heal soon," she promised. Smiling, she let him go and he sat by her on the mattress. "And then, we'll have plenty of time to ourselves."

The king's face didn't brighten in the slightest, even with Jannali's kisses. "The doctor says she'll live..." He brought their intertwined hands to his forehead. "But she's so...she's so small, Jannali. It's not right."

"What does it matter? She'll live, as you said. We'll be able to deal with her once she can leave the hospital."

Marrok pulled away slightly, as if repulsed by the callousness of her statement. "What do you—"

"She'll need to stay here for a while, won't she?" Jannali barked. "If she's that premature."

"Yes. They tell me it'll be at least three weeks until they can take her out of intensive care."

The queen let out a sigh. "Why are you so concerned?"

"She's our daughter, Jannali. She could have died." His frown deepened. "She still might. And you had to get operated on..." Jannali had never seen her husband so exhausted, or so lost. Marrok buried his head in his hands. "I haven't slept in two days, and I'm not even the one at risk. How are you not sick with worry?"

Jannali smiled. "Don't be so silly; it will take more than a c-section to claim me," she tittered, putting a hand on his cheek. "Everything will be alright."

They kissed again, just in time for another nurse to come wandering with a new bag for the IV drip. His cheeks burning, Marrok stood immediately and slipped into his disguise before she could recognize him. The nurse herself seemed irritated at the intruder whom she had caught kissing her bedridden queen. "Are you here to administer Her Majesty's painkillers?"

Marrok gulped. "I was...I was just finishing with that. I'll be getting out of your way in a moment."

The nurse's glare shot daggers at his back as he pretended to retrieve empty needles and medication bottles; he knew that in her bed, Jannali would be grinning like an idiot. She had always found it hilarious when people would admonish their king unknowingly for their shameless displays of affection. After such a painful and scarring experience, it was her only comedy for the day.

"Forgive me, My Queen, but should I have Dr. Elliot dismiss him? He seems to be bothering you." The nurse put a finger to her lips. "Come to think of it, I've never seen him before."

"He's new," Jannali snapped, "and he's harmless. You needn't worry about something so trivial. Nor should you burden your queen in such a trying time."

The nurse's hard glare softened and she bowed apologetically. "You are absolutely right, My Queen. It is not my place." She came around and removed the needle from Jannali's wrist. The queen cringed slightly as a fresh one was slipped back under her skin. "Does that feel better?"

Jannali's head spun slightly as she was pumped with drugs, and her lips spread into a dopey grin. "Oh, yes. Thank you," she giggled.


By the next week, with several trips to a healing therapist, Jannali had recovered enough that she could limp through the halls when laying down proved to be too confining. It wasn't until then that Jannali requested to see her baby, as sitting around on a gurney was embarrassing beyond words and Jannali refused to have someone push her around. Instead, she had Dr. Elliot and a couple medical assistants follow close behind her as she was guided to the intensive care unit, watching closely should the queen collapse.

"You may view her in here," said Elliot, after a couple more turns down the hallway. They walked in through the sliding door into a crisp white room. "We will be waiting out here and the monitor will be on for the entirety of your visit. Should you need anything at all, someone will be in to assist you immediately, My Queen."

Jannali nodded and leaned against the wall. She was left alone in the room, lulled into a strange sense of peace by the constant thrum of a heart monitor and the running machines. There were no windows and the walls screamed of sterility and lifelessness. A long table was set with five immaculate life-support tanks. Only the last one was occupied; in it, the queen could see the little princess asleep, wrapped in the soft blanket that Marrok had commissioned for her.

It was quite out of place amongst the tubes and monitors that surrounded the tank, and Jannali felt an odd bout of sadness. Marrok hadn't been exaggerating Levana's size; she was barely as big as a watermelon and her skin held a crimson flush that still hadn't faded after a week. Like a newborn kitten, her eyes had not yet opened. She couldn't drink or breathe on her own, therefore making her have tubes run down her throat and through her nose. Marrok had told her that Levana hardly ever cried, not because she didn't have reason to, but because her chest wasn't yet strong enough to hold that much air. She was a curled up little frog that had made the mistake of leaving the pond.

Jannali glanced at the bleeping heart monitor, at the pumps that filled Levana's lungs and kept her heartbeat steady. How easy it would be. Just pull the plug and watch the baby writhe until she fell limp and died. But, she told herself, it would be too easy. Too fast. She wanted to take her time, to cut Levana up and see her insides. Jannali had read somewhere that babies had more bones than adults, and she wanted to see hands-on if this was true. No, there was no fun in ending her painlessly.

"Hello, sweetling," Jannali sighed against the glass. She didn't care much for Marrok's pet name, but she liked the way it could be used to mock, like she would to a prospect. "Do you know who I am?"

The baby continued her labored breathing without interruption—not even a stir.

Jannali smiled. "I'm your mommy. And the man who gave you that blanket is your daddy."

She didn't tell Levana anything about her desire to dissect her, for she knew she was being recorded. It was the only compromise the doctors gave her; she could be alone in the room if she agreed to be monitored on camera. They didn't want their sickly queen to suffer hemorrhages and be without immediate help. Jannali continued to gaze at her newborn daughter, dreaming of all the things she could do, how she was there at last—

Her stare caught on the blanket, and the dread returned with its bitter force. She only then understood that Marrok truly meant it when he said he was worried sick. He truly...he truly loved the girl. He had given her a name, a nursery in his own chambers, his time, his attention. Fury raged in her middle where that damned child should've been. It all swam through her head in a blur of incoherency—the endless nights of Marrok's embrace, touching her belly, loving words whispered into the air that Jannali now realized had not all been for her, but also for the little Princess Levana.

She took a deep, calming breath. It didn't matter what Marrok thought. His love was no match for Jannali's bloodlust. The queen stepped away, her predatory stare still fixed on the sleeping child.

Her pretty little prospect.