"Now, should I read you a story?" Marrok asked, ruffling Levana's thin hair.

Naturally, the baby didn't answer. She instead kept on looking around herself, as much as she could with her limited control over her neck. Jannali, her hair falling around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed, finished removing the pounds of jewellery that had held her down all day. She sighed, liberated. "Why are you still bothering? She doesn't care about stories."

"I want to read to her," Marrok shrugged.

"She's a baby. She doesn't get it."

The king stood and placed the storybook on the white shelf. "Whatever you say, dear."

"What's wrong with you? Your pouting is really getting annoying," Jannali sneered. After a moment, she plopped herself down in the rocking chair and folded her hands in her lap. "What did I do this time?"

Marrok shot her a glance. "No. It's...it's nothing. I had a long day at court."

"I really hate it when you lie. Not only is it insulting, but you're horribly bad at it." She scrunched her nose. "You need to work on that."

This was enough to drive him forward out of the nursery, where he had previously forced himself to stand and endure Jannali's silent threats. He really had no energy to fend her off. His heart hammering and his palms sweating, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and slowly sipped it down.

"Are you listening to me?"

Marrok gulped. "Of course I am. I always listen to you."

"I won't kill her."

Marrok froze in his tracks; trembling, he placed his glass back on the coffee table.

Jannali stood, hunching her shoulders bashfully. "I promise I won't. I won't lay a finger on her."

The king forced down the hint of bile that rose in his throat. All his fears from the past few months were confirmed, all at once. So she had been planning to slaughter the child. "That's...that's a relief."

"I know that you're afraid of me, of what I told you before." Jannali took a step closer to the cradle, where the princess stared out and strained to catch a glimpse of her parents. He tried to stamp it down, but Marrok couldn't help the feeling of dread that crept up through his throat. "That's usually why you act like a snivelling brat."

He brushed off the insult, and in response, he made a face. Jannali smiled and bent down into the cradle, lifting Levana into her arms. Swaddled in her blanket, the princess squirmed and let out a loud croon. Jannali sank back down in the rocking chair and began to tip back and forth. "You don't need to worry anymore. " Jannali held onto one of Levana's little hands. "Why would I have ever wanted to kill you, baby girl?"

Levana cooed again. Marrok, apprehensive, came to stand beside her. "What made you change your mind?"

Jannali cocked her head. "She's my daughter—she has as much potential as I once did. She'll be just like me. Don't you agree?"

"You...you want her to be like you?" Marrok's dread began to fade and the ever-familiar excitement crept back into his veins. His heart continued to shudder. Of all the things he wanted to teach his daughter, the fine art of killing people hadn't occurred to him as an option.

But it...it made sense.

As he pondered the idea, Marrok felt his heart swell. From where she sat in the chair, Jannali smiled and gently rubbed her nose against Levana's. There was a look of tender devotion in her eye, instead of the predatorial stare that she gave to all her prospects. And he understood why. Of course Jannali would be excited by this. She would be kept plenty busy, raising a little murderer. Driven by the need to experiment, Levana was to Jannali what an Earthen was to a budding Lunar child learning to hone in their gift.

As for him, Marrok relished in the thought of having something to share with his daughter. He could teach her, be proud of her, be involved in her life. She would recognize him when he talked to her and she would want to spend time with him.

"Don't you agree?" Jannali repeated, nuzzling the back of Levana's neck.

"Absolutely." Marrok held out his arms, and Jannali handed over the baby. Levana continued to babble and grabbed onto his fingers. "Did you hear that, Sweetling? Your mother and I will teach you how to prospect."

Jannali wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. Relief settled into every part of his body. He had been prepared to fight her, to even kill her if the need arose. He knew how far she would have gone to get what she wanted. Marrok felt guilty about it now. He should've known that Jannali would come around. He knew her like the back of his hand—always quick to see what's most advantageous. It was one of the many things he admired in her.

No, not admired. Loved.

He had known it for so long, that he loved her. It had to be love. How else could he explain his desire for her? He couldn't stand to be away from her for any longer than a day. He would go to any lengths to defend her, to please her. His queen, the mother of his child. Jannali would've laughed at him in her cruel mockery if she had ever heard him say it; Marrok knew that she wouldn't understand. The only time that it would ever slip past his lips was when he was lost in her heat, in the touch of her skin, when he lost all rational thought. And it would always be promptly forgotten the next day.

Marrok smiled and held Levana against his chest, so that she could look over his shoulder. Rocking her back and forth, he gently tapped her back. In response, Levana whined and grabbed a fistful of Marrok's red hair. "I think it's time to go to bed, Sweetling. Don't you?"Asked the king, pulling her away from his neck.

Levana opened her mouth to cry again, but Jannali was quick to silence her with her pacifier. The princess squirmed and closed her eyes, sucking rhythmically on the soother. It didn't take long for her to drift off to sleep. Marrok laid her back down in the crib on her stomach; her blanket was also draped over her tiny body.

"Thank you," he sighed, pulling out the sheers surrounding the cradle. They billowed closed like violet clouds.

Jannali held her hands to her chest. "I know how much she means to you, and...you should know that I love her too."

She almost sounded sincere. Marrok shook his head and pulled her into his arms. They kissed, passionately, tenderly, falling onto their bed in a tangle of limbs. By the time they were done, it was pitch black outside, and the scurry of noise from the frantic servants could no longer be heard in the halls. Marrok closed the many curtains and Jannali turned the lights down low. It was nearly haunting. Hand in hand, they settled in the nursery and watched the tiny princess sleep in her crib—after a moment, they broke the silence and began to talk themselves drunk with all the possibilities of Levana.

They began to do this every night, when Jannali allowed herself to sleep with her husband, not held down by their charade (always with the charade). She was now a mistress named Montmorency, and she was the newest darling of the court. Always smiling, ever charming, and an essentially sexual creature. Such a caricature was nothing new to the king, but he always looked forward to when they were alone and he could once again be with Jannali. There, they spoke not of the king's grandeur and gossip of court, but of all the things they would teach their little girl.


The nanny's look of surprise, when he walked into Channary's rooms, amused Marrok. He knew it was an odd sight, the king taking time out of his day to visit his daughter. Jannali—or rather, Montmorency—was off gallivanting with the court ladies, so Marrok committed to checking up on Channary's academic progress. He was disappointed to see that she still couldn't remember the names of all the city-states.

"Tell me something about Elathia," said the king. "Where Sybil lives."

"I don't know who that is," Channary whined. On her chair, she seemed like a rag doll with the way she swung her legs.

"You've met her several times before. She and her mother come to the palace sometimes, remember?"

The crown princess huffed. "I don't care! Can I go?"

"If you don't even know anything about our cities, how do you think you can be a good queen to our people, dear?" Marrok pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I don't even want to be queen. It's really boring."

Marrok forced a smile and leaned back in his seat. "Then perhaps Levana can become queen, when she's older. You can just stay a princess your whole life and waste your time playing."

Channary's face reddened, and he could tell she was on the verge of a tantrum. "No! Levana would be a terrible queen!" The princess kicked her chair again. "All she does is cry and sleep. And she's stupid."

"Not any more stupid than you are, dear." The words slipped out before Marrok could bite them back. He instantly regretted them, especially when Channary let out a cry of rage.

"I'm not stupid! I just don't care about your—"

"That's enough," Marrok snarled. Channary sobbed and wiped her eyes.

"I'm not stupid," she whined again.

"No, you're not. You're just lazy." The king grabbed a textbook off the princess' desk and flipped through it. "Now, tell me again; what do you know about Elathia? You've been there. This shouldn't be hard."

"I don't care," Channary repeated. "I don't know."

Marrok took in a deep breath. It was about time to give up. Channary had no desire to cooperate, and negotiating with her was like speaking sign language through a megaphone—no effect whatsoever. "What have you been doing lately? Your mother says you've been quite disruptive."

"Mother yelled at me the other day." Channary turned her head. "I wasn't listening to Mila because Mila isn't the boss of me. I can play with Levana if I want to."

"If you're playing nicely, surely Mila wouldn't have to—"

"It's wrong to glamour her, Channary! She's just a baby! You could really hurt her!"The princess said in a nasal voice. She crossed her arms over her chest. "That's what she said. She always ruins my fun."

Marrok sat in silence for a moment, letting his rage build and thrum in his ears. "You were glamouring your sister?"

"Are you going to yell at me too?" Channary pouted.

It quickly turned into a yelp, though, as Marrok caught her hand and forced her to stand. Channary began to whimper, but the king drowned it out with his own shouts. "You are NEVER to do that again, do I make myself clear? NEVER!" Marrok roared, squeezing her thin arm. If he had tightened his grip any more, he would've broken it.

Channary screamed, the sound of nails on a chalkboard. She wasn't used to being so roughly handled. "LET GO OF ME!"

For a split second, Marrok thought that one of the guards would burst in and see why the princess was screaming, but when they didn't, he hit Channary upside the head to get her to shut up. This didn't work, of course, and she only cried louder. But everyone knew the king was in there, and they wouldn't dare interrupt. "You know very well that you do not do that to babies." Marrok got down on his knees to Channary's level. He forced her to look at him. "It hurts their brains. It could change the way they grow up. I will not have you doing that to Levana."

Channary sniffed. "Who even cares about Levana?"

"Your mother and I both do."

"So you care about a stupid baby, but you don't care about me?"

Marrok smiled. "Of course we do. Everyone cares about you," he lied.

"You always spend time with her."

"And? Do you want me to spend time with you?"

"No." Channary moved away from him and wiped her nose in the most unladylike manner. "You're mean. I'd rather spend time with Mila," she spat, as if this was supposed to be an insult.

"Well. Don't complain that we never spend time with you, then."

Channary began to scurry away, but Marrok grabbed onto her sleeve. "I want to go play, Father."

"You know I'm serious, Channary. If you hurt Levana again, you're in for a serious consequence."

"I know." Channary evaded his grasp. "I promise. I won't do it again."