“Constable Dubrovsky. Is he the father?”
Channary’s face turned haughty. Reaching out, she grabbed ahold of the half-stitched panel of Levana’s dress and ripped it down, revealing the scar tissue over Levana’s ribs before she could think to glamour it into invisibility. Gasping, Levana drew away, scrambling to hold the material against her. “I have no idea who the father is,” Channary snapped, turning away again. “Don’t you see, Levana? That’s the point.”
* * *
She did not become pregnant, though she went to Evret’s bedchambers nearly every night. He and Winter had been moved into the royal family’s private wing of the palace, but only a week went by before Levana decided it would be safer to retire to her own room after her visits to him. She was afraid of what might happen if he awoke before her one morning and saw her without her glamour, and she was tired of using her gift to drag him into a deep unconsciousness every night.
It was not quite the marriage she’d dreamed of, but she told herself it would get better. It would take time.
She did not come to love Princess Winter, who cried every time Levana held her.
Evret refused to let anyone call him a prince, and even vowed to keep his job as a palace guard, though Levana told him over and over that it wasn’t necessary. He was royalty now; he never had to work again. This only seemed to irritate him, though, so eventually Levana stopped pressing the issue. Let him play guns and soldiers if it made him happy.
Channary grew larger and they learned that the child was not a boy. By that time, though, Channary didn’t seem to care. She glowed in a way that Levana knew pregnant women were meant to, yet she hadn’t imagined her sister would be the same way. She would let anyone touch her exposed belly, even the servants. Encouraged it, even. Would yell if a person didn’t coo and aww and tell her what a beautiful mother she would make and how her daughter would surely grow up to be just like her, by all the lucky stars.
As the months passed, Levana came to feel like there must be some conspiracy against her. Rumors were spreading about any number of women in the court who were having babies. The whole city seemed suddenly full of their crying and howling. When Levana went to see Dr. Eliot for a private appointment to ask if there was something else she could be doing, she even learned that a pair of wedded royal scientists were pregnant—Dr. Darnel and his wife, both specialists on the genetic engineering team. The woman was more than three times Levana’s age.
Dr. Eliot was largely unhelpful. She went on and on about how it could take time, and they would look into further treatment when Levana got a bit older, if they still had not had any success. The woman even had the nerve to tell Levana to relax, to not worry about it so much. It would happen when it was meant to happen.
Levana was tempted to make the infuriating woman jab a scalpel into her own eye.
Her sister. The old doctor. Solstice.
There could be nothing wrong with Evret.
So what was wrong with her?
Her only consolation was that, as a result of Channary’s condition and her exuberant need to be coddled, the queen neglected her royal responsibilities more and more frequently. Days would pass without her showing up at court and Levana was sent to take her place in countless meetings. Though she needled her sister about it time and again, she didn’t truly mind. She was fascinated by their politics and the inner workings of their system. She wanted to know everything, to claim what power she could scavenge, and her sister’s absence gave her the perfect opportunity to do just that.
Then, on the twenty-first day of December in the 109th year of the third era, Queen Channary gave birth to a baby girl. She was officially named Princess Selene Channary Jannali Blackburn of Luna, but everything past Selene was immediately forgotten by everyone but the history texts. The celebrations throughout the city and even the outer sectors were riotous for a week.
The royal bloodline would continue.
The Lunar throne had an heir.
* * *
“I like the silver foliage. Don’t you agree, little sister?”
Levana tore her gaze away from the baby, who was laid out on an embroidered quilt in the center of the room as if this were a common day care and not a royal meeting to discuss the country’s upcoming anniversary celebration. There were a number of designers, florists, decorators, bakers, caterers, and artisans standing against the room’s back wall, each waiting to give their opinions and offer their expertise. It took a moment for Levana to realize her sister was asking about two enormous bouquets, almost identical but for some fuzzy silver leaves tucked into one, as opposed to more vibrant emerald green in the other.
“Silver,” she said. “Yes. It’s very nice.”
“In fact, add more,” said Channary, tapping a finger against her lips. “I want the whole room to sparkle. Is everyone listening?” Her voice rose. “Sparkle. Glitz. I want every surface to shimmer. I want every guest to be bedazzled. I want a reputation of throwing the best galas this city has ever seen. I want them to talk about it for generations. Is that understood?”
Nods of understanding were thrown around, but Channary had already stopped paying attention to them as she scanned the offerings before her. Platters of tiny desserts and cocktails with little ice cubes in them, each cube carved into the shape of the queen’s crown.
“No, no, none of this is good enough.” Channary grabbed a tray of hors d’oeuvres and tossed it against the wall. Everyone flinched. “I said I want it to sparkle—is that so hard to grasp? Are you all blind?”