Fairest

The seamstress spooled out some more thread, kneeling by Levana’s ankles. The woman wisely kept her eyes diverted and pretended not to be listening.

“Then you would have nothing to bargain with, so why bother?” Lifting her head, Levana forced a smile. “Besides, I have brought you a replacement princess to be wed off to whoever it pleases you. You’ll just have to wait another sixteen years.”

“Another princess?” Channary guffawed. “You mean that child? The baby of a guard and a seamstress? You think any one of the families will want her?”

“Of course. She is my child now, which means she is a princess, as sure as if I gave birth to her myself. By the time she’s old enough, no one will even remember she had another mother, or that Evret had another wife.”

“I suppose that’s been your ingenious plan all along.”

Staring at the wall, Levana said nothing.

“Have you even thought what you’re going to do with the little brat?”

“What do you mean, what I’m going to do with her?”

“You don’t actually intend to … raise her, I hope.”

Dragging her gaze away from the wall, Levana peered down her nose toward her sister. “She will be raised as royalty. As we were.”

“With nannies and tutors, ignored by her parents?”

“With everything she could possibly want. Every luxury, every toy. Besides.” She lifted her hands to the side as the seamstress reached the seam beneath her underarm. “Evret loves her very much, as do I.”

It was a lie, and she knew it was a lie. But she also felt that someday it could be true. The girl was her daughter now, after all, and she was a part of Evret, so how could Levana not love her?

Mostly, though, she said it just to watch the annoyance slip over her sister’s face.

The seamstress finished the seam and Levana lowered her hands again, letting her fingers trail over the fine embroidery of the bodice. She felt peculiarly happy today, after spending her second night in a row curled against Evret’s body. She was a wife, now. Though her dress did not bare half as much skin as her sister’s, she felt much more the woman. She had what her sister did not have. A family. Someone to love her.

“I hope,” Levana continued, more to herself now, “that little Princess Winter will soon have a brother or sister too.”

Channary wheeled toward her. “You’re already pregnant?”

“Not yet, no. But I don’t see why it would take long.”

She had been thinking about it a great deal, actually, often returning to the glamour of Solstice’s pregnant belly when she was alone, running her fingers over the taut flesh. She had not really considered wanting a child until she had watched Evret holding his baby girl, seen the softness in his gaze. That was something she could give him too. Something that she could share with Solstice … no, Levana’s child would be better than Solstice’s, because hers would have royal blood.

Frowning, Channary crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “That will be one good thing to come out of this, then. When you have a child that is actually your own, then we’ll discuss who best to marry them off to.”

“How I do look forward to those conversations, sister.”

“In the meantime,” said Channary, “I am at least doing my duty to further our bloodline without tainting it with disgraceful marriages.”

“What does that mean?”

Channary flipped her hair off her shoulder. “Little Princess Winter,” she said mockingly, “will soon have a baby cousin.”

Levana’s jaw fell. Shoving the seamstress away, she gathered up her full skirt and stepped down from the pedestal. “You?” She glanced at Channary’s belly, but it was as flat as ever. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll be seeing Dr. Eliot this afternoon.” Glaring, she turned and headed back for the dressing room’s doorway. “I hope it’s a boy. I am so sick of stupid princesses.”

“Wait—Channary!” She started to chase after her, a thousand questions in her head, but stopped when her sister wheeled back to face her, face drawn in agitation. “Whose is it? The Constable’s?”

Channary scowled. “Now what are you talking about?”

“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?”

No one pointed out that she had not told them this before. But of course, they should have known before coming to this meeting. Naturally.

Levana shook her head behind her sister’s back.

The baby started crying.

Wheeling around, Channary tossed her arm toward Levana. “Take the child.”

Levana blinked. “Me? Why me? Where’s her nanny?”

“Oh, for star’s sake, she only wants to be held.” Channary started to cough. She turned hastily away, coughing into her elbow, as ladylike as she could. It seemed to Levana that she’d been coughing a lot lately—for weeks, if not months—and though Channary insisted it was only a temporary virus, it seemed to go on and on.

A servant rushed forward with a glass of water, but Channary grabbed it and threw it at the wall, too. Glass shattered across the stone as Channary stomped out of the room, still coughing.

The baby’s screams grew more fervent. Levana approached her, hesitant.

Someone clapped. “Let’s adjourn for today,” said one of the event planners, ushering away the artisans. “Come back tomorrow with … your improved work.”

Levana stood over the child for one dread-filled moment, watching at how her face reddened and pinched, at how her chubby arms writhed against the blanket. Her tufts of dark brown hair wisped in every direction.

Though the child was seven months old and hinting every day that she was about to start crawling, Levana could still count the times she’d held her niece on one hand. There was always someone else there to take the baby, and just like with Winter, this child did not seem to be warming up to her at all.

Huffing, she squared her shoulders and crouched down, scooping up the baby as gently as she could. Standing, she nestled the child in the crook of her arm and did her best to coo comforting words at her, but the crying went on and on, little fists thumping the air, beating against Levana’s chest.

With an annoyed sigh, Levana paced back and forth through the room, before stepping out onto the balcony that overlooked Artemisia Lake. She could see members of the court milling about the lush palace gardens, a few of the aristocrats out in boats upon the lake’s surface. In the sky, the Earth was nearly full. Huge and blue and white and stunning amid the starscape.

Once, she had persuaded Evret to go out on a boat with her, but he’d spent the whole time wishing he was back home with Winter, going on and on about how quickly she was growing, and speculating on what her first word might be.

That seemed like a long time ago.

In fact, it had been a long time since they’d done much of anything together.

Bouncing little Selene as gently as she could, Levana examined the face of her future queen. She wondered if this child would grow up to be as spoiled and ignorant as her mother, who cared more about the flower arrangements than political policy.

“I would be a better queen than your mother,” she whispered. “I would be a better queen than you.”

The baby continued to wail, spoiled and stupid.

There was no point thinking it, anyway. Channary was queen. Selene was the heir. Levana was just the princess, with a guard for a husband and a daughter without royal blood.

“I could drop you over this balcony, you know,” she said, cooing the words softly. “You couldn’t do anything about it.”

The baby did not respond to the threat.

“I could force you to stop crying. Would you like that?”

It was a tempting thought, one that Levana barely managed to withstand. They were not supposed to manipulate young children, as studies suggested that too much tampering when they were so tiny and impressionable could disrupt the way their brains formed.

Levana was beginning to wonder how much damage just one little moment of silence could do … when she heard her sister’s heels clapping across the meeting room’s floor.

Turning, she saw that Channary was attempting to hide just how horrible a coughing attack it had been, storming back with a stick-straight spine and blazing eyes, her brown hair swinging against her shoulders. But her face was blotchy and a thin layer of sweat still clung to her upper lip.

She took the baby out of Levana’s arms without preempt, without even a thank-you.

“Are you all right?” asked Levana. “You’re not dying, are you?”

Shooting a glare at her, Channary turned away without taking even a moment to admire the view. As she paced back into the room, the child’s crying began to subside, her pudgy fingers pawing at her mother’s face.

It occurred to Levana that maybe babies weren’t affected by glamours, and they all hated her because they could see what she was underneath.

“You’ve had that cough for a long time. Maybe you should see Dr. Eliot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the queen,” Channary said, as if this alone would protect her from illness. “Though, speaking of doctors, have you heard about that couple in bioengineering?” She grabbed a bottle from a satchel and fit it into the child’s mouth. Levana was amazed every time she witnessed this motherly affection from her sister—a girl she had only ever known as cruel and selfish. Surely their mother never fed them. She wondered what possessed Channary to do it, when they had so many servants on hand.

“What doctors?”

“The ones that had the baby. Darnel, I think … the man is … heavens. Ancient. Sixty, maybe?”

Levana clenched her teeth. “I had heard they were expecting, yes.”

“Well—they are finished expecting. The baby was a shell.”

Eyes widening, Levana clasped a hand over her mouth. Pretending horror, but mostly to hide the bout of glee that threatened to spill out. “A shell?”

“Mm. A girl, I think. That thaumaturge went to collect her yesterday, for…” Channary sighed, like it was too exhausting to remember all these pesky details. “Whatever those scientists are using the shells for.”

“Blood platelets. For an antidote to the disease.”

“Yes, that’s right. How can you remember all this?”

Frowning, Levana glanced down at the baby, who was now in a satiated stupor as she sucked on the bottle’s nipple. She turned back to the view of Earth, of the lake, of all the happy couples.

“A shell,” she murmured. “How embarrassing.”

“I’ve noticed that you’re not getting any larger,” said Channary, pacing out to join her on the balcony. “Unless your glamour is hiding it from us.”

Setting her jaw, Levana didn’t respond.

“Tell me, how is wedded bliss these days? It’s been a while since I heard you wax on and on about how much you love your husband. I rather miss those days.”

“We are fine, thank you,” said Levana. Quickly realizing how very un-fine that sounded, she added, “I still love him very much. We’re quite happy together.”

Snorting, Channary leaned back against the rail. “Lies, lies. Though I can never tell whether you’re lying to me or to yourself.”

“I am not lying. He is everything I have ever wanted.”

“How quaint. I really thought you would have set your sights a little … higher.”

Channary’s attention drifted upward, to the blue-and-white orb hanging in the sky.

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, I’ve been thinking more about Earthen politics, lately. Rather against my will, I admit. It’s impossible not to when all the families go on and on about this biological warfare they’re planning. It’s exhausting.”

“You are a model of patience,” Levana deadpanned.

“Well, I’ve been seeing pictures of the royal family from the Eastern Commonwealth and … I’m rather intrigued.” She tried to take the child’s bottle away, but baby Selene whimpered and reached for it, pulling it back into her mouth.

“The royal family? Isn’t the prince only a child?”

“A toddler, yes.” Channary bent over her daughter, nestling the tufts of hair with her nose. “At first I thought, why, he might be a perfect little match for my perfect little girl.” She lifted her gaze again. “But then I thought—why, I suppose I could marry too. And the emperor is quite handsome. Broad-shouldered. Always smartly dressed, though a little bland—Earthens, you know.”

“Unfortunately, I do believe he is already married.”

Channary snorted, and baby Selene finally released the bottle, finished. “Always the pessimist, baby sister. Perhaps he won’t always be married.” Shrugging, she lifted the baby over her shoulder to burp her, even though she had nothing to protect her fine gown. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I’m certainly not planning any assassination attempts yet, but … well. I’ve heard Earth is nice this time of year.”

“I think it is nice every time of year, depending on the hemisphere.”

Channary quirked an eyebrow. “What is a hemisphere?”

Sighing, Levana shook her head. “Never mind. That baby is going to spit up all over your dress, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sick of this one. I’m sick of all of them, actually. Nothing in my whole wardrobe fits anymore, and I know it will just get worse if I end up pregnant again. It will be a full-time job for my seamstress. I’ve been thinking I might have her feet removed, so that she has nothing better to do.” Her eyes sparkled, like it was a joke.

But Levana had seen that sparkle before. She was not so sure that Channary was joking.

* * *

Queen Channary Blackburn of Luna did not have a chance to see to an assassination on the Earthen empress. She did not marry Emperor Rikan or see her child grow up to marry a prince.

Five months after their conversation, she did indeed have her seamstress’s feet surgically removed, and the seamstress had not even recovered enough to get back to work before it was all for naught.

At the age of twenty-five, Queen Channary died from regolith poisoning in her lungs.

It was a disease that commonly afflicted those in the outer sectors, due to a lifetime spent breathing in the dust from Luna’s caverns, but it was so unheard of among the aristocrats—and certainly among the royal family—that doctors had never even considered it a possibility, even when Channary broke down and talked to Dr. Eliot about her persistent cough.

The mystery was never solved, but Levana had a theory that her sister had been sneaking away to the regolith caves under the city for some of her romantic rendezvous.

The funeral was similar to that of their parents, and Levana’s feelings were rather the same.

Princess Winter and Princess Selene attended, dressed in royal garb as befit their stature. Selene, now one year old, received kisses from a lot of strangers, but between the two, it was Winter who received the most compliments. She was indeed a very pretty child, and Evret was right—she was taking more after her mother every day.

Evret offered to work, guarding the queen’s casket as it was carried through the streets on its way to be buried in a crater outside of the domes. Levana asked him not to. She’d hoped he would agree to stand by her side. To be her husband. But it didn’t work. To him, duty came first.

The little boy who belonged to Sir Clay was there too, almost four years old now and pale blond as ever. He tried to teach the wobbly-footed girls how to play hide-and-seek among the pews, but they were still too young to understand.

Levana pretended to cry. She was assigned the role of queen regent until her niece’s thirteenth birthday, at which time Selene would take her throne.

Twelve years.

Levana would be queen for twelve years.

She tried very, very hard not to smile until the funeral was over.

* * *

“Head Thaumaturge Haddon is retiring at the end of this month,” said Venerable Annotel, keeping pace beside Levana as they made their way to the court meeting. “Have you considered who you might nominate for his replacement?”

“I’ve been thinking I would recommend Sybil Mira.”

Annotel glanced sideways at her. “An interesting choice. Awfully young … The families thought you might be thinking of Thaumaturge Par—”

“Sybil has thus far excelled at the responsibilities given to her regarding gathering shell children.”

“Oh, no doubt. She is very capable. But her inexperience—”

“And I believe that she earned a second-tier rank at only nineteen years old. The youngest in history. Isn’t that true?”

“I … am not honestly sure.”

“Well. I appreciate her ambition. She is motivated, and I like that. She reminds me of myself.”

Annotel pursed his lips. He would be stuck now that Levana had made the comparison. “I am sure she is a wise choice,” he said. “If this is your final decision, I think the families will approve.”

“We will see. I have a month still to consider.” She smiled, but then she spotted Evret down the hall. He was one of the guards waiting outside the conference room. Seeing him, she felt herself deflate. No matter how confident she became in her role of queen regent, every time her eyes fell on her husband, she felt like that same love-struck sixteen-year-old girl all over again.

She hoped to pass a smile his way, but Evret did not look at her as he and his comrade pulled open the doors.

Wetting her lips, Levana stepped inside.

As the doors shut, the family representatives stood. Levana approached the dais where the throne stood.

The queen’s throne.

This room was among her favorites in the palace, and her appreciation for it had increased drastically the moment she’d first taken her seat in that magnificent chair. The room glinted and shimmered, all glass and white stone. From her position, she could see all of the members of the court seated around the intricately tiled floor, and directly opposite her was the magnificent view of Lake Artemisia and the white city.

Sitting there, Levana truly felt like the ruler of Luna.

“Be seated.”

Chairs were still shuffling as she straightened her spine and gestured leisurely at Head Thaumaturge Haddon. “You may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. I am pleased to report that your experiment regarding strict work hours in the outer sectors is going well.”

“Oh?” Levana was not surprised, but she pretended that she was. She had read a study from Earth a few months ago about how efficiency and productivity dropped without regularly scheduled breaks. She suggested that they program chimes to sound at regular intervals in the manufacturing domes, to remind workers when to take mandatory breaks, and then extend the workday to cover that lost time. The court had not been sold on the strategy at first, worried that it would be too difficult to enforce such a drastic increase in the workday, and that there were already complaints of the people being overworked in the outer sectors. But Levana insisted that, with this new schedule, the days would in fact go faster, and the solution would benefit everyone, the workers most of all.

“Productivity is up eight percent in the three sectors where we implemented the change,” Haddon continued, “with no apparent loss of quality.”

“I am pleased to hear it.”

Haddon read through the reports, feeding her the numbers on the successful increase of trade between sectors, and telling her how delighted the Artemisian families were with the new artisanal delights Levana had commissioned for their city. What’s more, the research teams were making good progress with both the genetically engineered army and the biochemical disease, and reported that it might be ready to unleash on Earth within the next eighteen months.

No one came out and said it, but Levana could tell that the court was pleased with how she had stepped up to fill her sister’s role, and far outdone the example that Channary, and even their parents, had set. She was the queen Luna had been waiting for, and since she had taken power, the city was thriving, the outer sectors were flourishing, everything was exactly as Levana knew it should be.

“We are planning to roll out the labor program throughout the rest of the general manufacturing sectors in the coming months,” Haddon continued. “I will give regular updates as we progress. That said, I’m afraid we have noticed some … potential drawbacks.”

Levana listed her head to one side. “And those would be?”

“With such frequent breaks during the workdays, the civilians are given more chances for socializing, and we’ve noticed that these interactions are continuing even after the workday has ended.”

“And this is a problem?”

“Well … perhaps not, Your Highness.”

Annotel spoke up. “In the past, there has been concern of civil unrest when the people spend too much time being idle and … having ideas.”

Levana laughed. “Unrest? What reason would my people have to be unhappy?”

“None, of course, Your Highness,” said Haddon. “But I wonder if we have yet fully recovered from the murders on your parents. It is only that there will always be a few … bad seeds, in the outer sectors. We would hate to give them too much time to infect the others.”

Levana folded her hands in her lap. “While I cannot imagine the people deciding they’re unhappy with our rule, I concede to your point. Why don’t we implement a mandatory curfew after work hours? Give people time to go home, and let them stay there. That’s the time to be with their families, anyway.”

“Do we have the manpower to enforce that?” one of the nobles asked.

“Unlikely,” said Haddon. “As a guess, we would need a forty percent increase in sector guards.”

“Well then, hire more guards.”

Looks were traded across the throne room, though no one argued the simplicity of this solution.

“Of course, My Queen. We will see that it is done.”

“Good. You said there was another problem as well?”

“Not an immediate problem, but all of our projection reports show that this amount of production isn’t sustainable in the long term. If we continue at these rates, we’ll drain our resources. The available terra-formed land we have is already working at near-maximum capacity.”

“Resources,” Levana drawled. “You’re telling me that we cannot continue to grow our economy because we are living on a rock.”

“It is disheartening, but it is the truth. The only way to continue with this output is if we reopen trade agreements with Earth.”

“Earth will not trade with us. Don’t you understand that this is the entire point of developing the disease and antidote that we discuss at every meeting? Until we have that, then we have nothing to offer the Earthens that they do not already have.”

“We have land, Your Highness.”

Levana bristled. Though Haddon’s voice didn’t waver, she could see the hesitation in his eyes. With good reason.

“Land,” she repeated.

“All of the sectors together still take up only a fraction of Luna’s total surface. There is plenty of low-gravity real estate that could be quite valuable to Earthens. They could build spaceports that would require less fuel and energy to conduct their travel and exploration. That is what we could offer them. The same arrangement that the Lunar colony was first formed on.”

“Absolutely not. I will not return us to the political strength of a colony. I will not be dependent on the Earthen Union.”

“Your Highness—”

“The discussion is over. When you have another suggestion for how we can get around our dilemma of taxed resources, I will be open to hearing it. What next?”

The meeting continued amiably enough, but there was a tension in the court that never fully dissolved. Levana tried to ignore it.

She was the queen Luna had been waiting for. She would solve this problem too—for her people, for her country, for her throne.

* * *

“I’m telling you, I’m good at this,” said Levana, pacing giddily around the bedroom.

“I’m sure you are,” said Evret, laughing as Winter brought him a pair of Levana’s shoes from the closet. “Thank you, darling,” he said, setting the shoes aside. Winter gleefully darted back toward the closet. Looking up, Evret beamed. “This is the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time.”

It was the happiest Levana had felt in a long time. “I’ve never been good at anything,” she said. “Channary was the better dancer, the better singer, better at manipulation, better at everything. But ha! I am a better queen, and everyone knows it.”

Evret’s smile became hesitant, and she knew he was uncomfortable speaking ill of the dead, but Levana didn’t care. It had been almost a year since Channary’s death, and she’d felt like even a day of mourning was too much. She suspected that the poor seamstress who would never walk again would agree with her.

Winter scurried by, handing her father another pair of shoes. He patted her head, where her hair had grown into wild curls that haloed her round face. “Thank you.”

She skipped away again.

“And the people. I think they’re really starting to love me.”

“Love you?”

Levana stopped pacing, caught off guard by the mocking in his tone.

Evret’s smile quickly fell, as if he had caught the derision too late. “Sweetheart,” he said, a name that he’d started using for her not long into their marriage. It simultaneously served to make her heart patter, and to make her question if he called her this so that he wouldn’t accidentally call her Solstice. “You are no doubt a good queen, and doing great things for Artemisia. But the people don’t know you. Have you even been to the outer sectors?”

“Of course I haven’t. I’m the queen. I have people who go out there and report back.”

“You’re the queen regent,” he corrected. Levana flinched—she was coming to despise the word regent. “And while I’m sure that the reports you get are very accurate, it still wouldn’t allow for the people to get to know you, their ruler. They can’t love a stranger. Thank you, Winter. And besides, whenever you do your news broadcasts, you always…”

She narrowed her eyes, waiting.

“It’s just … you never show your face, when they record you. Rumors are starting, you know. People think you’re hiding something. And love begins with trust, and trust can’t be formed if people think you’re hiding something.”

“Glamours don’t work through video. You know that. Everyone knows that.”

“Then don’t show them your glamour.” He gestured at her face. “Why not just be yourself? They’ll admire you for it.”

“How would you know? You’ve never seen me!”

He was momentarily taken aback, his dark eyes blinking up at her. Winter, too, stopped in the doorway, carrying yet another pair of glittering shoes.

Evret stood and cleared his throat. “You’re right, but whose fault is that?”

“Papa?” said Winter, cocking her head. “Why is Mother yelling?”

Levana rolled her eyes. This was how it had been since the day Winter started speaking. She addressed her father only. Levana was just the bystander, a mother in title only.

“No reason, darling. Why don’t you go play with your dolls?” Nudging Winter toward the playroom, Evret poured himself a drink from a small tray on the side table. “You do realize that you have been my wife now for more than three years,” he said, watching the amber liquid splash over the ice cubes. “I have not fought you. I have not left. But I’m beginning to wonder if this will ever become a real marriage, or if you plan on living this lie until one of us is dead.”

Levana’s diaphragm quivered unexpectedly, warning her that she might cry, telling her that his words hurt more than she admitted on the surface.

“You think our marriage is a lie?”

“As you just said—even I have never seen what you really look like.”

“And that’s what’s important to you? That I be beautiful, like she was.”

“Stars above, Levana.” He pressed the glass onto the table without taking a drink. “You’re the one who impersonates her. You’re the one who hides. I’ve never wanted that. What exactly are you afraid of?”

“That you would never look at me again! Trust me, Evret. You would never see me the same way.”

“You think I’m that shallow? That I care at all what you look like under your glamour?”

She turned away. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I think I do. I know—there are scars, burns of some sort. I’ve heard the rumors.”

Levana grimaced.

“And I know your sister said you were ugly from the time you were a baby, and I can only imagine the kind of damage that does to a person. But … Levana…” Sighing, Evret came up behind her, settling his warm hands on her shoulders. “I had a wife once that I could talk to about anything. That I trusted implicitly. I think, if you and I are going to make this work, we need to at least try to have that too. But that will never happen if you’re always going to hide from me.”

“That will never happen,” Levana hissed, “if you constantly insist on comparing me with her.”

He turned her around to face him. “You compare yourself with her.” He cupped her face. “Let me see you. Let me judge for myself what I can or can’t handle.” He gestured to the window. “Let the people judge for themselves.”

Levana gulped, afraid to realize that she was considering it.

Was it true, that he could never know her, trust her, love her, so long as she hid behind this glamour of beauty and perfection?

“No, I can’t do it,” she whispered, pulling herself out of his grip. His face fell, and a moment later his hands did too. “Maybe you’re right about the people. No—you are right. I’ll plan a tour through the outer sectors. I’ll let them see me.”

“Your glamour, you mean.”

She grated her teeth. “Me. This is all that matters, so please, don’t ask me again.”

Shaking his head, he returned for his drink.

“Trust me,” Levana said emphatically, even as her vision blurred. “It’s better this way. I’m better this way.”

“That’s the problem,” he said, unable to look at her as he took a sip. “I don’t trust you. I don’t even know how to start.”

* * *

The idea came to her slowly. At first, it was merely a horrible, guilty fantasy. That there was no Selene. That Channary had died, alone and childless. That Levana was already the true queen.

Then one day, as she was watching Winter and Selene playing with blocks on the floor of their nursery, babbling in a language only they understood, Levana had a fantasy of Selene dying.

Putting one of those blocks in her mouth and choking on it.

Slipping in the bathtub, and her nanny being too distracted to notice.

Tripping on her own uncertain feet and tumbling down the hard palace steps.

The daydreams disgusted her at first—all over an innocent child, with big brown eyes and messy brown hair too frequently left uncombed—but she told herself they were just that, daydreams. There was no harm in imagining some innocent mistake that would lead to the baby dying, and the country mourning, and Levana being crowned the queen, now and forever.

Over time, the fantasies became more violent.

In a frustrated fit, her nanny would throw Selene off the balcony.

Or, rather than tripping over her own feet, some jealous child from the aristocracy would push her down the stairs.

Or a disillusioned shell would sneak into the palace and stab her sixteen times in the chest.

Even as Levana became afraid to think that these were her own thoughts, she could hear herself justifying them.

She was a great queen. Luna was better off with her, not some ignorant child who would be a spoiled, self-absorbed brat by the time she took her throne.

The transition when Selene turned thirteen would be difficult and confusing for the people. It could take years for them to get on track again.

Channary had been a terrible ruler. No doubt her daughter would be the same.

No one would love this country like Levana did. No one.

She deserved to be the queen.

Because she had never truly hated the child, she believed she was being practical in her rationalization. Her thoughts didn’t come from envy or resentment. This was about the good of Luna. The betterment of everyone around her.

Months ticked by, and she found herself inspecting the few moments she spent with her niece for weaknesses. Wondering how she would do it, if the opportunity came. Wondering if she could get away with it.

Levana didn’t realize she was making a plan until the plan was already half formed.

It was the right thing to do. The only choice a concerned queen could make.

It was a sacrifice and a burden that she couldn’t hand to anyone else.

She chose a day, almost without realizing she had chosen it.

The opportunity presented itself so clearly. Her imagination sparked. It was as though some unseen ghost was whispering the suggestion into her ear, coaxing her to take advantage of this chance that might not come again.

Winter had an appointment with Dr. Eliot that day. Levana would ensure that she was the one who would get Winter from the nursery. She would send Evret on some other task. The nanny would be there. Supposedly there was a new nanny, one that people didn’t know well yet, one that may not be entirely trustworthy. Levana would coerce her, making sure it seemed like an accident. She would …

Would what?

This was the part that Levana could not figure out.

How did you kill a child?

There were so many possibilities, but every one of them made her feel like a monster for even considering it. At first she tried to think how best to make sure the child didn’t suffer. She didn’t want to cause her pain; she only wanted her dead. Something that would be over quickly.

Then, on Selene’s third birthday, they decided to host a party. Something intimate. It had been Evret’s idea, and Levana was so delighted to see him wanting to plan something, as a family, that she didn’t argue. It was only the two of them, and little Winter, of course, and the Clay family, as always. All gathered together in the palace nursery, drinking wine and laughing like normal people, like there was nothing strange about this mingling of royalty and guards. The children played, and Garrison’s wife gave Selene a stuffed doll that she’d made, and the palace pastry chef brought up a little cake shaped like a crown. In each of the cake’s tines was a tiny silver candle.

Evret tried to show Selene how to blow out the candles, while wax dripped into the frosting. Winter, too, wanted to take part in the celebration, and baby spittle was left all over the pretty cake before young Jacin Clay got annoyed and blew out the candles himself. They all laughed and clapped, and Levana stared at the black smoke curling upward and knew how she was going to do it.

She would do to the child what Channary had done to her.

Come here, baby sister. I want to show you something.

Only, unlike Channary, she would be merciful. She would not force the child to then go on living.

* * *

She stood in the doorway to the nursery, listening to the girls giggling in their playhouse. They had covered the top with blankets from Evret’s bed for added privacy. From here, Levana could see intricate apple blossoms embroidered around the edges of one of the blankets, and it surprised her to think that, no matter how many times she had slipped into Evret’s bed, she had never noticed those designs. The blanket was not something commissioned for the palace, which meant that Evret had brought it from his previous marriage, and had kept this secret part of Solstice hidden these past years.

Realizing that she was fidgeting with her black wedding band, Levana let her hands fall to her sides.

Inside the playhouse, Winter said something about being princesses in the tower, but then it all dissolved into childish nonsense and laughter that Levana couldn’t follow.

It would be over after today, and that knowledge was a relief. She could stop thinking about the princess that would one day grow up and take everything from her. She could stop being haunted by the ghost of her sister and the legacy she’d left behind.

After today, all of Luna would be hers.

It had occurred to her that she could choose not to take Winter away after all, and to let the fire claim them both. Then all of Evret would be hers too. But then she thought of what a hollowed-out shell of a man Evret had been in the months following his wife’s death, and she couldn’t stand to watch that again.

“Oh, pardon me. Are you—”

Levana turned and the girl drew back with a gasp, before falling into a hasty curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t recognize you.”

The girl was no great beauty, with limp hair and a nose too large for her face. But there was a delicateness to her that Levana thought could appeal to some, and a grace in her curtsy that befit someone who had been hired to raise their next queen.

“You must be the new nanny,” said Levana.

“Y-yes, My Queen. It is a great honor to be in your presence.”

“I am not the queen,” said Levana, tasting her own bitterness. “I am merely keeping watch over the throne until my niece is older.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I … I meant no disrespect. Your … Highness.”

The giggling had stopped. When Levana glanced toward the playhouse, she saw that the girls had pulled back the blankets and were watching with curious eyes and open mouths.

“Winter is being seen by Dr. Eliot today,” said Levana. “I’ve come to take her.”

The nanny stayed in her curtsy, uncertain if she was allowed to rise and look upon Levana or not. It was obvious from the stretched-thin silence that she wanted to ask why the queen would bother when it was within the nanny’s own duties to make sure the girls made their appointments, or why the doctor didn’t come see the princess here in the nursery. But she didn’t argue. Of course she didn’t.

“Winter, come along,” Levana called. The blanket fell again, hiding the princesses. “You have an appointment with Dr. Eliot. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

“Shall I expect the princess’s return this afternoon, Your Highness?” asked the nanny.

Levana’s gut tightened. “No. I will take her back to our private quarters after the appointment.” She watched as Winter climbed down the ladder, graceful in the way that only a four-year-old child could be, even with her chubby legs and a very full skirt. Her hair bounced as she dropped to the floor.

The blanket shifted again. Selene, peering out from the gap.

Levana met her stare, and she could sense the distrust from the child, the instinctual dislike. Jaw tightening, she sucked in a quick breath.

“I have a job for you.”

The nanny, growing uncomfortable, rose from the curtsy. “For me, Your Highness?”

“Do you have a family? Any children of your own?”

“Oh. No, Your Highness.”

“A husband, or a lover?”

The girl flushed. She was probably no more than fifteen herself, but that meant so little in Artemisia.

“No. I am not married, Your Highness.”

Levana nodded. Selene had no family, and neither did this girl—none that needed her, at least. It was perfect.

It was meant to be.

A hand slipped into Levana’s, making her jump.

“I’m ready to go, Mother,” said Winter.

Pulse thrumming, Levana yanked her hand away. “Go wait in the corridor. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Crestfallen, Winter turned and waved at Selene. A tiny hand snaked out from beneath the blanket and waved back, before Winter floated out of the nursery.

Now. She would do it now.

After today, it would all be over.

Levana pressed her hands against her skirt, wicking off her damp palms. “Go into the playhouse,” she said, almost like she was speaking to herself. “Go be with the princess. It is almost time for her nap.” She spoke slowly, impressing the idea into the nanny’s mind. Reaching into a hidden pocket, she produced a candle, already half burned. “It will be dark under that blanket, so you will want this candle to see by. Set it out of the way so the princess doesn’t accidentally burn herself. Near the edge of the playhouse. Under that blanket … the one with the apple blossoms. You will stay with the girl until you both fall asleep. You are already tired. It will not take long.”

The nanny tilted her head to one side, like listening to a song that she couldn’t quite place.

Producing a tiny book of matches, Levana let the nanny hold the candle while she lit it. Her hands trembled with the spark of the match, fear of the flame tensing every muscle. By the time the wick took light, she could feel the flame creeping up the little match, threatening to singe her fingers.

Levana hastily shook it out, breathing easier the second the flame was extinguished. She dropped the smoldering match into the nanny’s apron pocket. The girl said nothing.

“Go now. The princess is waiting.”

Empty eyed, the nanny turned and wandered toward the little playhouse, carrying the lit candle aloft. Selene was peering out again. Confused and curious.

Licking her lips, Levana forced herself to turn away. In the corridor, she grabbed Winter’s hand without a word and tugged her toward the doctor’s office. Her heart was pummeling against the inside of her chest.

She had done it. She had done what she needed to do.

Now she had only to wait.

* * *

It was more than an hour before Levana heard the first stirrings within the palace. Though her nerves were throbbing the entire time since she’d left the nursery, it had already begun to feel like a dream. Just another one of her fantasies, resulting in disappointment. While Dr. Eliot checked that Winter was as healthy as any child had ever been, Levana paced around the waiting room. The doctor’s office was in the palace, a satellite office from the one she kept at the med-center on the other side of the city, so that she could be on call at the slightest sign of a cough or fever from the royal family.

Realizing that she was still holding the little book of matches, Levana checked that no one was around and dropped them into a trash bin, then wiped her hands on an upholstered chair as if the evidence might show itself in ashen traces on her fingertips.

“Doctor!”

Levana jumped, spinning toward the office’s open doorway. In the other room, Dr. Eliot’s voice went quiet, and then she appeared holding a vitals scanner in one hand. Behind her, Winter was sitting on a papered table, swinging her stockinged feet against the side.

A servant appeared, face red and panting for breath.

“Doctor! Come quick!”

“I beg your pardon, but I am with Her Highness and—”

“No—it’s the nursery! Princess Selene!” The servant’s voice pitched so high it cracked.

A chill rolled across Levana’s skin, but she managed to maintain her baffled expression.

“Whatever could be—”

“There was a fire. Please, you have to come. There’s no time to lose!”

Dr. Eliot hesitated, glancing at Levana, then back at Winter.

Gulping, Levana took a step forward. “Well, of course, you must go. If our future queen is in danger, you must see to her at once.”

It was all the prompting the doctor needed. As she scooped up a medical bag, Levana turned to the servant. “What’s happened? What about a fire?”

“We’re not sure, Your Highness. They were in the playhouse and it caught fire … we think they must have been sleeping…”

“They?”

“The princess and her nanny.” Gaze alighting on Winter, the servant suddenly started to sob. “Thank the stars Princess Winter wasn’t there too. It’s awful. Awful!”

It took only a few seconds for Levana to become annoyed with the servant’s wails.

Winter hopped down from the table and went to put on her shoes, but Levana grabbed her wrist and dragged her after the doctor. “Not now, Winter. We’ll come back for them.”

The doctor ran. Levana wanted to. Her curiosity was agony, all her fantasies accumulating in that breathless moment. But she didn’t want to carry Winter, and princesses did not run.

Future queens did not run.

She was still gripping Winter’s hand when she smelled the smoke. Heard the screams. Felt the pounding of footsteps reverberating through the floors.

A crowd had gathered by the time they arrived. Servants and guards and thaumaturges filling up the corridor.

“WINTER!” It was Evret, his face made of relief when he spotted his child. Shoving his way through the crowd, he stooped to lift Winter into his arms, squeezing her against him. “I didn’t know where you were … I didn’t know…”

“What’s happened?” said Levana, trying to push her way into the nursery.

“No, don’t look. Don’t go in there. It’s horrible.”

“I want to see, Papa.”

“No, you don’t, darling. No, you don’t. Sweetheart—”

Levana bristled. Never did he call her that when they were in public, always hiding their relationship behind closed doors for fear of impropriety. He must have been truly shaken. He tried to grab her wrist, but she ripped her hand away. She had to see. She had to know.

“Move aside! She is my niece. Let me see her!”

The people listened. How could they not? Their faces drawn in horror, cloths pressed over their mouths to stifle the stench of smoke and coals and … she thought, certainly that wasn’t the smell of burning flesh? But it did have a familiar meatiness that turned her stomach.

When finally she reached the front of the crowd, she paused, taking in the sight through a veil of smoke. Dr. Eliot was there, along with countless guards, some still holding empty buckets that must have been used to put out the flames, others stamping out the remaining embers. The blanket was entirely gone, the playhouse reduced to a teetering wood structure, all blackened timbers and ashes. Scorch marks were left on the wallpaper and elaborate crown moldings.

Through the clustered guards, Levana could make out two bodies on the playhouse’s upper level. Obviously bodies, though from this distance they looked like little more than charred remains.

“Step back! Step away!” Dr. Eliot screamed. “Give me room to look at her. Give me space. You’re not helping!”

“Come away,” Evret said, behind her again.

Shivering, Levana stepped back, and dared to turn to face him. She didn’t have to fake the shock. The sight of it was a thousand times more terrifying than her imagination had given her. A thousand times more real.

She had done this.

Those bodies were her fault.

Selene was dead.

Though Evret was still holding Winter against his hip, and trying to block her view with his hands, Levana could see the girl craning her head to see the commotion and the chaos, the burned remains of her playhouse and her only cousin.

“Come away,” Evret said again. He took Levana’s hand, and she allowed him to guide her. Her thoughts were a daze as they made their way back through the corridors. Her stomach was writhing with a hundred emotions she couldn’t have named. Winter’s questions started coming in force. What happened, Papa? Where is Selene? What’s going on? Why does it smell like that?

She went largely ignored, answered only by kisses pressed against her thick curls.

“She is dead,” Levana murmured.

“It’s horrible,” said Evret. “A horrible, horrible accident.”

“Yes. A horrible accident.” Levana’s grip tightened around his hand. “And now … you understand? This means I will be the queen.”

Evret glanced at her, his face full of sorrow as he scooped his free arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. He pressed a kiss against the top of her head then too.

“You don’t need to think about that now, sweetheart.”

But he was wrong.

As the knots in her stomach slowly began to loosen, it was all she could think of.

She was the queen.

The guilt and the horror and the memory of that awful smell might stay with her forever, but she was the queen.

* * *

Princess Selene was pronounced dead that evening. Levana made the announcement to the people from the palace’s broadcast center. The video showed pictures of the young princess while Levana struggled to keep her voice somber, even while her nerves tingled from success. It was not happiness—she was very sad to know that victory had required such an appalling act. But success was success, victory was victory. She had done it and now, as the country mourned, she would be the one to lift them out of this tragedy.

Little Selene, barely three years old, would hardly even make a blip in their history. The memory of their little princess would be entirely eclipsed with the reign of Queen Levana.

The fairest queen that Luna had ever known.

For once, she was satisfied. She had Evret. She had her crown.

She did not yet have an heir, but now that she was the last of the royal bloodline, surely fate would smile on even this request. She was all that was left. Not having a child of her own was not an option. After all, Winter couldn’t grow up to be queen. No. Levana would have a child.

With Selene gone, these were the new thoughts that engulfed her. How she would be a great ruler and how the people would love her with all their hearts. And how, when Levana finally gave Evret a child of their own, he too would love her, finally, even more than his darling Solstice.

She was making the life she’d always wanted for herself, and she was close to it now. So very, very close.

But only a week had gone by when Levana began to notice the change.

The way people dropped their eyes when she walked past, not with normal respect, but something akin to fear. Perhaps—was she imagining it? Perhaps even disgust.

The way there was a new coldness from the palace servants. How they all seemed to be biting their tongues, wanting to say something to her and daring not to.

The way that Evret asked her one night why she had gone to get Winter that day. Why she had brought it on herself to take Winter to the doctor’s appointment when clearly it was something the nanny was capable of.

“What do you mean?” Levana asked, her heart in her throat. “She’s my daughter, and I hardly get to spend time with her these days. Why shouldn’t I take her to her appointments?”

“It’s just…”

She tensed. “It’s just what?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He kissed her, and that was the last that was said of it.

But all this she could have ignored. Let them think she was guilty. Let them accuse her behind closed doors. As the queen of Luna and the only royal descendant of the Blackburn bloodline, no one would dare accuse her to her face.

No—it was another rumor that chilled Levana to her core.

They were saying that Selene had survived.

It was not possible.

It could not be possible.

She had seen the body, smelled the charred flesh, witnessed the aftermath of the fire. A tiny toddler could not have lived through that.

She was dead. She was gone.

It was over.

So why did she go on haunting Levana this way?

* * *

“I hope you know that you are not in any trouble,” said Levana. “I only want to make sure I know the complete truth.”

Dr. Eliot stood before her in the center of the throne room. Normally this was the type of proceeding that would be dealt with in front of the entire court, but without knowing what, exactly, the doctor knew, Levana trusted very few people to listen to her testimony. She had even left her personal guards to wait in the corridor, for the last person she wanted to receive an account of this meeting was Evret, and even highly trained guards were not impervious to spreading gossip.

So it was only her, seated on her throne, and her trusted head thaumaturge, Sybil Mira, standing to the side with her hands tucked into the sleeves of her stark white coat.

“I have told you everything that I know, My Queen,” said Dr. Eliot.

“Yes, but … there are rumors. I’m sure you’ve heard them. Rumors that say Princess Selene may have survived the fire? That you, as the first person to inspect the bodies, might have some information about what was found in the fire that you’ve chosen to keep hidden.”

“I would hide nothing from you, My Queen.”

She inhaled a patient breath. “She was my niece, doctor. I deserve to know the truth. If she is still alive, it would … it would pain me very much to think that anyone would withhold that information from me. You know that I loved her as if she were my own.”

Dr. Eliot pressed her lips, the look brief yet intense. “I am sure,” she said, enunciating carefully, “that it would mean a great deal to you had the princess survived, My Queen. But when I saw the body after the fire, I’m afraid she was already lost. There was no saving her.”

“No saving her.” Levana leaned forward. “So you’re saying that she wasn’t dead yet?”

The doctor hesitated. “There was a faint heartbeat. This was mentioned in my report, Your Majesty. But while there was still some life in her when I arrived, she died shortly thereafter. I was there myself when the heartbeat stopped. She is dead.”

Levana gripped the arm of her throne. “And where was that? When her heartbeat stopped. Was that still in the nursery?”

“Yes, My Queen.”

“And was there anyone else there to witness it? Anyone who could vouch for your story?”

Dr. Eliot opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. “I … yes, My Queen. By that time, Dr. Logan Tanner had arrived as well, having rushed over from the med-center.”

Levana lifted an eyebrow. “Dr. Logan Tanner? I have not spoken to him.”

“All due respect, My Queen, I’m sure you have more pressing matters than conducting your own investigation into this tragic incident. Dr. Tanner will not give you any more information than I already have. As you said, I was the first to see the princess’s body. I can tell you with absolute certainty that she is dead.”

Staring at the doctor, Levana could feel the woman’s smugness rolling off her. She seemed anxious, but also confident.

She knew more than she was saying, and the knowledge of this itched beneath Levana’s skin.

“All due respect,” Levana said, feeling the words slithering in her mouth, “there is no more pressing matter than if my niece—our future queen—is alive. If this is true, and you choose to keep this information from me, you understand that it would be a high offense. It could be cause enough to have you tried as a traitor to the crown.”

The doctor’s smugness faded. She dipped her head. “I am sorry if I’ve caused any offense, My Queen. I did not mean to negate your concern over these rumors. It’s only that I can tell you nothing more than I already have. I certainly wish that there was substance to these rumors, that our dear princess had survived the fire. But I’m afraid it simply isn’t true.”

Levana leaned back into her throne, her fingers gripping the thick, carved arms. Finally, she nodded. “I believe you, and I apologize for this added inconvenience, Dr. Eliot. You have certainly been a loyal subject for many years, and that has not gone unnoticed.”

Dr. Eliot bowed. “Thank you, My Queen.”

Levana dismissed the doctor and waited until the massive doors had shut behind her before speaking again. “Do you think she is lying, Sybil?”

“I’m afraid I do, My Queen. There is something in her air that I find distrustful.”

“I agree. What can we do about it?”

Sybil came to stand in front of the throne. “It is essential that we uncover the truth of the aftermath of the fire. If Her Highness is alive, it is your right to know, as both our queen and the child’s only relative. Otherwise, how else can you possibly seek to protect her from further harm?” Sybil’s gray eyes glinted when she said protect, and Levana suspected that her head thaumaturge might know exactly why Levana was so set on finding out whether or not Selene was alive, but she also didn’t think Sybil was too bothered by the truth. After all, Levana was the one who had raised her to her current position, bypassing several candidates with more experience. Some days she wondered if Sybil was the only person in her entourage who was truly loyal to her.

“Dr. Eliot seems to be under the impression that my interest in Selene’s welfare is not born out of loving concern. How can I know that she is telling us everything when she seems set on keeping something hidden?”

Sybil smiled. “We thaumaturges are trained with certain methods of extracting information, even from those unwilling to give it. Perhaps Dr. Eliot and I should have a more private conversation.”

Levana stared at her, wondering if she wanted to know what these extraction techniques might consist of, but almost as quickly recognizing that she would go to any lengths to find out the truth of her niece and what had happened in the nursery that day.

Besides, Sybil herself didn’t seem opposed.

“Yes,” she said, sitting taller. “I think that is a necessary course of action, Sybil. Though I fear other people on staff won’t be as understanding.”

“We will make them understand. After all, it is rather peculiar that Dr. Eliot was the first trained doctor to reach the child, and yet she wasn’t able to rescue the girl, even after finding a heartbeat? The grounds for suspicion are obvious. It only makes sense that we would further investigate this matter.”

Feeling her anxiety start to ease, Levana nodded. “You are entirely correct.” She dug her fingernail into the carved ornamentation of the throne. “And once we have learned all we can from Dr. Eliot, I think it will benefit us to talk to this Logan Tanner as well. I want to know everything about the results of that fire.”

Sybil bowed. “I will see that it is done, My Queen.”

Dr. Eliot was taken into custody the next day for further questioning. Levana waited for Sybil’s reports, having no interest in the details, but day after day passed in which the doctor told them nothing of value.

Then, two weeks later, before Levana could find a way to question the second doctor, this Logan Tanner, without raising further suspicion … he disappeared.

* * *

Levana refused to be haunted by the ghosts of dead children and sisters, princesses and queens. In the year following Selene’s death, she leaped into her role as the new, true queen of Luna.

She continued to strengthen the army, allocating as many resources as she could to allow the scientists to perfect the bioengineering processes. The first group of soldiers began their training, and they were even more miraculous than Levana had imagined. Half man, half beast, all brutality and viciousness. Levana made it her duty to become well acquainted with the surgeries and training of the soldiers. It was a beautiful sight, when the first boys emerged from their suspended-animation tanks, still dazed and awkward with their new instincts and mutated bodies.

And hungry. They awoke so very, very hungry.

She came to know the research team well, headed by the infamous Sage Darnel, though Levana was not as impressed with the old man as she’d expected to be after hearing of his genius for so many years. When she met him for the first time, she could think only of how this man had fathered a shell, and it took all her willpower to listen to his unenthusiastic explanations of the surgical procedures without making snide comments on his worthless offspring.

Meanwhile, the first carriers of the disease were sent to Earth. Levana had heard, years before during her parents’ reign, that some of the citizens from the outer sectors would find ways to steal away in diplomatic or reconnaissance vessels heading to Earth, or pay what they could afford to persuade a supply pilot to whisk them away, leaving their life of labor behind. It was a selfishness that Levana couldn’t fathom—to think that any of her people would consider only themselves and abandon the country that needed them.

Her parents had always turned a blind eye to these fugitives, perhaps not understanding that their society would crumble fast if they could not hold on to their limited labor supply.

But now Levana had a use for these runaways. As the strain of the disease was slipped into the outer sectors, each Lunar gradually became an unknown carrier, and their own immunity would mean they had no idea that they carried within their bodies a lethal disease.

It wasn’t long before the first case of the disease was reported on Earth, in a tiny oasis town off the Sahara.

It spread quickly from there, raging through the Earthen Union like a wildfire. Though the Earthens hastened to set up quarantines for the sick, it was impossible to keep it contained when the secret carriers, the hapless Lunars, stayed so well disguised in their midst.

They called the disease letumosis, from an ancient language meaning death and annihilation, a fitting name as no one who caught the disease survived.

Levana and her court called it a success.

She didn’t know how long it would take to weaken the Earthens. Years, perhaps even decades, before the disease became the pandemic Levana envisioned. But she was already anticipating the time when she would swoop in and offer them an antidote. She was already dreaming of how the leaders of Earth would prostrate themselves before her. In their desperation, they would offer her anything. Any resource. Any land. Any alliance.

She would try to be patient, knowing that the day would come. She would try to ignore the pessimistic mutterings of her advisers and their reports that claimed all of the new labor initiatives she’d put into place were unsustainable. She would not back down now.

Everything was going according to plan. All that was required was patience.

Nearly fifteen months had passed since Selene’s death when Levana was told that Dr. Sage Darnel, head of the bioengineering team, had disappeared as well. Suicide, some suspected, although a body was never found. Many believed that he had never recovered from the birth and death of his shell daughter.

Yet another talented scientist, gone. But when Levana was informed that this would not halt the production of soldiers and that all surgeries would continue as scheduled, she forgot about the old man and his pathetic life entirely.

The years passed. Her legacy grew. The rumors of Princess Selene began to fade. Finally, finally, Levana had everything she wanted.

Almost everything she wanted.

* * *

Levana stood on the palace lawn, watching as Evret chased Winter and Jacin around the lakeshore. She had finally relented to Evret’s friendship with Garrison and his family, and now they were a permanent fixture in her life, despite how much she wished Evret would befriend some of the court families. The boy must have been eleven now, a couple years older than Winter, slender as a twig and still as pale as the white sand he trampled on. He and the princess, to Levana’s dismay, seemed to have formed an inseparable attachment.

For her part, Princess Winter was growing up to be as beautiful as a love-sung lullaby. Her skin, a few shades lighter than Evret’s, was velvet soft. Her hair had grown into thick curls, tight as springs and glossy as high-polished ebony wood. She had her mother’s eyes, caramel, but with flecks of gray and emerald taken from her father.

Whispers were beginning to circulate. Whereas before, members of the court had mocked the idea of marrying a princess who was nothing more than a guard’s child—now, moods were changing. Though still only a child, her beauty was becoming impossible to ignore. Such a child would no doubt grow up to be a stunning woman, and the families were taking notice.

Levana knew that this would benefit her someday. Her stepdaughter would be an ideal bargaining chip should the need for an alliance arise. And yet, the first time she overheard talk of how the princess might someday be even more fair to look on than the queen herself, Levana’s thoughts had surged with hatred.

Levana had worked so hard to perfect her glamour. To be the most beautiful queen to ever sit on Luna’s throne—more beautiful than her mother, more beautiful than Channary. No longer was she the ugly princess, the deformed child. The thought that Winter could so easily achieve what she had worked so hard for churned in Levana’s stomach.

It did not help that Evret spoiled her mercilessly. They were never together for more than a moment before the dandy child was hoisted up on his shoulders or swung around like a spinning toy. Though Evret refused to ever dance with Levana at the royal balls, she had caught him teaching Winter what waltz steps he knew. His pockets seemed to always be full of those sour apple candies the princess was so fond of.

Levana reached for her throat, wrapping the Earth pendant up in her fist. There had been a time when Evret brought her gifts too.

Down the shore, the children’s laughter sparkled as bright as the sunlight on the lake’s surface, and Evret laughed as much as any of them. Each note was a needle in Levana’s heart, undoing her.

There had also been a time when Evret would have asked her to join them, but it was not queen-like to run and laugh and roll around in the sand. After she had waved away his requests too many times, he stopped making them, and now she regretted every time she’d stood by and watched.

Watched as Evret lifted a squealing Winter over his head.

Watched as Garrison’s wife fixed them cheese sandwiches that were devoured as greedily as anything the royal chefs ever prepared.

Watched as Jacin showed Winter how to build a sandcastle and then how best to destroy it.

This was a family, all of them, happy and carefree.

And despite all her efforts, all her manipulations, Levana had never become a part of it.

“Sweetheart?”

She started, prying her attention away from the children to see Evret clomping toward her. His pants were soaked up to his knees and covered in white, sparkling sand. He was as handsome as the first day she’d laid eyes on him, and she loved him every bit as much. Knowing that made her feel as hollow inside as carved-out wood.

“Is that the charm I gave you?” he asked, his teeth glinting in a refreshing smile. It melted her and stung at the same time.

Levana unclasped her hand. She hadn’t realized that she was still gripping the old, tarnished charm.

“I didn’t even know you still had it,” said Evret. Reaching for her, he looped a finger beneath the chain. The touch was brief and deliberate and made her dizzy with the same spark of yearning she’d felt as a teenager.

“Of course I still have it. It was the first gift you gave me.”

A shadow fell over his expression, one that she couldn’t translate. Something sad and distant.

With a tap against her sternum, he let the charm go. “Are you just going to stand here watching all day?” he asked, eyes twinkling again. Maybe the shadow had been only her imagination.

“No,” she said, unable to return more than a tired turn of her own lips. “I was about to go inside. There’s a new trade contract with TX-7 I need to review.”

“A trade contract? It can’t wait until tomorrow?” He cupped her face in his hands. “You work too hard.”

“A queen does not keep office hours, Evret. It is always a responsibility.”

His expression turned scolding. “Even a queen has to relax sometime. Come on. Come play. It won’t hurt you, and no one would dare to criticize if they saw.”

He said it like a joke, but Levana thought for sure there was tension underlying it. “What does that mean?” she said, pulling away.

His hands fell to his sides.

“You think that people are afraid of me?” she pressed. “So oppressed that they wouldn’t dare say something out of favor? Is that it?”

His jaw worked for a moment, baffled, before he set it in frustration. “People have always been afraid to speak out against the royal family—that’s politics. It isn’t something you alone can lay claim to.”

Huffing, Levana turned on her heel and started marching back toward the palace.

With a groan, Evret chased after her. “Stop it. Levana. You’re overreacting. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You must think I’m an awful ruler. One of those spoiled, selfish queens who cares more for her own reputation than the welfare of her people.”

“That’s not what I think. I know you care what the people think about you, but I also know you care about them. In your own way.”

“And what way is that?” she snapped, ducking into the palace’s overhang.

“Levana, would you stop?”

His hand encircled her wrist, but she yanked it away. “Don’t touch me!”

Immediately, the guards who were always in her periphery stepped forward, weapons at the ready.

Evret halted, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. But his expression was furious—and Levana knew that his honor was the reputation he cared to protect, that he would not be happy if anyone dared start a rumor that he had threatened the queen, his wife, when she was the one who was being absurd.

Overreacting.

“Fine,” he said, taking a step back, before turning away entirely. “Go read your contract, Your Majesty.”

Levana watched his retreating back, her hands clenched into shaking fists, before she marched toward the main stairs. It felt like running away. It felt like giving up.

When she reached her private solar, where she conducted most of her business, she sat down to review the trade contract, but immediately started to cry instead. She hadn’t known the tears were coming until it was too late to stop them.

She cried for the girl who had never belonged. A girl who tried so hard, harder than anyone else, and still never had anything to show for it. A girl who had been certain that Evret loved her and only her, and now she couldn’t even remember what that certainty felt like.

Despite every one of her weapons, the heart of Evret Hayle remained unconquered.

She wasn’t even trying to get pregnant anymore, though she knew that couldn’t last. It was only that for so long her visits to Evret’s bedchambers had felt more exhaustive than passionate. More hopeless than anything.

She cried because she could feel the gossip rustling through the court, her barrenness a regular topic of closed-door conversations. Thaumaturges and family heads moved around the palace like pawns on a game board, forging alliances, plotting their moves should the throne ever be left without a suitable heir.

She cried because there would be bloodshed and uprisings should she fail. In the end, someone would place the crown on an undeserving head and a new royal bloodline would begin. Levana hadn’t the faintest idea who would fall and who would rise to take her place.

She refused to give weight to those fears.

The throne needed an heir and she would be the one to produce it. The stars would smile on her eventually. They had to, for Luna’s sake.

But fate would be on her side only if she could prove that she was the only ruler this country needed.

Luna was thriving. The city of Artemisia was more a paradise now than it had ever been. All of the outer sectors were producing goods at rates never before seen, and whenever there were rumors of unrest, Levana had only to complete a tour through the domes to visit her people and remind them that they were happy. That they loved her, and they would work for her without complaint. Being among her people was as close to a family as she’d yet to find.

The stronger Luna’s economy grew, the more Levana wanted.

She cried now because she wanted so very, very much.

She wanted everything for her people.

She wanted Earth.

She needed Earth.

All of it. Every mountain. Every river. Every canyon and glacier and sandy shore. Every city and every farm. Every weak-minded Earthen.

Having control over the blue planet would solve all of her political problems. Luna’s need for resources and land and a larger labor force. She did not want to go down in history as the fairest queen this little moon had ever known. She wanted to be known through history as the fairest queen of the galaxy. As the ruler who united Luna and Earth under one monarchy.

The yearning grew quietly at first, taking the place in her belly where a child should have been. It thrived somewhere so deep inside her she hadn’t even known it existed until one day she looked up at the planet hanging, mocking her, just out of reach, and she almost fell to her knees with the strength of her want.

The more time that passed, the more that desire dug its talons into her.

She deserved Earth.

Luna deserved Earth.

But despite all her plotting, all her long meetings spent discussing soldiers and plagues, she still wasn’t sure how to take it.

* * *

“Why is it always a prince?” asked Winter. “Why isn’t she ever saved by a top-secret spy? Or a soldier? Or a … a poor farm boy, even?”

“I don’t know. That’s just how the story was written.” Evret brushed back a curl of Winter’s hair. “If you don’t like it, we’ll make up a different story tomorrow night. You can have whoever you want rescue the princess.”

“Like a doctor?”

“A doctor? Well—sure. Why not?”

“Jacin said he wants to grow up to be a doctor.”

“Ah. Well, that’s a very good job, one that saves more than just princesses.”

“Maybe the princess can save herself.”

“That sounds like a pretty good story too.”

Levana peered through the barely open door, watching as Evret kissed his daughter’s brow and pulled the blankets to her chin. She had caught the end of the bedtime story. The part where the prince and princess got married and lived happily for the rest of their days.

Part of her wanted to tell Winter that the story was a lie, but a larger part of her knew that she didn’t much care what Winter did or didn’t believe.

“Papa?” Winter asked, stalling Evret just as he moved to stand. “Was my mother a princess?”

Evret listed his head. “Yes, darling. And now she’s a queen.”

“No, I mean, my real mother.”

Levana tensed, and she could see the surprise mirrored in Evret’s posture. He slowly sank back down onto the bed’s covers.

“No,” he said quietly. “She was only a seamstress. You know that. She made your nursery blanket, remember?”

Winter’s lips curved downward as she picked at the edge of her quilt. “I wish I had a picture of her.”

Evret didn’t respond. Levana wished that she could see his face.

When his silence stretched on for too long, Winter glanced up. She appeared more thoughtful than sad. “What did she look like?”

Like me, Levana thought. Tell her. Tell her she looked like me.

But then Evret shook his head. “I don’t remember,” he whispered. It was a sad confession, and it struck Levana between her ribs. She took a step back in the corridor. “Not exactly, at least,” he amended at Winter’s crestfallen expression. “The details have been stolen from me.”

“What do you mean?”

His tone took on renewed buoyancy. “It isn’t important. What I do remember is that she was the most beautiful woman on all of Luna. In the whole entire galaxy.”

“More beautiful than the queen?”

Though she couldn’t see his face, Levana could see the way that Evret flinched. But then he stood and leaned over his daughter, pressing another kiss into her full head of wild curls. “The most beautiful in the entire universe,” he said, “second only to you.”

Winter giggled, and Levana stepped away again, backing up until her back hit a solid wall. She tried to brush away the sting of rejection, the knowledge that she was still not good enough, not when compared with his precious Solstice and his lovely daughter. She pressed the feelings down, down, letting them turn hard and cold inside, while her face was smiling and pleasant.

When Evret emerged a moment later, he looked startled to find her there, but he covered it easily. He was not as good as some of the guards at disguising his emotions, but he had gotten better at it over the years.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” she said, “about this afternoon.”

Shaking his head, Evret shut Winter’s door, then headed down the hall to his own chambers.

Levana followed, wringing her hands. “Evret?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The lights flickered on as he entered the room and started taking off his boots. “Was there something you needed?”

Levana took in the bedroom she’d rarely seen in the light. Evret had never bothered to bring much personality into it. After ten years, the room still felt like a guest suite.

“I wanted to ask you why … why did you agree to marry me?”

He froze, briefly, before kicking the second boot across the room. “What do you mean?”

“In hindsight, I sometimes wonder. It seems that back then I had to coerce you for every kiss. Every moment we spent together you were fighting me. At the time I was so sure it was just you being … a gentleman. Honorable. Loyal to … Solstice’s memory. But now I’m not so sure.”

With a heavy sigh, Evret sank into a cushioned chair. “We don’t have to talk about this now. What’s done is done.”

“But I want to know why. Why did you say yes, if you … if you didn’t love me. And you didn’t want to be royalty. And you didn’t care if Winter was a princess. Why say yes?”

She could see him struggling through a long silence, before he shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course you had a choice. If you didn’t love me, you should have said no.”

He laughed humorlessly, leaning his head against the chair’s backrest. “No, I couldn’t have. You made it very clear you weren’t going to let me say no. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you would have just let me walk away.”

Levana opened her mouth to say that, yes, of course, she would have allowed him his freedom, if that’s what he’d truly wanted.

But the words didn’t come.

She remembered that morning still so clearly. Her blood on the sheets. The taste of sour berries. The bittersweet memory of his caresses, knowing that he’d been hers for one night, and yet never hers at all.

No.

No, she would not have let him walk away.

She shuddered, her gaze dropping to the ground.

What a stupid child she’d been.

“At first I’d thought it was a game to you,” Evret continued when it was clear he’d made his point. “Like it was with your sister. Trying to get me to want you like that. I thought you’d grow tired of me, and eventually you’d leave me alone.” A line formed between his eyebrows. “But when you told me to marry you, I realized it was already too late. I didn’t know what you would do if I fought you—really fought you. You’re very good at your manipulations—you were even back then—and I knew I couldn’t resist if you forced me to accept. And I worried that if I kept fighting, you might … you could do something rash.”

“What did you think I was going to do?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, Levana. Have me arrested? Or executed?”

She laughed, although it wasn’t funny. “Executed for what?”

His jaw tightened. “Think about it. You could have told anyone that I’d forced myself on you, or threatened you, or—anything. You could have said anything, and it would be my word against yours, and we both know I would lose. I couldn’t risk it. Not with Winter. I couldn’t let you ruin what little I had left.”

Levana stumbled backward as if she’d been struck. “I would never have done that to you.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” He was practically yelling now, and she hated it. He almost never yelled. “You held all the power. You’ve always held all the power. It’s so exhausting to fight you all the time. So I just went along with it. At least being your husband allowed Winter and me some protection. Not much, but…” He clenched his teeth, looking like he regretted telling her so much, and then shook his head. His tone quieted. “I figured that eventually you would tire of me, and I would take Winter far away from here, and it would be over.”

Levana’s heart throbbed. “It’s been almost ten years.”

“I know.”

“And now? Are you still waiting for it to be over?”

His expression softened. The anger was gone, replaced with something infuriatingly kind, though his words were heartbreakingly cruel. “Are you still waiting for me to fall in love with you?”

She braced herself, and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

His brow wrinkled. With sadness. With regret. “I’m sorry, Levana. I’m so sorry.”

“No. Don’t say that. I know that you lo—that you care about me. You’re the only one who’s ever cared about me. Ever since … on my sixteenth birthday, you were the only one to give me a gift, remember?” She fished the pendant from beneath her collar. “I still wear it, all the time. Because of you. Because I love you, and I know…” She gulped, trying in vain to swallow back her mounting sobs. “I know it means you love me too. You always have. Please.”

His eyes were wet too. Filled, not with love, but remorse.

In a broken voice, he said, “It was Sol’s gift.”

Levana froze. “What?”

“The pendant. It was Sol’s idea.”

The words trickled into her ears like a slow-draining faucet. “Sol…? No. Garrison said it was from you. There was a card. It was from you.”

“She’d seen you admiring that quilt in her store,” Evret said. His voice was tender, like speaking to a small child on the verge of a breakdown. “The one of Earth. That’s why she thought you might like the pendant too.”

She clutched the pendant in her fist, but no matter how tight she squeezed, she could feel her hope passing like water through her fingers. “But … Sol? Why? Why would she…?”

“I told her about how I’d seen you impersonating her. That day, before the coronation.”

Levana’s mouth went dry, the mortification she’d felt that day quick to return.

“I think she felt bad for you. She thought you must be lonely, that you needed a friend. So she asked me to look out for you, when I was at the palace.” He gulped. “To be kind.”

He seemed sympathetic, but Levana knew it was just a cover for his true feelings. Pity. He pitied her.

Sol had pitied her.

Sickly, irrelevant Solstice Hayle.

“The pendant was her idea,” Evret said, looking away. “But the card was mine. I did want to be your friend. I did care about you. I still do.”

She released the pendant faster than she would have released a burning ember.

“I don’t understand. I don’t—” She choked on a sob. She felt like she was drowning, and desperation was clawing at her, her lungs trying to breathe, but there was no air left. “Why can’t you even try, Evret? Why can’t you even try to love me?” Crossing the room, she knelt before him, taking his hands into hers. “If you would just let me love you, let me show you that I could be the wife you wanted, that we could—”

“Stop. Please, stop.”

She gulped.

“You’re always so desperate to make this work, to turn our marriage into something it isn’t. Haven’t you ever just stopped to wonder what else might be out there? What you might be missing out on by trying so hard to force this to be real between us?” He squeezed her hands. “I told you a long time ago that by choosing me, you were giving up your chance to find happiness.”

“You’re wrong. I can’t be happy—not without you.”

His shoulders sank. “Levana…”

“I mean it. Think about it. We’ll start over. From the beginning. Pretend that I’m just a princess again, and you’re the new royal guard, coming to protect me. We’ll act like this is our first meeting.” Suddenly giddy with the prospect, Levana leaped back to her feet. “You should start by bowing to me, of course. And introducing yourself.”

He massaged his brow. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can. It can’t hurt to try, not after everything we’ve been through.”

“No, I can’t pretend that we’ve never met, when you’re still…” He flicked his fingers at her.

“Still what?”

“Still looking like her.”

Levana pursed her lips. “But … but this is how I look now. This is me.”

Dragging his hand over his coiled hair, Evret stood. For a moment, Levana thought he was going to play along. That he would bow to her, and they would begin anew. But instead, he shuffled around her and turned down the blankets on the bed. “I’m tired, Levana. Let’s talk about this more tomorrow, all right?”

Tomorrow.

Because they would still be married tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. For all eternity, he would be the husband who had never loved her. Wanted her. Trusted her.

She shuddered, more afraid than she’d been in a long, long time.

After so many years of wrapping herself in the glamour, it was nearly impossible to let it go. Her brain struggled to release her grip on the manipulation.

Heart hammering, she slowly turned around.

Evret was in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head. He tossed it on the bed and looked up.

Gasping, he stumbled back a step, nearly knocking a glowing sconce off the wall.

Levana shrank away, wrapping her arms around her waist. She ducked her head, so that her hair fell over half her face, hiding what it could. But she resisted the urge to cover her scars with her hands. She refused to pull up the glamour again.

The glamour he had always loved.

The glamour he had always hated.

At first, it seemed that he wasn’t even breathing. He just stared at her, speechless and horrified. Finally, he closed his mouth and placed a shaking hand on the bedpost to steady himself. Forced down a gulp.

“This is it,” she said, as new tears started to leak from her good eye. “The truth that I didn’t want you to see. Are you happy now?”

His blinks were intense, and she could imagine how difficult it was for him to hold her gaze. To not look away, when he so clearly wanted to.

“No,” he said, his voice rough. “Not happy.”

“And if you had known this from the beginning, could you ever have loved me?”

His mouth worked for a long time, before he responded, “I don’t know. I…” He shut his eyes, collecting himself, before meeting her full on. This time, he didn’t flinch. “It’s not the way you look, or don’t look, Levana. It’s that you have controlled and manipulated me for ten years.” His expression twisted. “I wish you would have shown me a long time ago. Maybe things would have been different. I don’t know. But now we’ll never find out.”

He turned away. Levana stared at his back, feeling not like a queen at all. She was a stupid child, a pathetic girl, a fragile, destroyed thing.

“I love you,” she whispered. “That much has always been real.”

He tensed, but if he had any response, she left before she could hear it.

* * *

“Come here, baby sister. I want to show you something.” Channary smiled her warmest smile, waving Levana over excitedly.

Instincts told her to be cautious, as Channary’s enthusiasm had turned into cruelty before. But she was hard to resist, and even as Levana’s instincts were telling her to back away, her legs carried her forward.

Channary knew better than to use her gift on soft-minded children, especially her young sister. She’d been scolded by their nannies a hundred times.

In response, she’d only gotten more secretive about it.

Channary was kneeling before the holographic fireplace of their shared nursery, the gentle warmth in contrast to the roaring flames and crackling logs in the illusion. With the exception of celebratory candles, fire was strictly forbidden on Luna. The smoke would too quickly fill up the domes, poisoning their precious air supply. But holographic fireplaces had been popular for some time now, and Levana always liked to watch how the flames danced and defied predictability, how the wooden logs smoldered and crumbled and sparked. She would watch them for hours, amazed at how the fire seemed to always be burning low, eating into the logs, and yet never went out altogether.

“Watch,” said Channary, once Levana settled beside her. She had set a small bowl of glittering white sand on the carpet, and now she took a pinch of the sand and flicked it at the holographic flames.

Nothing happened.

Gut tightening with apprehension, Levana looked at her sister. Channary’s dark eyes were dancing with the firelight.

“They’re not real, right?” Leaning over, Channary passed her hand through the flames. Her fingers came away unblemished. “Just an illusion. Just like a glamour.”

Levana was still too young to have much control over her own glamour, but she did have a sense that it wasn’t exactly the same thing as this holographic fireplace.

“Go ahead,” said Channary. “Touch it.”

“I don’t want to.”

Channary glared at her. “Don’t be a baby. It isn’t real, Levana.”

“I know, but … I don’t want to.” Some instinct made Levana curl her hands in her lap. She knew it wasn’t real. She knew the holograph wouldn’t hurt. But she also knew that fire was dangerous, and illusions were dangerous, and being tricked into believing things that weren’t real was often the most dangerous thing of all.

Snarling, Channary grabbed Levana’s arm and tugged her forward, nearly pulling Levana’s entire torso into the flames. Levana shrieked and struggled to pull back, but Channary held firm, holding her small hand into the glowing flames of the holograph.

She felt nothing, of course. Just that same subtle warmth that the fire always released, to make it seem more authentic.

After a moment, Levana’s heartbeat started to temper itself.

“See?” said Channary, though Levana wasn’t sure what point she’d just made. She still didn’t want to touch the holograph, and as soon as her sister released her, she pulled her hand back and inched away on the carpet.

Channary ignored the retreat.

“Now—watch.” Reaching behind her, Channary produced a book of matches that she must have taken from the altar in the great hall. She had struck one before Levana could begin to question it, and leaned over, pressing the match into the bottom of the holograph.

There should not have been anything flammable. The hearth should not have caught fire. But it wasn’t long before Levana could see a new brightness among the smoldering logs. The real flame licked and sputtered, and after a while Levana could make out the edges of dried leaves charring and curling. The kindling had been hidden by the holograph before, but as the real fire took hold, its brightness far outshone the illusion.

Levana’s shoulders knotted. A warning in her head told her to get up and walk away, to go tell someone that Channary was breaking the rules, to leave fast before the fire grew any larger.

But she didn’t. Channary would only call her a baby again, and if Levana dared to get the crown princess in trouble, Channary would find ways to punish her later.

She stayed rooted to the carpet, watching the flames grow and grow.

Once they were almost as big as the holograph, Channary again reached into the little bowl of sand—or maybe it was sugar?—and tossed a pinch into the flames.

This time they turned blue, crackled and sparked and faded away.

Levana gasped.

Channary did it a few more times, growing more daring as her experiment succeeded. Two pinches at a time, now. Here, an entire handful, like little fireworks.

“Do you want to try?”

Levana nodded. Pinched the tiny crystals and tossed them into the flames. She laughed as the blue sparklers billowed up toward the top of the enclosure and crashed into the stone wall where there should have been a chimney.

Rising to her feet, Channary began searching through the nursery, finding anything that might be entertaining to watch burn. A stuffed giraffe that smoked and charred and took a long time to catch flame. An old doll shoe that melted and furled. Wooden game pieces that were slowly scorched beneath their protective glaze.

But while Levana was entranced by the flames—so very real, with their smell of ashes and the almost painful heat blasting against her face and the smoke that was darkening the wallpaper overhead—she could tell that Channary was growing more anxious with each experiment. Nothing was as enchanting as the simple, elegant blue and orange sparks from the sugar bowl.

Snip.

Jerking away, Levana turned just in time to see Channary toss a lock of brown hair into the flames. As the lock curled like springs, blackened, and dissolved, Channary giggled.

Levana reached for the back of her head, found the chunk that Channary had cut nearly to her scalp. Tears sprung into her eyes.

She made to scramble to her feet, but Channary was fast, grabbing her skirt in big handfuls. With a pull, Channary yanked Levana back onto the floor. She screamed and crashed to her knees, barely catching herself before her face could hit the floor too.

Even as Levana tried to roll away, Channary was catching the hem of Levana’s dress between the scissor blades, and the sound of ripping fabric tore at Levana’s eardrums.

“Stop it!” she screamed. When Channary kept a firm hold on her skirt and the tear escalated all the way to Levana’s thighs, Levana locked her teeth, grabbed up as much of the fabric as she could, and yanked it out of Channary’s grip.

A large shred of material was torn away and Channary cried out and fell backward into the fire. Shrieking, she quickly pulled herself out of the hearth, her face twisted in pain.

Levana gaped at her sister, horrified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Are you all right?”

It was clear that Channary was not all right. Her lips were snarling, her gaze darkened with a fury Levana had never seen—and she had seen her sister’s anger many, many times. She shrank back, her fists still gripping her skirt.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered again.

Ignoring her, Channary reached a trembling hand for the back of her shoulder, and turned so that Levana could see her back. It had happened so quickly. The top part of her dress was charred, but nothing had caught fire. What Levana could see of her sister’s neck was bright red and there were already small blisters forming above the dress’s neckline.

“I’ll call for the doctor,” said Levana, climbing to her feet. “You should get water … or ice, or…”

“I was trying to save you.”

Levana paused. Tears of pain were glistening in her sister’s eyes, but they were overshadowed by the crazed look, glowing with fury. “What?”

“Remember, baby sister? Remember how I came in here and found you playing with a real fire in the fireplace? Remember how you fell in, thinking it wouldn’t hurt you, just like the holograph? Remember how I got burned while trying to rescue you?”

Blinking, Levana tried to take a step back, but her feet were rooted to the carpet. Not from fear or uncertainty—Channary was controlling her limbs now. She was too young, too weak to get away.

Horror crept down her spine, covering her skin in gooseflesh.

“S-sister,” she stammered. “We should put ice on your burns. Before … before they get any worse.”

But Channary’s expression was changing again. The fury was contorting into something cruel and sadistic, hungry and curious.

“Come here, baby sister,” she whispered, and despite the terror twisting inside Levana’s stomach, her feet obeyed. “I want to show you something.”

* * *

Levana couldn’t stop crying, no matter how hard she tried. The sobs were merciless and painful, coming so fast she felt faint from an inability to breathe as her lungs convulsed. She crumpled over her knees, rocking and trembling. She wanted to stop crying. So badly she wanted to stop crying, in no small part because she knew that Evret, in his own private chambers down the hall, could probably hear her. And at first she’d dreamed that he would take pity on her, that the sound of her tears would soften his heart and bring him to her side. That he would comfort her and hold her and finally, finally realize that he’d loved her all along.

But she’d been crying long enough now, with no sign of her husband, to know that it wasn’t going to happen. Just one more fantasy that wouldn’t come true. Just one more lie she’d constructed for herself to escape into, never realizing she was welding the bars of her own cage.

Finally, the tears began to slow, the pain began to dull.

When she could breathe again, and thought she could stand without collapsing, she took hold of a bedpost and hauled herself to her feet. Her legs were weak, but they held. Without the strength to reinstate her glamour, she tore off one of the sheer drapes that hung from the bed’s canopy and draped it over her head. She would look like a ghost wandering the palace halls, but that was fine. She felt like a ghost. No more than a figment of a girl.

Hugging the makeshift veil around her body, she stumbled out of her bedroom. Two guards were posted outside the royal chambers, at silent attention as she emerged. If they were surprised at the fabric draped over her head, their expressions gave nothing away, and they fell into a march at a respectful distance behind her.

Despite the care she took to conceal herself, she passed no one else as she wandered through the palace. Even the servants were asleep this late at night.

She didn’t know where she was going until, minutes later, she found herself standing outside her sister’s bedroom, or what had been her sister’s bedroom during her short reign as queen, nearly eight years ago. Levana could have taken these chambers as her own—larger and more lavish than the room she was currently in—but at the time she’d enjoyed the quaintness of her rooms shared with Evret and Winter. She’d liked the idea that she was a queen who did not need riches and luxuries, only the love of her family to surround her.

She wondered if the people of the court had been laughing behind her back all this time. Was she the only one who had never recognized just how false her marriage, her family, really was?

Leaving the guards in the hall, she opened her sister’s door. It wasn’t locked, and at first Levana expected to find it emptied of anything of value. Surely the servants knew that she never came here, that they could have their pick of all the fine treasures inside.

But as Levana stepped into the room and the lights flickered on, casting the room in a serene glow, it was exactly as she remembered it, even the very faint scent of her sister’s perfume. It was like walking into a museum, every piece encapsulated in time. Her sister’s hairbrush on the vanity, though the tines had been carefully picked clean. The unruffled bedcovers. There was even the little basinet with its cream-colored velvets and filigree of a tiny coronet on top, where baby Selene had slept, unbeknownst even to Levana. She’d assumed that the child stayed with a wet nurse or nanny during that first year, not in her mother’s own chambers.

It occurred to her, staring at that tiny, beautiful little bed, sweet and innocent and harmless, that she probably should have felt something. Remorse. Guilt. Horror at what she’d done all those years ago.

But there was nothing. She felt nothing but the breaking of her own heart inside her chest.

Tearing her gaze away, she spotted what she’d come for. Her sister’s mirror.

It stood in the far corner, its glass cast in shadows. It was taller than Levana, framed in silver that was tarnished with age. The metal had been crafted into elaborate scrolls with a prominent crown centered at the top. On the sides, silver flowers and thorny branches entwined around the frame, looking as though they were growing out from behind the mirror, like they would someday engulf it entirely.

Levana had stood before a mirror only once since she was six years old. Since Channary had forced her into that fireplace—first her hand, then her arm, then the entire left side of her face. Offering no mercy. Channary didn’t even have to touch her. Under the grip of Channary’s mind control, Levana had been powerless to fight back, to run away, to pull herself from the flames.

Only when her screaming had brought a couple of servants running into the nursery did Channary let her go and told them all that she’d been trying to help her sister. Her stupid, curious baby sister.

Her ugly, deformed, scarred baby sister.

The mirror had belonged to their mother, and Levana had only faint memories of watching Queen Jannali primp in front of it before some gala or another, on those rare occasions when she wasn’t annoyed with the presence of her own offspring. For the most part Levana remembered her mother as her glamour had been. Pale as a corpse with platinum hair and those severe violet eyes that seemed to make the rest of her fade away. But when she sat in front of this mirror, Jannali had been as she was underneath. As she was really. And she looked a lot like Channary, with naturally tanned skin and shiny brown hair. She’d been pretty. Perhaps even prettier than she was with the glamour—though not as striking. Not as regal.

Levana could recall being very, very young and having nightmares about her mother and the court and how everyone around her had two faces.

Channary claimed the mirror almost immediately following the assassinations, and Levana hadn’t seen it since. Which was fine with her. She hated mirrors. Hated their reflections, their truths. Hated how she seemed to be the only one who hated them as much as she did, even when everyone in the entire court walked around with glamours every bit as fake as her own.

Now Levana braced herself and strolled toward the standing monstrosity. Her reflection came into view, draped with the sheer white cloth, and she was surprised to find that she didn’t look so much like a ghost. Rather, she looked like a second-era bride. Endless happiness could be concealed beneath this veil. Boundless joy. So many dreams fulfilled.

Gripping the edges of the drape, she lifted it over her head.

She grimaced, flinching away from her reflection. It took her a moment to gather her courage again before she could face it, and even then she kept her face partly turned away, so that she could quickly turn back if the sight became too painful.

It was worse than she’d remembered, but then, she’d spent many, many years refusing to remember.

Her left eye was permanently sealed shut, and the scarred tissue on that side of her face was formed of ridges and grooves. Half of her face was paralyzed from the incident, and great chunks of hair would never grow back. The scars continued down her neck and shoulder, half of her chest and upper ribs, all the way down to her hand.

The doctors had done what they could at the time. They saved her life, at least. They told her that, when she was older, she would have options. A series of skin-grafting surgeries could gradually replace the ruined flesh. Hair transplants. Modified bone structure. They had even said that they could find a new, working eye for her. Finding a perfect match would be difficult but they would scour the entire country for a suitable donor, and surely, no one would dare refuse a request from their princess should she ask. Even their own eye.

But there would always be scars, no matter how faint, and at the time, the idea of accepting such transplants had disgusted her. Someone else’s eye. Someone else’s hair. Skin transplanted from the back of her thigh onto her own face. At the time, it had seemed easier to develop her glamour and pretend that nothing was wrong underneath it at all.

By now, so many had forgotten what she truly looked like she wouldn’t even consider having the surgeries. She couldn’t stand to think of those surgeons hovering over her unconscious, grotesque body, analyzing the best way to disguise her hideousness.

No. Her glamour worked. Her glamour was the reality now, no matter what Evret thought. No matter what anyone thought.

She was the fairest queen Luna had ever known.

Grabbing for the sheer drape, she pulled the veil back over her head, encapsulating herself. Her heart was stampeding now, her pulse drumming against her ears.

With an enraged scream, she reached for the silver hairbrush on the vanity and hurled it as hard as she could at the mirror.

A spiderweb of cracks burst across the glass, spindling toward the silver frame. A hundred veiled strangers looked back at her. She screamed again and grabbed for anything in reach—a vase, a perfume bottle, a jewelry box—throwing them all at the mirror, watching as pieces of glass splintered and shattered, broken slivers crashing to the floor. Finally she picked up the small chair beside the vanity, cushioned in white velvet.

With that final crash, the mirror was destroyed, shards of glass scattering halfway across the bedroom.

The guards burst through the door. “Your Majesty! Is everything all right?”

Panting, Levana threw the chair aside and crumpled to her knees, ignoring the piece of glass that cut into her shin. Trembling, she adjusted the veil over her head, making sure she was fully hidden.

“Your Majesty?”

“Don’t come any closer!” she yelled, holding out her hand.

The guards paused.

“I want—” Nearly choking on the words, she scrubbed the tears from her face. It was a struggle to compose herself, but her voice was firm when she spoke again. “I want all the mirrors in the palace destroyed. Every one of them. Check the servants’ quarters, the washrooms, everywhere. Check the entire city! Destroy them and throw their shattered pieces into the lake where I will never have to look at them again!”

After a long silence, one of the guards murmured, “My Queen.”

She could not tell if his words were to say that it would be done, or that she was talking like a madwoman.

She didn’t care.

“Once all of the mirrors are destroyed, I want to commission special glass for the palace, to replace all of the windows, and every glass surface. Glass that holds no reflection. None at all.”

“Is that possible, My Queen?”

Exhaling slowly, Levana grabbed for the edge of the vanity and pulled herself to her feet as gracefully as she could. She adjusted the veil again before turning to face the guards. “If it is not, then we will all live in a palace without any glass at all.”

* * *

“Yes. Yes. This will work. I’m pleased.”

The technician bowed, his face contorted with obvious relief, but Levana was already ignoring him, her attention captured by the special screen she’d commissioned to be installed into the silver frame of her sister’s mirror. The destroyed glass had been thrown into the lake with all the rest of it.

She drew a finger across the screen, testing its functionality. Most of the entertainment on Luna was broadcast through the holograph nodes or on the enormous screens set into the walls of the domes themselves. But comms and video feeds from Earth didn’t always translate to the holographs, so her newly commissioned netscreen was more akin to Earthen technology. It was as useful as it was beautiful. She would need it for the surveillance she hoped to conduct on the people of the outer sectors. For her discussions with the Commonwealth emperor. For the newsfeeds she would be monitoring, closely, once her army was unleashed.

A good queen was a well-informed queen.

She paused when one of the Earthen newsfeeds showed the royal family of the Eastern Commonwealth. Emperor Rikan standing alone at the podium with his country’s flag like a sunrise behind him. The young prince stood beside a sour-faced political adviser, his eyes downcast. He was a string bean of a child, not much older than Winter. But it was his father, expression equally miserable, that held Levana’s attention.

The press conference was to discuss their recent tragedy.

The beloved empress was dead, having contracted none other than Levana’s disease during a philanthropic trip to a plague-ridden town at the western edge of the Commonwealth.

Dead of letumosis.

Levana laughed—she couldn’t help herself—remembering Channary’s dreamy, offhanded comment that the empress might someday find herself assassinated.

This was not an assassination. This was not murder.

This was fate.

Simple, exquisite, blindingly obvious fate.

No longer could Earth flaunt its perfect royal family, in their perfect little palace, on their perfect little planet. No longer could they claim the happiness that had eluded Levana for so long.

“My Queen?”

She turned back to the technician. He was clutching a pair of gloves in his hands, and he looked terrified.

“Yes?”

“I only wanted to mention that … you are aware, I hope, that your—that glamours do not translate through netscreens? Should you wish to send any video comms, or conduct any broadcasts, that is.”

A smile stretched across Levana’s lips. “Do not worry. I have already commissioned something special from my dressmaker for just such an occasion.” She glanced at the sheer lacy veil that had been delivered a few days before, much more sophisticated than the canopy curtains, yet with all the same mystery and security they’d afforded her.

Dismissing the technician, Levana turned back to watch the muted feed of the Commonwealth’s royal family. Since her fight with Evret over a month before and her assault on the palace’s mirrors, she’d delved into her role as queen more than she’d ever done before. She hardly slept. She hardly ate. She and Sybil Mira and the rest of the court spent long hours discussing trade and manufacturing agreements between the outer sectors, and new methods to increase productivity. More guards were needed to patrol the outer sectors—so more guards were drafted and began their training. Some of the young men they’d tried to draft didn’t want to be guards at all, especially those who had family in the same sectors they would be monitoring. Levana solved the problem by threatening the livelihoods of those very families they were so concerned about, and watched how quickly the young men changed their minds. The curfew, instated for the necessary rest and protection of the workers, had not been popular to begin with, but after Levana had suggested they make public examples of those civilians who refused to obey the new laws, the people began to see the reasonableness of such strict expectations.

Even as she was making her country stronger and more stable, there was one burgeoning problem that Levana couldn’t ignore.

Luna’s resources were dwindling faster than ever, just as the reports had said they would. Only regolith seemed to be in endless supply, but their water and agriculture, their forest industry and metal-recycling plants were all dependent on the space within the atmosphere-and-gravity-controlled domes, and the materials that had been brought up from Earth so many generations ago.

More luxuries, more diverse crops, more military weaponry and training grounds and shipbuilding, all equaled fewer resources.

The court representatives warned her that they could not sustain this level of advancement for more than a decade or two.

On the screen, Emperor Rikan was leaving the stage. The crown prince was fidgeting with his necktie. The people of the Commonwealth were crying.

“Earth,” Levana whispered, tasting the word on her tongue, and it felt like the first time she’d said it. Or, the first time she’d meant it. Earth. “That is what we need.”

And why shouldn’t they take it? They were the more advanced society, the more advanced species. They were stronger, and smarter, and more powerful. Earthens were but children in comparison.

But how best to take it? There were far too many Earthens to brainwash, even if she divided her entire court among them. Though letumosis was spreading—it would be years still before she could make use of her antidote. And her wolf soldiers were not yet ready for any sort of full-scale attack. There was still so much work to be done if she had any hope of taking Earth by force.

But as she learned from Channary, one did not always have to take things by force. Sometimes it was better if you made them come to you. Made them want you.

A marriage alliance then, just as Channary had dreamed for herself, all those years ago. Princess Winter would make a good match for this boy, but Winter had no royal blood. The alliance would be too superficial.

No, it had to be the queen. It had to be Levana. It had to be someone who could, someday, someday, produce an heir to the throne.

Pressing her lips, she turned off the screen.

She would have to do it, she knew. For the people. For their future. For Luna.

For all of Earth.

* * *

She could not remember the last time she’d come to his chambers in the middle of the night, and Evret seemed surprised by her presence. They had barely spoken since their argument, and when Levana tried to kiss him, he rejected her as kindly as he could.

Still, he didn’t ask her to leave.

She wondered if he was remembering her as she was beneath the glamour, and the thought hardened her heart. The way he had looked at her—the real her—iced her veins.

She stripped away his resistance, piece by piece. So gradually and gently he wouldn’t even know she was tampering with him. He would think it was his own heart beating a little faster. His own blood running a little hotter. His own yearning growing inside him as he finally gave in and pulled her into his arms.

Love is a conquest.

Even knowing that it wasn’t his choice, would never have been his choice, his kisses still elated her. Even after all these years, she loved him. No matter what he said about their marriage, that much was real.

Afterward, Levana stayed curled up in the crook of his arm, her head pressed against the hollow of his chest, listening to the lulling drum of his heartbeat. She ran her thumb over the stone wedding band he’d given her, twirling it around and around her finger. She knew that she would never again wear the Earth pendant after this night, but this band she would never take off. She would carry it with her for always, for eternity.

The pendant represented the love Evret had never had for her.

But the wedding band represented the love she had always had for him.

Love is a war.

Though she’d been expecting the muffled thumps from the corridor, she still startled when she heard them. Two royal guards, incapacitated. She wondered if he decided to kill them or merely knock them unconscious.

Evret stirred in his sleep. His arm tightened instinctively around her and Levana squeezed her eyes shut before she could cry.

From this day forward, you will be my sun at dawn and my stars at night.

The bedroom door burst open, crashing loud against the wall. Evret jolted upward, simultaneously pushing Levana aside.

A dark silhouette filled the door frame.

Later, when she had time to process it all, Levana would be amazed at how quickly Evret reacted. Even pulled from sleep, his instincts were immediate and alert. In one movement he shoved Levana off the bed so that she was protected behind the mattress and rolled himself off the other side. A gunshot flared through the room. The sound was deafening. It wouldn’t be long before more guards came running.

“Majesty, stay down!” Evret yelled. From somewhere, he had a knife. Of course he had a knife. He had probably slept with it under his pillow since their wedding night and Levana had never known.

She didn’t stay down. Instead, she gripped the tumbled blankets and watched as Evret flung himself toward the intruder, and she silently said her good-byes, even as tears trekked down her face.

The knife was only a hair from the intruder’s chest when it froze.

This was not a shell like the one that killed her parents. This was a much more skilled assassin. A much more dangerous one. As Levana’s vision adjusted to the light pouring in from the corridor, she watched Evret’s eyes widen in recognition.

Although Head Thaumaturge Haddon had retired some years before, he had never fully left the court. Or, as Levana had guessed, fully given up on his ambitions. He had reached the highest position in court that he could achieve without being royalty himself.

Levana had made him a very tempting promise. He hadn’t even hesitated when she told him her price.

The knife fell, landing anticlimactically on the bed.

A second gunshot. A third. A fourth. Blood splattered across the white linens. Down the hall, Levana heard Princess Winter screaming. She wondered whether the girl would come see what was happening or whether she would be smart enough to run for help.

Either way, it would be too late.

It was too late.

Joshua Haddon released Evret, who fell to his knees, blood covering his hands as he pressed them over his stomach. “Majesty—” he croaked. “Run.”

The thaumaturge turned toward Levana. He was smiling, proud and haughty. He had succeeded. He had done as she had asked. And now, without the burden of a husband, it would be time for Levana to fulfill the promise she had made. To marry Joshua and crown him as the king of Luna. When Levana asked him to do this, she was sure to tell him how she had admired him for so many years—that this is what she had longed for ever since she’d made the mistake of her youthful marriage. Arrogant as he was, Haddon took very little convincing.

Levana climbed onto her shaky legs.

Haddon lowered the gun. His eyes roved over her body—her glamour’s body—full of lust and anticipation.

Ignoring the tears now drying on her cheeks, Levana flung herself toward Haddon. He lifted his arms to accept the embrace.

Instead, he received a knife, handle deep, in his chest.

As horror and comprehension crashed into his expression, Levana shoved him away. He stumbled back, collapsing against the wall.

She fell to the floor beside Evret. Agony clawed up her throat and exploded in a shrill wail.

As soon as Levana was out of danger, his last reserves of energy left him and Evret slumped against the side of the bed.

“Evret!” she cried, surprised to find that her terror was real. Watching the spark dim behind his eyes, the way those gray and emerald specks seemed to fade in the darkness, was more painful than she’d imagined it would be.

I vow to love and cherish you for all our days.

“Evret,” she said again, whimpering now. Her hands joined his, trying to block the wounds. Down the hall there were new footsteps. It could not have been more than a minute since Haddon had entered the room, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed. Looking down, she saw blood splattered across her nightgown. Blood covering their hands. Blood on the two wedding bands he still wore, pressed up against each other.

Here is what I think of love.

She sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh, stars. Evret.”

“It’s all right,” he gasped, dragging his arms around her and pulling her against him. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

She cried harder.

“Please. Please. Take care of Winter.”

She sobbed.

“Promise, My Queen. Promise you’ll take care of her.”

She dared to meet his eyes. They were intense and melting and struggling so hard to stay strong. To hide his pain. To pretend that he wasn’t dying.

At some point, guards arrived. A doctor. Even Winter, with her pale nightgown and frightened tears. And Sybil, too, unsurprised it seemed, by the expressionless set of her brow.

Levana hardly saw any of them. She was alone with Evret, her husband, her beloved, clutching his hand as the blood cooled on her skin. She felt it the moment he was gone, and she was left alone.

She could not stop crying.

It was all her fault. Everything was her fault. She had ruined every moment she had with him, from their very first kiss.

“I promise,” she whispered, though the words burned her throat. She did not love the child. She had only loved Evret, and now she had destroyed even that. “I promise.”

Reaching for the pendant around her neck, she broke the chain with a firm yank. She slipped the charm into Evret’s hand as Sybil pulled her away, and a screaming Winter collapsed against her father to take her place.

Her sister’s words came back to her, thundering in her ears, filling up all the hollow places in her heart.

Love is a conquest. Love is a war.

Here is what I think of love.