*
“Tell me it isn’t true!” Channary yelled, stomping into Levana’s dressing quarters the next day. Wearing little more than shredded ribbons that barely covered what a woman should have covered, Channary looked like an effervescent spirit beneath the glow of the chandeliers. A risqué effervescent spirit.
Levana dared not move as her seamstress whipped her needle and thread over the seam at Levana’s waist, taking it in. She had made a comment about how Levana must not be eating well, how she needed to plump up a little to keep a good figure, like her older sister, and Levana forced her to hold her tongue after that. The seamstress flushed with embarrassment and returned silently to her work. It had since been a very long two hours.
She glanced at her fuming sister.
“Tell you what isn’t true?”
“You idiot. Did you marry him?”
“Yes. As I told you I would.”
Channary made a furious noise in the back of her throat. “Then you will have it annulled, and quickly, before the whole city finds out.”
“I will not.”
“Then I will have him executed.”
Levana snarled. “No, you won’t. Why do you even care? I love him. I chose him. It’s done.”
“So love him. Bed him if you like, but we do not marry guards.” Channary gestured toward the wall—beyond it, the white city of Artemisia. “Do you know how many of the families I have promised your hand to, and Father before that? There are strategies in place. We need their support. We want them to feel invested in us as rulers, and for that we need to make alliances. That’s how it works, Levana. That is your only role as a part of this family, and I will not have you ruining it.”
“It’s too late. I won’t change it, and even if you did kill him, I would never marry to please you. I would rather die.”
“That, too, can be arranged, baby sister.”
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.”