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?”