"My king, congratulations," they said, bowing low. "It is rare to bear four children at once. The gods must be exceedingly pleased with you."
I laughed, genuine surprise still warm in my chest. Four moons at once was no small miracle—even I had not expected such abundance.
"You flatter me," I replied, lifting my cup, "but it is you who are blessed. Look at them—strong already. Fine nephews, each of them."
He laughed heartily. "If the heavens denied me children of my own, they have made amends with these."
We shared a smile—one of those easy, hollow moments court life was built on.
"Your Majesty," a voice announced, "I bring gifts for the four moons your queen has birthed. In Rivasha, such a blessing must be honored."
The High Priestess bowed deeply as her servants advanced. The guards halted them, and one by one the offerings were laid before me—rubies like captured fire, silk and linen softer than clouds, gold, spice, wealth enough to choke a kingdom.
I was pleased. Rivasha brewed rot beneath its polished skin, but it understood celebration—especially when its own bloodline had delivered heirs.
"Oh, High Priestess," I said smoothly, "I am more than honored. I had not thought Rivasha so generous."
She lowered her head. "My king, you stand closest to the gods. To give you less than abundance would be to insult your crown."
I laughed, satisfied. She knew her place.
"My thanks," I said. "These gifts will be treasured. You overwhelm me."
As she withdrew, my mother scoffed sharply.
"Useless morons," the Queen Dowager muttered, bitterness dripping from every word. Her hatred for Rivasha ran deep—and not without reason.
"Oh, come now, Mother," my brother Tahkar cut in with a grin. "They do have the beauty of red sands… and beautiful women."
I turned to him, smirking. "Ah. Someone has caught your eye. Was it my wife… or her voluptuous sister? Rivasha does breed them well."
Tahkar laughed. "Only two women in my bed, Your Majesty? I have more than enough strength to manage an entire brothel."
We laughed freely—too freely.
"Even as king, you are still unserious," my mother snapped. "You disgrace your crown with such vulgarity."
"Oh, Dowager Queen," Tahkar began gleefully—
"Enough," she barked. "What if someone heard you? Jesting about sharing women—with the king no less!"
He fell silent, wisely.
"Mother," I said gently, taking her hand, "we are only jesting."
She turned away, her jaw tight. "The munera was prepared in her honor," she said coldly. "And yet she is late. So much for the Princess of Rivasha."
I exhaled softly. So much for etiquette, I thought. You and Tahkar share more than you know.
Then the herald's voice cut through the air.
"Queen Zaríne Tihara of House Sihon—Queen of Aseríva, Mother of the Four Moons—has arrived."
And then she appeared.
The most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon.
She walked with certainty, head held high, pride stitched into every step. Her black hair gleamed beneath the sun, her light-brown eyes sharp and knowing. Gold clung to her like it belonged there—the kalasiris kissing her skin, split high along her legs. The crown upon her head did not weigh her down; it crowned her defiance.
And the scar beneath her left eye—ah, that only made her stronger.
She met my gaze and smirked.
Satisfied.
I smiled. How could I not? She pleased me—in every way a man could be pleased. And beauty was a weapon she wielded expertly.
"I trust the childbearing did not break you, my queen," I said. "Four moons is no small trial."
"Of course not, Your Grace," she replied sweetly. "The gods favored us."
Sly. Dangerous. The kind of woman who would devour your heart while smiling.
I laughed.
As she took her seat, I laced my fingers through hers. "I have a gift for you, my sweet."
Her expression flickered—curiosity, suspicion, something darker. It thrilled me.
I rose from my gilded throne and stepped into the open.
"Hush," the herald cried. "His Majesty graces us with his presence."
The Colosseum stilled.
"I host this celebration," I declared, "to honor the birth of my four moons."
The crowd roared.
"There will be trials," I continued. "For whichever gladiator survives the fight-to-the-death rounds, I will name one of my children after them."
Shock rippled through the nobles. Ecstasy tore through the common folk.
Faith be damned. Tradition bored me.
I glanced back at my queen.
She was furious.
Did she have a say?
Of course not.
"There will be four divisions," I said. "Men and women of every origin. One victor from each."
The crowd leaned forward, breathless.
"And then," I smiled, "they will face a beast unlike any you have known."
A pause.
"From there, we shall see… whether one is worthy of immortality—or whether all shall die."
The Colosseum erupted.
Flowers flew. Blood was already being imagined.
I laughed—loud, unrestrained, drunk on power.
I looked once more at my queen, my lips curling as I roared—
"MAY THE GAMES BEGIN!"