"In our traditions and in the law of our ancestors," Tahkar proclaimed, his voice carrying easily despite the murmuring crowd, "both father and mother are refrained from knowing the genders of their offspring until the appointed hour. The children are first baptized, wrapped in gold-threaded cloth, and only thereafter presented to the masses by their father, the King."
He paused, glancing about as though weighing the patience of the assembly.
"They are then named, blessed by the gods, and formally acknowledged by the realm—thus completing what we call the Child Naming Ceremony."
A beat passed.
Tahkar leaned slightly toward the priests and added, far too audibly, "A process which, I am told, exists to prevent parents from choosing favorites too early—though I personally find this optimism offensive."
A ripple of restrained laughter passed through the lower tiers. A few priests shot him sharp looks. Tahkar only smiled, entirely unbothered.
Most of the preparations had already been completed. The rites, the bathing, the oils, the gold wrappings—all had been done in haste. As was custom with the "almighty King," patience had never been among his virtues. He had dismissed the finer observances and commanded the priests and servants to complete the remainder without him, eager only for the spectacle of the naming.
Respect for tradition had always sat lightly upon his shoulders.
The people were not pleased. That much was clear. Their applause was measured, their reverence cautious. Yet what were they to do? Challenge him? Lecture him on custom? Such thoughts were as foolish as they were fatal.
As Tahkar advanced, the men bearing the Four Moons bent their knees deeply, lowering their heads in submission. At his approach, they raised the infants high into the air, their small, gilded forms gleaming beneath the moon.
Tahkar took but a single glance at them—and his face brightened openly, almost boyishly. His eyes sparkled with unguarded glee, as though this were a festival rather than a sacred rite. He turned toward King Kharun and nodded once, firmly.
Kharun returned the nod, deliberate and knowing.
For a fleeting moment, unease crept into my thoughts.
'What was that?' I wondered silently.
"Let us grace them with our presence, my sovereign," King Kharun said plainly, stepping aside.
We moved forward.
Tahkar placed one child into Kharun's arms—and another into mine.
The moment the infant settled against me, the world seemed to still.
Its small weight was warm. Real. Breathing.
I could not help but stare.
Green eyes—too bright, too aware—looked back at me with quiet curiosity, unburdened by lineage, bloodshed, or hatred. Most mothers would have been overcome with joy at such a sight. Would have smiled, laughed, wept.
But what was I meant to feel?
What joy was there in bearing a child for a man I loathed more deeply than I despised most men alive? They said love and hate shared a thin boundary. If so, I was trapped upon it—unable to cross in either direction.
Kharun's voice shattered my thoughts.
"I am deeply grateful for the presence of such esteemed guests and friends of high nobility," he announced smoothly, "who have gathered to witness the naming of my Four Moons. It brings me nothing but joy."
Joy.
He turned to me and smiled.
"My Queen and I have long wished for children," he continued, "and the gods, in their boundless favor, have gifted us more than we could have imagined."
The lie nearly drew a scowl from me.
It sat foul upon my tongue, sour and obscene.
"…Thus," he went on, untroubled, "we sat as one and considered names worthy of our dear children—the beloved Four Moons of Asèriva."
I turned my face toward him, struggling not to raise a brow.
'What is he even saying now?' I thought bitterly.
I concealed myself behind a simple smile. I had endured too much already. I wanted this finished.
The wrappings were loosened.
Gold cloth parted.
Gasps rippled outward as the first child was revealed.
"For my first moon…" Kharun began.
The crowd leaned forward as one.
"A son."
Excited murmurs broke free.
"Oh heavens, how wondrous!"
"What will he name them? All sons, perhaps?"
"That would be a curse upon succession!"
"Outrageous—utterly outrageous!"
The voices tumbled over one another.
Kharun raised a hand.
"I shall name him something beautiful," he said, "a name of Rivasha, as is his mother."
He paused, savoring it.
"He shall be Prince Mahnoosh Zar Zerpert."
I turned sharply to him, surprised despite myself.
He had honored me.
Even so, I knew better.
He delighted in performance. In spectacle. He was far better suited to the role of a jester than that of a king.
The crowd, however, melted.
"What a beautiful name!"
"The King truly loves the Queen!"
"Does not Mahnoosh mean 'Moon Beauty'?"
"Yes—it does!"
"HAIL PRINCE MAHNOOSH!"
They bowed as one.
"For my second moon," Kharun continued, "a daughter."
A small giggle escaped him.
Most men disdained daughters, seeing them as ornaments or currency. Yet he seemed pleased—or perhaps merely relieved that his first son would face no immediate rival.
"I name her Ariala."
"For the third," he said, laughter dancing again at his lips, "another daughter. She shall be Neoma."
Whispers ignited anew.
"All Rivasha names?"
"He must adore her."
"Let us hope the last bears Asèrivan blood more clearly."
"And all moon-named? Is that not excessive?"
"Concern yourself less. Time will judge."
Soft laughter followed.
"And for my fourth moon," Kharun declared.
Silence fell.
"We… have decided to name him—Prince Astros of Asèriva."
At first—gasps.
Then—
Nothing.
Silence so deep it seemed the air itself recoiled.
A feather might have shattered it.
Rage surged through me, sharp and blinding.
'First you kill him' I thought viciously 'and now you condemn me to hear his name for the rest of my life?' My chest was heaving with anger far more furious than hell fire.
'This was bad.' I thought to myself.
Astros had died an unworthy death—brutal, humiliating, undeserved. A half-breed born of a fallen house that dared to rise again, only to be crushed more cruelly than before.
And now—
Kharun….this imbecile decides to wake up and name that to he's son! A prince! Knowing damn well the repercussions of such a thing!
Whispers turned sour.
Displeased.
Worse still—many believed this had been my doing.
I stared at him, hatred and revulsion burning unchecked.
'Calm yourself. Only a little longer.' I thought to myself. As I tried to maintain my composure.
My chest burned as though filled with ash and venom.
The air grew heavy as we returned to our seats. The Four Moons were borne away to their wet nurses. Jesters rushed forward, drums beat, flutes sang—every effort made to fracture the tension.
Kharun leaned toward me, amused.
"Well," he said lightly, "I am surprised you disliked the last name. I had thought you might appreciate—"
I cut him off.
"You are among the most disappointing creatures to ever walk these lands," I hissed. "A wicked savagery wrapped in silk."
He raised a brow, scoffing.
"I see you are finally in high spirits again."
"Just as you have been," I nearly spat.
"Oh, come now," he sighed. "You should have learned manners by now. Speaking so freely is not in your interest, my—"
"And neither is it in yours," I snapped, breath unsteady. "You dare part your lips and parade such lies before the realm. You possess not a shred of self-awareness."
Silence.
Then, coldly "The next time you speak to me in such a disgusting and free manner, I will remind you why my name is not carried lightly."
I scoffed.
"And the next time you speak nonsense," I replied, rising, "remember not to stain my name with it."
I turned away.
"I take my leave of this wretched celebration. I will not share air with you."
No reply.
When I glanced back, he was smiling.
Briefly.
Sweetly.
I left the hall, fury trailing behind me like a curse, and returned to the palace.