Oh, babe in thy cradle, I wish thee to sleep, 

And all through thy life, thine promises keep.

And thou will be happy and shall never cry,

So long as thou sleeps here, thou shalt not lie. 

The throne room was dark. Not much could be seen of the queen but a swollen belly and delicate hands, a ruby-toned dress, and a matching manicure.  Another young woman stood at her side, with kinky hair brushing broad shoulders. This woman’s face was visible- her eyes were sharp and shifty, golden brown. While she was, objectively, beautiful, the cold aura that surrounded her was not. 

The third person in the room was a disheveled, but not poor, slightly overweight man. He looked terrified but kept his voice even. 

“Our son turns ten this month,”  He told the queen.

“Of course he does.” The queen’s voice was melodic in a minor sort of way. “And you would have told me if the child had any magic ability.” 

“Yes, of course, I would,” The man said quickly.

The silent woman’s face remained stony. The queen continued. 

“And he exhibits none?” 

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Shame. Your daughter has been so useful to me, I’d have loved to have another gift as useful as hers among my dear Danes.” 

“I’m glad she’s of use.” 

The woman’s eye twitched. It was nearly unnoticeable. 

“Oh, so am I!” The queen giggled. “So grateful for my dear Adria.” 

“If I may be so forward, I have business at home.”

“This is a lie.” The silent woman spoke up. 

If the man’s demeanor was a mirror, someone had just dropped it on the tile. 

“No, wait- not urgent business, but it is-” he stuttered, backing away. 

“Oh, my, Mister Athavale, no need to worry. I’ll have your daughter escort you out right away.”

The man sighed, relieved, but did not relax. 

“Just promise me something, Hugo?”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“Don’t ever lie to me again.”