Queen of All

by Anya Josephs

  Sisi smiles at him, dazzlingly lovely, all artifice. “As I’ve said, of course.”

  Lord Ricard offers her his arm, and she places her gloved hand over his forearm, letting him lead her away into the crowd. Aunt Mae and I are left to watch the dancers go by.

  There are so many people here, such a blur of motion and activity, that I lose sight of them quickly. The costumes and the jewels eclipse the faces; gentlemen mostly in dark breeches and hose with brilliantly colored shirts, the ladies all in bright or pastel gowns. The couples separate and come together, twirling along with the music as the beat grows faster. I would only stumble over the steps, even if I had someone to dance with, but it’s a wonderful thing to watch, and someone has come to offer a cup of chilled punch that Aunt Mae lets me take after an assurance from the liveried maid carrying the tray that it’s no stronger than cider or watered wine.

  I sip at my drink slowly and watch the people go by. Sisi is the only one wearing white—the other ladies are all in more vibrant colors. Her dress makes her stand out even more as she and Lord Ricard make their way to the center of the crowd. Aunt Mae and I aren’t the only ones watching them. The other dancers are slowing, swaying in one another’s arms gently so that they can watch the spectacle that the two of them make. Lord Ricard has one hand on Sisi’s waist and the other in her own hand, and they are practically galloping across the floor. The pins begin to fall from their careful arrangement in her hair and she laughs as they spin across the floor.

  If she’s deceiving him, she’s a better liar than I thought. I, too, would be fooled into thinking she’s having the time of her life, and I know her better than anyone. Or so I think, until they turn the corner so that her face is turned toward mine. Her cheeks are flushed, her smile wide, her barely constrained bust heaving with the effort of the dance and with laughter. She is every inch the picture of joy, but that wide smile still doesn’t touch her eyes, and when Lord Ricard turns toward the band to cue them to play again, her smile flags a little at the corners, as if the effort of keeping it up is just too much to maintain.

  Still, it would fool anyone but me, who knows her best. It is a clever deception, and all I can do is hope that it will work. I can only imagine what the consequences would be if Lord Ricard knew that she was trying to pry some sort of information out of him that he doesn’t want to divulge—when he is such a powerful man and she is only a weak, orphaned girl.

  When the dance has ended, they return for their drinks. Sisi flops into a chair, a little bit of gracelessness that reminds me she really is the same person she’s always been, in spite of her carefully performed manners.

  She is back to her act, though, a mere moment later, as she looks back up at Lord Ricard. “You’ve worn me out quite entirely, my lord.”

  “Oh, how terrible of me. I had rather hoped for another dance tonight. Maybe even a few more.”

  “How you presume.” She runs a finger around the rim of her glass, looking up at him. “But perhaps you may find some means of persuading me.”

  He looks back at her, with a regard that frightens me a little. He doesn’t look at her like he’s in love—not, for instance, the way that Jorj looks at Merri. Not even the way that Sisi is pretending to look at him. And certainly not the way I look at Sisi, when I think she’s not paying attention.

  No, he’s looking at her the way Aunt Mae looks at a nice basket at the market. Or a piece of newly woven cloth that she knows we can’t afford. He looks at her the way the men look at their dinner when they’ve come in from long hours of work on the farm and they’re weary and starving.

  He looks at Sisi like she’s something he’d quite like to own, but he can’t figure out how he will yet. He looks at her like he’s dreaming of tearing her to pieces, and he’ll do whatever it takes to devour her.

  With an elegant flourish and a small bow, he offers her his hand. “Another dance, my lady?”

  She lets her eyes dart over to me for just a moment, and I see the exhaustion in them, and not from dancing. She’s tired of the ruse, and yet she dares do nothing but what he asks. If he sees the mask slip, if he realizes the real goal of all her clever questions and bright ideas, the consequences could be terrible. She has to be perfect and charming every moment or he may realize what she’s up to.

  So, she takes his hand, and lets him pull her to her feet. She takes a few steps, hurrying toward the dance floor, but she’s still looking back at me as they go. I hear, before I see, a soft thump and an exclaimed, “Oh!” as she bumps right into someone. “Forgive me, sir, I didn’t see you there.”

  “No, my lady, you must excuse me,” says a deep voice. The voice belongs to someone’s gold-clad chest. She has to look up quite a bit to find a face: tan skin and strong features, with a dark brown beard and a soft smile aimed right at Sisi. “I have never been known for my grace. Still, I would have hoped for a better introduction than this.”

  “Consider it forgotten, then,” Sisi says, her voice light. “Perhaps His Royal Highness could make the acquaintance in a more becoming fashion?”

  The man turns and nods at Lord Ricard. “Brother.”

  He does look a great deal like Lord Ricard. But if he’s His Highness’ brother, then this man must be—

  I realize everyone else has already curtsied around us, and even Lord Ricard is bowing. I try to imitate Sisi, who has dropped gracefully into a low curtsy and is holding the position. I manage to get my head as low as she does, though I can’t stop my knees from trembling again. Luckily, between the most beautiful woman in the Kingdom and the King of All the Earth, I’m quite sure that no one is looking at my own imperfect posture.

  I risk another quick glance upward and see that this man—the King—is wearing the enormous crown that represents his power over all the Kingdom. I don’t know how I managed to avoid noticing that. Unlike Lord Ricard’s circlet, this is a full crown, triple points made of wrought gold, with the sign of the Three Powers entwined in the front. Just behind him stands a masked figure wearing all black—his bodyguard, I assume, right at his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed them at first, so still is their form.

  “Your Majesty,” Lord Ricard says.

  The King extends his hand to his brother, pulling him up and then in for an embrace. “Ricard. So good to see you well.”

  “I wasn’t aware you would be here.”

  “It is my ball.”

  “I thought you were consumed with…other matters.”

  “I have been, but I heard a rumor that the most beautiful woman on Earth was going to be here, and I admit I was most curious to see whether or not that was true. I didn’t intend to bump right into her, however.”

  “And the herald didn’t announce you.” Ricard’s voice belies the slightest bit of irritation.

  “Oh, I snuck in through the back. Didn’t want anyone getting distracted from their pleasant evening just because I decided to turn up unannounced.” He smiles at us. “The lady did ask you to introduce me.”

  “Of course. Forgive me. Lady Sisi, this is His Majesty, King Balion, First in the Kingdom, Lord of—”

  The King waves his hand. “Forget all the titles. My lady, it’s nice to meet you.” He takes her hand, but unlike Ricard, doesn’t bow politely over it, or kiss it, just shakes it for a moment. It’s an oddly plain gesture and I find it reassuring.

  “Madam Mae, Lady Sisi’s aunt and chaperone. And her companion, Mistress Jeni.”

  “Ladies.” The King does kiss Aunt Mae’s hand, and she blushes bright red under his regard. Then he turns his eyes to me. He has the same hazel eyes as his brother, but his are shining and kind. He knows, I realize as he looks at me, how uncomfortable I am, that I’m frightened of having someone so important so close to me, and that I don’t have Aunt Mae’s solidity or Sisi’s loveliness to fall back on when I wish to charm people.

  “Miss Jeni. Is that for Jeminia or Jelnia?” he asks.

  “Jena,” I manage in a whisper.

  “What a lovely True
Name. How unusual. It’s so nice to meet you all.”

  Just as my cousin did, I reach out and shake the King’s hand. I can scarcely believe it’s happening. His grip is warm and firm, and his smile gentle, and I am trembling a little, but there’s something soothing about his presence that makes it hard to fear him as I ought to. He’s certainly less intimidating than his stern, suddenly sour-faced brother, whose measured smile has faded into an outright frown in the presence of the King.

  “I was wondering, Lady Sisi, if you might like to dance,” the King asks.

  She looks up from her curtsy, her polite smile fading into a look that I recognize as surprise. “I suppose I might.”

  “Madam Mae, is that all right with you? My brother is always telling me etiquette is important, so I suppose I ought to ask the lady’s chaperone.”

  “It’s fine,” Aunt Mae chokes out, seemingly about to have a fit that the King himself has to ask her permission for anything.

  “Thank you. Before we go, Lady Sisi, I must warn you, I’m a terrible dancer.”

  She laughs, surprised. “Then why dance at all?”

  He shrugs. “It’s the thing to do, isn’t it? We’re at a ball—technically, my ball—and I suppose I ought to at least pretend to be in the spirit of the thing.”

  “Very well. I do have one consolation for Your Majesty.”

  “Which is?”

  She grins, showing her even white teeth. “I’m an excellent dancer.”

  He returns the smile, and then they’re off.

  The King was not being falsely modest—he’s terribly clumsy, and only Sisi’s care and the attention of everyone else on the floor stops them from whirling into other couples. I wonder what happens to you if you trip into the King while he’s dancing. It’s probably not very pleasant.

  While I’m considering this, Lord Ricard bows to me. “Well, Lady Jeni, it seems you and I have both been left behind by the happy couple. Would you care to console me?”

  “You want to dance? With me? I don’t know how to dance.” I’m so surprised at the offer that I forget I’m supposed to be polite. I’ve taken the same dance lessons as my cousin, of course, but I never got particularly good at dancing, not in the way Sisi took to it.

  The Prince’s eyes are still on Sisi, and he seems consumed with watching her dance with his brother. I wonder if it’s mere manners spurring this offer, or if he’s hoping for something else.

  But when he speaks, his voice is perfectly courteous.

  “As Lady Sisi is so aptly demonstrating with my brother, an expert partner can help a novice. I would be honored to guide you.”

  “Of course, then.”

  I take his gloved hand, and he places the other around the waist of my dress. I can barely feel it through the thick, stiff corset I’m wearing, but his touch is firm enough to help me move to the rhythm. Fortunately, this is a slow song—I’m entirely incapable of the perfectly measured gallop Sisi demonstrated earlier, but I hope to be able to at least move vaguely to this rhythm. I sway along with his guidance. It turns out I just have to focus on not stepping on his shoes, and even I can manage that much.

  We’ve been dancing in total silence for about a minute when he speaks. His quiet voice whispering right in my ear surprises me so much that I jump, and he tightens his grip on my waist so no one will see my movement. “There is something the lovely Sisi ought to know,” he says.

  “Which is?” My heart is beating fast, and it’s not just the exertion of the dance. No, I realize, I’m quite nervous. Afraid, actually. Sisi may be fond of the intrigue that she’s created for herself here at court—she seems to even be genuinely enjoying her odd repartee with Lord Ricard—but I’m not equipped to join in. And for all my pleas to Sisi to be included, I would rather not be a part of this particular scheme.

  “My brother is the King of this land. He has no understanding at all how the game of the court is played. He doesn’t have to, since he’s the greatest prize in it. If Sisi wants to play—if she plays it with me—it could work out well for her, and for all of you. I hope she’s seen that whatever else I may be, I am certainly generous. I am most prepared to remain so, if she wishes to retain my favor. If she prefers my brother, she may get whatever maidens get out of spending time with a King—a sense of power, I imagine? But I will not take her once Balion has put her aside. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” I say, meeting his eyes with some difficulty. Now, with the coldness in his voice, the calculated cruelty in his eyes, I can see the Ricard Sisi fears so much, the zealot, the plotter, the killer.

  I wonder if Sisi will end up in his bed in spite of it. The thought turns my stomach.

  “I trust that you will tell her what I’ve said,” he says flatly. “I am sure you understand the situation you and your family find yourselves in.”

  “I’ll tell her,” I say, pulling away a bit, and he smiles.

  “And I am sure I need not warn you that this is a conversation that ought otherwise to remain between us.” He guides me into a delicate twirl around the dance floor, spinning me out in a circle. I’m dizzy and breathless, and not just from the exertion of dancing. My head spins as I try to make sense of this situation.

  “I’ll not repeat anything else you’ve said,” I say, though I’m already imagining how I’ll recount every word of it to my cousin.

  “Especially your aunt. She seems a meddling type. Like my brother. One who wouldn’t understand how things work.”

  “How do things work?”

  “In this Kingdom, we all want things from one another. If I have something Sisi wants, and she has something I want, it only makes sense for us to have a fair exchange. And in this case, I have money and wealth, and she has great beauty. We ought to be able to advantage one another.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t imagine your aunt would understand that much, do you?”

  I’ve been trying not to reveal anything too much, but I can’t help what comes spilling out. “No. She made a promise.”

  “A promise? What do you mean?”

  “To my father and Sisi’s brother. They didn’t want to let her come. But they promised that she wouldn’t be forced into anything that she didn’t want to do. That we’d protect her if we had to. And that’s why we’re here. Both Aunt Mae and I. We’ll take care of her. We’re here for her.” The words come out as if compelled—I don’t know if I should have told him even that much, but I don’t seem to be able to stop myself. It’s as close as I can come to threatening him. An absurd idea, I know, given all the power he has (and I lack), but I have to stand up for Sisi.

  At least I didn’t shove him into any mud.

  His smile stretches wider. “That’s touching,” he says, his voice sickly sweet.

  I don’t like being dismissed that way. He doesn’t exactly seem to be quaking at the threat. “She’s not something to be traded for or bought,” I say, anger showing in my tone despite myself.

  “Of course not.” He smiles again, just a little too wide.

  I can say nothing further. I don’t want to be in trouble. And I certainly don’t want this terrible man to do anything nasty to my cousin because I said the wrong thing. So, I simply say, “I understand what you mean, my lord. But Sisi will do as she wishes. She always does.”

  “And do you understand what will happen if she cannot see reason?”

  “What will happen?” I dare to ask. Between the dance, and my tight dress, and the choking fear in my chest, it is growing ever harder to breathe, but I try not to let him see my fear. He has too much power over me as it is.

  “I let young Lord Jorj go, all those years ago,” he says, his tone carefully casual. At first, I don’t understand what he’s saying. The dance continues, his strong arms guiding me into the correct movements. “When I had to have the parents removed from Eastsea. I knew there were children—Sisi and Jorj, the heirs—but they were young, a lad of sixteen and a toddling babe, and the boy promised there wouldn’t be an
y more trouble, so I let them flee. You must understand that this was nothing but mercy. They could easily have been burned along with the rest of their house, and then they would be nothing but dust now.”

  I realize that he’s admitting to exactly the crime that Sisi had suspected him of. Here, in this sparkling room, at this elegant party, he is confessing that he had her parents murdered.

  “I saved her life then, all those years ago. She might repay me. And if she will not understand that, I will finish the work I started at Eastsea. It is my understanding that young Jorj has gotten himself a child on one of your local women?”

  “M-my cousin, Merri. His wife. They have a little daughter.”

  “How sweet.”

  He doesn’t have to make the threat more explicit than that. It’s all too easy to imagine. As I spin around, the bright clothes and shining lights of the ballroom going around me in a blur, the image appears before me like a mirage—tiny Mali, so helpless and small, in the arms, not of her loving mother, but of Ricard’s gold-clad and fierce soldiers, a cruel, strong hand closing around her soft throat. “You wouldn’t.”

  And I realize, with a sinking certainty, that he would. Maybe once, Jorj and Sisi’s noble blood might have given them a measure of protection, might at least have caused something of a scandal if they were killed. But Jorj turned his back on all of that, or escaped it, and now no one would even notice if Ricard came after him and his family. There isn’t a person in the Kingdom who would stand up to Ricard, and certainly not for the sake of Mali. Only a girl, only a child, only a farmer’s daughter. Just like me.

  If Ricard doesn’t get what he wants, he’s capable of anything. I should have learned that lesson when Kariana was burned. He’ll seize what he desires if he can, and if he cannot, he’ll destroy it out of spite.

  That’s true for the Kingdom. And it’s true for our family.

  “Will you tell your pretty cousin what I said? All of what I told you to pass along?”