RED SPADE

three.

"DON'T WORRY I AM NOT here to back you to a corner." Blancha gives me a broad smile, "Are you not glad I've visited you?" Her honeyed tone and innocence reminds me of a young peasant girl's, but I know better than to think that of Princess number four. She drags a forefinger along my eyes.

"Where did the silly dark lines you drew go?"

I flush. I feel heat rush up my neck. "I do not know what you are talking about, My Grace."

"You always wanted to be one of us."

A red carnation in a bouquet of black carnations.

A red spade in a pile of black spades. She slides the tip of her finger down, down, down. "You look distinctively like a spade girl. Am I right?"

Traitorous warmth spreads in my heart. Recognition. If it weren't for that blotchy mole. You are lacking in figure too. Have you seen your arms? They are as spindly as a spiders. And your thighs, darling. My, how large they are. She had once whispered into my ears.

"You are one of us." She assured me now, black lined eyes staring not at me, but calculating my worth. "If it weren't for that blotchy mole. Or my lacking figure." I murmured to her. She pulled away, surprised. "I hope you didn't take that to heart. You know I was just a jealous, silly girl. We look so much alike." She stated curtly.

Too much. Like two daughters of the same mother. Two sides of the same coin.

"I am sure you want something in return for the generosity of your compliments." I reply icily. One of her ladies in waiting gives me a accusing glare. "My grace." I add hastily. "My!" Blancha exclaims, "How well you know me, even when we were apart for so long!"

Manipulative, cold, Blancha. She cared only for herself. And rarely, for her legitimate sisters. Her stupid dunce of a father would never know even an eighth of her intelligence. "I will spare you the fancying then, Danica." Her tone is calculating again, and so is her gaze. "I need you close by me."

She reads my expression. "From now, you are the personal maid of Blancha Of Spades. You will receive an additional seven times the coinage of a regular servant. Your quarters are already prepared."

"If I defy you..." Her eyes are trained on mine as I speak.

"I know there are many things you care about. Too many things you cherish. Too many things to be used against you... Darling Danica." Her voice was faint, but tone threatening. "I did not know you could stoop any lower." I laugh drily.

"Moria Teller's old mother is very sickly. Is she not?"

I swallow hard. "You wouldn't-"

"There's a lot of things I could do." She stretched out her hand. One of her ladies handed her a velvet bonnet. I watched as she fastened it tightly below her chin, covering her sable black hair.

"I hope I will see you at dusk." Her eyes glimmer with all the confidence possible, "I think you know where The Spire is."

♠

The Spire is located in the eastern wing, a tower twisted with steel and thick ivy, and thick brambles of fragrant flowers. Large, fluted glass windows and the curvy staircase, made of different types of wood, all pieced together in away that bordered messy and elegant. Thorny thistle covered the handrails, a vibrant purple. Large fireflies twinkled in the night air.

Jewel-like butterflies danced on the sugar pansies, fluttering their wings vainly. I climbed the stairs, out of breath, sweaty and exhausted from sweeping. Blancha's chambers are a shocking blandness compared to the rest of The Spire. The entrance is a plain white archway, with a chequered floor, much like a chess board, and giant ceramic vases, spilling with carnations.

Blancha sat on a satin settee, her ladies in waiting surrounding her. On the glass tea table were saucers full of delicacies, varying from rosewater puddings to what looked like bird intestines. She held a ramekin with one hand, the other holding a long silver pin, that held what was indefinitely bloody hearts.

"I was hoping you could make it."

I tilt my head and curtsy. "Sit." She says. She places to the pin, licking the blood from her lips. "You haven't had supper, have you?" She smiles toothily, front teeth stained slightly pink. A gruesome sight.

"No. My Grace."

"I didn't know what you favoured. But you did like sweet rice on a stick." She says sweetly, sweeter than the syrupy sticks, sprinkled with little blue topped flowers. "What a sweet tooth you had."

I smile coyly. "I'm glad you remember."

"Help yourself. Or, did your tastebuds change?"

I reach forward, selecting a small stick of rice, the honey drizzling down my fingers. It was a silent insult, for she knew cheap confectionaries like syrupy rice and candied harebells were peasant sweets. Things one could find on the streets, piles of sticky sticks, on a linen cloth, with old hags yelling the prices and folk haggling over them.

"Stop beating around the bush." I wipe my sticky hands on a napkin.

"Right." Blancha smiles serenely, hands folded in her lap, "I will be... Gone. For a while." I narrow my eyes at her words. The princess with the most power in the court would not so quickly abandon her post. Her post of keeping her other sisters in check.

The king had five daughters with mothers from the Court Of Spades. Blancha was the daughter of Countess Albina, the twin sisters, Ivory and Ebony were Marchioness Kierane's kin, and finally the two daughters, Finstre and Noire, belonging to House Meladause.

Blancha was the exception, for both House Kierane and House Meladause had little political power, even with their titles of Marquess and Viscount. Countess Albina was a favoured concubine of the king, and she was perhaps the most clever of them all. She held great influence among the court ladies, and has been coveting the title of queen for decades.

She was as slippery as an eel, and her reputation for staining names and finding scandals gave her the name "White Queen" among high society. Her image was cleaner than fresh snow, and she always had something on the opposing side. The aristocrats were uneasy about Countess Albina, and no one wanted to make an enemy out of such a dangerous opponent.

Even the other concubines, who others would assume be her rivals, stood by her side no matter what.

"His Royal Majesty has not a clue, I suppose. So you must not tell anyone." Blancha said with forethought, "but keep in mind that you are an important piece."

I narrow my eyes. "Piece?"

"Let's say you're playing a role." She says, now picking up a porcelain teacup and saucer. A Lady In Waiting, decked in a frilly pink gown adds just a couple drops of honey.

"In a weeks time, you will be taking my place," Blancha smiled mirthlessly, "As Princess."