The Jade Queen

Chapter 01

The proper maid shall place one leigh between herself and a man not related by blood or flesh. If the maid's father is higher positioned in society, it is proper for the man to distance himself by an additional leigh as a mark of respect to the maid's father.

Kwenai Ridone, "The Proper Maid—How to turn female offspring into spouse material."

Seven days had passed since Mid-Spring Day, and the mugginess in Eimerado was already stifling. The humidity weighted over the capital like a thick blanket, barely stirred by the evening sea breeze—no chance of respite in the hottest noon hours.

The girl tossed in her large bed, linen sheet entangling around her immature curves and never-cut hair glueing to her clammy, pale skin. With one last huff, she sat on the bed and glared down at the handmaid, sleeping soundly on the cool marble floor.

How dare she?

The girl kicked the servant's side, waking her. The handmaid gasped for breath, confused by the pain and unexpected awakening. She blinked, before realising her mistress's angry expression. The handmaid half knelt, half cowered on the floor, twisting her face in a grotesque mask not to show her pain.

"Wha-what does my Excellent Lady commands to this lowly servant?"

The girl tightened her lips in disgust. At the handmaid, who at the age of nine had not yet learned not to show pain around her masters. And at herself, for the heath had robbed her the energy to whip the insolence out of that child-slave.

"Have a bath prepared. And tell Merithæ not to mess up the perfumed oils like this morning." Indeed, a bath was what she needed to find some respite from the hearth.

The girl paced barefoot in the chamber, pleased by the marble floor's freshness yet annoyed by the servants' slowness. She was about to lose her temper when the Head Handmaid announced the bath was ready. After she had vetted the oils, the girl entered the lukewarm water and exhaled in relief. The Head Handmaid, Merithæ, whispered orders, gently pouring water over her mistress' head, dropped few drops of perfumed oil and massaged the scalp. Merithæ's nimble fingers and the water were able to lose the tension in the young lady, whose thoughts soon drifted as she looked without seeing the stuccoed ceiling.

All her brothers were dead, the last one had the insolence to let himself killed in a pleasure house, and none of her father's concubines was able to bear him a living son. People were speculating who her father would adopt among his son-in-law; the problem was, there were no grandsons either. As for the Apparent Heir, a long-lost cousin who left when she was still a babe, only his concubine claimed he was still alive—besides, Poukwena1 Næjere only bore daughters, hence Albirea's cousin was in the same situation as her father.

And then there was she, the only one of marriageable age—at six and ten, those shrews of her father's concubines said she had been put on the shelf. Her lips stretched in a switchblade smile—the ignorant fools, couldn't they see her Very Excellent Lord Father was saving her up for his intended heir?

A clamour came from the inner courtyard—she would have ignored it, but a name stood out among the noise. Without a word, the girl got out the bathtub and ran to the window, peeping through the wooden shutter. Captain Hraustion Relda and two of his sons had arrived, probably summoned by her father. Her eyes lingered on the youngest man, wearing the Silver Knight attire even in the noon hours. Many gossiped the young Relda got into the order thanks to her father's patronage; as if one could cheat capturing and taming a Netrarg, one of the most dangerous dragon races in Nærthia.

He was handsome, Heran Relda, with his feature so chiselled that one would mistake him for a Prince of the Blood. A statement that wasn't exactly far from the truth: although his father was just a soldier, his mother was none other than Kwenai2 Næjeroi Lamnes, one of the last descendants of the former reigning family. He was handsome, Heran Relda, and all the dames at court devoured him with their eyes whenever he came to the royal palace. How many times did she hear them sigh and complain he was only a knight, his breeding too low and how all their hopes3 for him would stay unsatisfied?

"Rouva4 Albirea?" Merithæ's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"My dress, quick. My Very Excellent Lord Father has visitors."

Albirea didn't need to look Merithæ's face to see her expression. She could guess the Head Handmaid peep through the shutter, and the knowing smile on her ordinary lips. Indeed, may she think that even she, Rouva Albirea Gabirai, daughter to Suuritnias5 Calliram, longed for Heran Relda's sky-blue eyes! Nevertheless, it would be a lie to say Albirea didn't place her hopes in the knight; however, hers were of a different nature. She was an ambitious creature and, just like her sister, she aimed to the throne of Vernolia of the Thousand Waters—unlike her sisters, she still had to play her cards. Albirea smiled the Gabirais' switchblade smile.

Everyone was betting on losing horses, everyone ignored in who her father hoped. Albirea wouldn't put her hand on her heart; however, she suspected the choice would fall on Heran Relda, the son of the woman he couldn't have. How could explain her father's attachment to the boy? How to explain his interest, how the Presumptive Heir had imposed his will to keep the boy in the capital? And how many times Suuritnias Calliram had praised him, claiming that the young Relda was the son any man would be proud to father? However, Albirea still couldn't discern the motives behind such choice, apart from his maternal ascendance. After all, Heran Relda had nothing special and among the Presumptive Heir,s sons-in-Law there was other more fit to reign. Albirea snorted again, her switchblade smile widened: her father's motives didn't matter, as long as she got Elanne's Crown and a malleable husband.

Albirea let her handmaids dress her, cursing the padding for her stomach and hips, the layers of linen and silk and brocade. She sneezed when a handmaid blew perfumed rice powder on her face, in the useless attempt to hide her freckles. A finger brushed her tumid lips, leaving a touch of rouge; while four handmaids braided her hair. Merithæ held a silver mirror for her mistress, and her breath as well; however, her face didn't betray any fear.

"Is my lady satisfied with those lowly servants' work?"

Unlike Kwenai Næjeroi even at six and thirty, Albirea was far from the canonical Vernolian beauty. Her body was so unripe her father's concubines said she was as skinny as a starving peasant. Her hair, held in the tresses and knots as suiting a marriageable maid, was an ashen blond with nothing of the Saint Elanne's gold-and-copper. She needed regular plucking to make her hairline higher; and tinted mouse fur for fuller eyebrows. The features good enough to look if it wasn't for the slightly hooked nose and the freckles. The worst was her complexion. The dark green robe gave her a sick undertone as if she ate something off—nevertheless, Albirea would change that hue with nothing in the world. It was the royal colour, the one only the queen and the unmarried or widowed princesses of the Blood were allowed to wear. Her eyes were the only feature she wouldn't change for nothing in the world—cat-like and a deep jade green, the same eyes that made her father chose her mother over the older sister.

"It will do," Albirea said, allowing the handmaid to put the embroidered slippers on her feet and walking out of her chambers.

Albirea glided through the hallways and the galleries, followed by her handmaids, with the grace of a swan surrounded by geese. She needed a credible excuse for visiting her father's solar, one that wouldn't stir suspicions about what she knew, or thought she knew. Voices drew closer, and Albirea sent a silent prayer of thanks to Saint Elanne—as she turned around a corner, the young Relda and two servants.

Heran wore a contrite expression and ran one hand through his short, wheat-blond hair nervously; while the oldest servant frowned as he spoke, and the youngest tried to hold back a smirk. It was the latter to notice the princess first and got his companions' attention by clearing his throat. The three men stopped at about two leigh5 from Albirea, lowered their head and placed their right hand on their chest; then they moved aside so that they wouldn't show her their back and waited to be dismissed. Albirea fluttered her fingers, so gracefully they seemed a butterfly, granting them her permission to go on.

"I know, Master Nerio, the city, isn't a place for Netrarg. However, His Very Excellent Highness commanded us to..." the knight's voice echoed to Albirea.

The princess walked for a couple of leigh, then she stopped. What did her father order Heran? What his dragon had to do with that? She pursed her lips, and without a second thought, Albirea turned on her heels and went the same direction as the three men. She found them at the main inner courtyard, the two stablemen cowering in the colonnade with the other servants, while the young Knight walked sure-footed toward his dragon.

The Netrarg was a splendid beast, the slender body covered in mother-of-pearl-like scales and soft feather; it was imposing, even if it was still a young specimen who wouldn't reach adulthood before two decades. As Heran approached, the dragon snapped his jaws at him, whipping his slender tail and flapping its feathered wings; then it lowered its head and stretched its neck, letting out a menacing sound between a whistle and a grow. Nevertheless, the knight kept stepping closer, showing the palms of his hands and clicking his tongue.

Heran stopped only when the dragon bit the air—it flared its nostrils to sniff him, and only then the Netrarg let the knight stroke its neck. Heran pressed his forehead against the dragon's, still touching and 'talking' to it until the dragon calmed down.

"It is said that a Knight of the Silver Dragon is not free to take any woman he desires. If his mount dislikes her, both the woman and the knight would be devoured," Merithæ whispered to the youngest handmaid, yet her words were for her mistress. "Netrarg are as jealous as dangerous."

Indeed, dragons were dangerous creature; yet no much more than her Lord Father's beasts, or some men; and probably the Netrarg was the reason why Heran Relda didn't have a concubine yet; nevertheless, it was time that he looked for someone—and that the someone was Albirea herself. How could she win the beast's trust? Would it see beyond her mask of naivety? Should she risk her move, even if she would end up hurt, or worse?

A Gabirai takes what he... she desires.

Albirea put aside her genuine fear and braved the courtyard. The servants gasped, some yelled in horror, and some old women called for the Holy Twins' protection over the young mistress. One old valet dared to call her, the danger greater than etiquette. Albirea's steps were sure, or they were until the Netrarg noticed her and gave out a warning growl. So that was fear, the one that loosened one's bowels and drew blood from the face? She obliges her gaze to stay on the dragon's nose—not the eyes, never the eyes, it would take it as defiance, and Albirea wished to keep all the part of her body. She forced herself to keep a steady breathing and then made another step.As if it had sensed her not so noble intention, the dragon showed its thin and sharp teeth, ready to snap.

"My Young Lady, I humbly pray you not to come any closer."

Heran Relda held his mount's bridle in a gloved hand, struggling to keep it calm. He had used the words imposed by the status difference, and only the circumstances allowed him to address her first. However, he had added a veil of command in his tone and stance to let her know it would be better to obey. Had he been another man and the circumstances different, Albirea would have already called her father's guards to punish Heran for his cheek. Now that she had the opportunity to study his face to her heart's desire, perhaps Albirea understood why her father could consider him an adoptee candidate. Heran wasn't large, yet he possessed a natural imposingness which, in due time, would earn him his subordinates' loyalty. He was young and inexperienced, yet an attentive eye could glimpse in him the seeds of those virtues suiting a mature and admirable man. Heran would become a ruler of armies just like his father was a good captain—perhaps he would be able to put the Merchants' Guild back in its place.

"My apologies, but this is the first time I have the opportunity to see such a magnificent creature this close," Albirea replied with half-simulated awe, her eyes darting from the knight to the dragon's body—would flattery work on the beast?

Then she added, with the same levity she would discuss the weather: "I suppose that, since your mount is calm, you will return to My Very Excellent Lord Father."

However, Heran shook his head. "Closed spaces don't suit a dragon, my lady. I'm afraid I will stay with Mornaü as long as His Very Excellent Highness she'll need my father."

The girl's lips curled in a smile, naïve and alluring, as she fixed her eyes on the knight. Heran faltered in his stance, his embarrassment slightly reddening his cheeks, so he focused his attention on his dragon. He might be a good soldier, yet he still kept a childish candour around the feminine genre who inspired tenderness in a woman's heart.

"Excellent! We could spend the time playing chess," Albirea suggested. Without waiting for his reply, she clapped her hands thrice. "I fancy playing the black."

Trembling and fearful, the youngest servants were obliged by the other to bring a low table, set of chess and a comfortable stool; while a weeping child-slave had to hold an umbrella for the princess. Heran as well hesitated before disposing the alabaster and dark jade piece on the chessboard; however, as soon as the game started, the tension left his muscles. He prompted himself on his javelin, to keep the custom distance between highborn and lowborn and leaning closer only to move the pieces. Not for the first time, Albirea could appreciate the knight's subtle strategy and how, regardless of her rank and sex, Heran had no intention to give her an easy win.oddly, it was what Albirea sought, someone able to stimulate her cleverness.

"You said the city is not suitable for a dragon," she said, to make some conversation and show some interest in something the knight loved.

"They are creatures who need open space," he replied, rubbing his chin, his eyes fixed on the chessboard. "And even if my regiment is stationed outside the city wall, that is not enough. However, soon I will leave for Agrirani and—"

"Agrirani?" Albirea gasped, genuinely shocked. "Aren't you supposed to stay nearby Eimerado, in case of an attack from the sea?"

"We fear nothing from the sea, my princess. Not even pirates. Besides, my lady forgets I'm under my father's commands: His Very Excellent Highness wants us to replace the current governor and to subjugate the rebels," Heran explained, arching an eyebrow as she moved her last piece. A smile crept on his lips, as he dared to lean over the chessboard and moved his bishop to capture the queen. "My apologies, my lady," he said although he didn't sound that sorry.

Albirea twisted her mouth, as her queen was taken off the chessboard. The young Relda leaving Eimerado meant he would be away at least one winter, during which everything could happen. One winter would have been enough to verify her father's intention—one winter would have been sufficient to sparkle and kindle the Knight's hopes. She crumpled her robe in her hands, glad that Heran might think her reaction was due to the game twist. For a moment, Albirea caught the shadow of a smile on his face, yet one second after Heran stiffened in a stance and saluted.

His very Excellent Highness, Suuritnias Calliram, walked toward them followed by his right hand. He scowled at Albirea, who stood up with a graceful and fluid movement and curtsied, then stood, one hand on the other and ramrod straight, her head high yet her eyes small. The Presumptive Heir inquired the young Relda, ignoring Albirea as if she was nothing else than a decoration in his courtyard. Only when his subordinates had left, Suuritnias Calliram turned his icy eyes on Albirea.

"You look like a milkmaid caught indulging in her hopes7." His voice, barely louder than a whisper, was as sharp as a dagger.

"Am I, my Very Excellent Lord Father?" she replied, feigning naivety and dismay. "I would rather say I look like a chess player who had just lost her most powerful piece. Now I must ponder a strategy to redeem my queen."

Suuritnia Calliram didn't reply back at once; he narrowed his eyes and stared at his daughter for what seemed an eternity, the HD took a piece from the chessboard.

"We ignore what thoughts swirl in your head, yet we would like to remind you two things. The first: Heran Relda is not for you. And the second..." He placed the statuette in the palm of her hand, closing his daughter's slender fingers over it. "... do not forget your place."

Albirea tightened her lips, watching her father walking back inside the palace; only when he was gone, she looked down her hand and opened her finger.

A pawn.

In a surge of rage, she threw the piece against the wall, and the jade pawn broke into a thousand pieces. How dared he? On the Chessboard of Life, she wasn't an ordinary pawn like her sisters. Albirea was the queen, and she would do everything to be recognised as such.

Notes

Poukwena: honorific for highborn concubines.

Kwenai: a man's lawful wife, the first concubine who bore a son.

Hope/to hope: a convention for romantic love.

Rouva: an unmarried Princess of the Blood.

Suuritnias: the Apparent or Presumptive Heir.

Leigh: length unit. It is about four feet.

To indulge in someone's hopes: to have a sexual intercourse out of wedlock, to commit adultery, especially referred to a woman.

Welcome in Vernolia, a place you would certainly know by reading my contemporary Paranormal series "Podestaria". I know, the connection isn't evident, but it's there and it's part of the web forming this multiverse.

I hate Albirea, and I love her as well: she gives me so many mixed feelings that I want her to succeed and fail at the same time: after all, she moves inside an extremely misogynistic patriarchy and one could but admire her stubbornness to defy the society. However... well, I'm not going to spoil the story ;)

RosannaPatruno will giveaway a book review to 3 lucky winners! My giveaway is open international. To participate follow the link ( http://eepurl.com/cS8FLv ).

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