“Greetings after a long absence, mother.”

Bianca curtsied low to the ground at the same time that she uttered her ritualistic greeting. She spread her scarlet skirts round her on the floor, as she expected to be kneeling for some time, and from the edge of her peripheral vision she saw Lucifer assume a similar position – albeit one more fitting for a male. Bianca persistently kept her head down, not daring to look upon the Queen until she had been called upon. In the manners of even her people this would normally be very rude; however, the lesson to avoid excessive eye contact at any cost had become staunch habit within days of the late King’s remarriage.

No, the current Queen was not Bianca’s biological mother; rather she had married into the royal line by wedding Bianca’s father. A year later the less-than-beloved King had died. The people had hailed him as “old, mad and blind” - even “despised”, once they gained courage that he absolutely was dying – but how many would call the young Queen a better master? All too soon for Bianca’s liking, a cold voice rang out authoritatively, “You may regard me, stepdaughter.”  The woman who sat on the throne was barely out of adolescence, but Merceny was sure of herself in all manners of speech and deportment. Bianca might have regarded a statue – so stiff was the young girl’s spine – but even in Merceny the signs of life had to manifest somehow. Barely noticeable against the pale complexion was a flush of warmth high upon the cheeks. Her lips shone with a bright gloss, but for all her power she possessed no royal blood; her cosmetics were made from wax and oil.

“What is it that would bring you to the capital?” Merceny’s sickly sweet smile made short clearance for the question that followed rapidly from that sharp tongue. Her attempt at pleasantries fooled none. By no stretch of imagination did she possess the patience to wait for an answer. It was common knowledge that Bianca and Lucifer preferred to govern their estates as far away from the Queen’s reach as possible, and only a strong obligation would make them travel ever closer towards the seat of the kingdom. Yet she would play with them; her parody of a gracious host communicated her mockery more clearly than would any words. “Surely you’re not unwell. You look well. You are well, are you not?”

Bianca jumped headlong heedlessly into the midst of her stepmother’s rhetoric. “I am as well as could be expected, mother. That is, it does not show yet– but Lucifer and I are quite certain that– quite simply, mother, I believe I am with child.” The silence that followed her announcement provided ample opportunity for every one of her muscles to seize in rebellion, but Bianca’s expression nonetheless proved faithful and betrayed nothing. She counted the seconds while anxiously reading the other woman’s face, only with the permission she had been granted to stare earlier. It could not escape her notice that Merceny’s features also remained impassive, as if she’d never spoken at all. Still, words had let loose as to the introduction of new royalty, and the Queen was duty-bound to give some answer.

It was said, in hushed tones along the fringes of the court, that given the current age of the Queen it was not impossible that she could helm their state for the next century or more. She showed no outward favour to her daughter-by-marriage, so it was doubtful whether she would ever abdicate in favour of Bianca. Generally, as soon as your child had spawn of her own, whatever responsibility was held by a family passed to the younger generation in order for them to prove their worth. However, let it be said by no one that Merceny obeyed tradition for its own sake. If she wished it, orders could be put to Bianca to abort her child – hitherto, the Princess had been too frightened to contemplate that scenario, and perhaps she still was. When the young mouth finally parted in front of her, Bianca was rapt. She’d been so intent on the words she’d expected to hear, that what issued forth in reality produced immense gratitude within her. Merceny began by smiling her cruelest smile, but following that, conceded, “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Author guidance for This story

Part of an arc of one of my offline stories. It used to be titled "Well", but for now the names of each chapter only reflect which character tells the tale...

updated Jun 24 '10 by Traxisk