The princess was young, and proud. She bore herself with great grace and poise. Her beauty was such that men feared to gaze upon her, lest they be caught in her spell. Her high, clear song amazed all who heard it.
The princess was deadly. Underneath her shining mask, an unmatched ruthlessness lurked. She was not overtly violent; she disdained such uncouth action. But any who stood in her way were swiftly and silently eliminated. She did not suffer fools.
Particularly those fools who would name her prince a fool. If it were her choice, they would be the first to die. But to oblige her prince, she refrained. If he preferred his deception, who was she to disagree? His was perhaps the only soul who could direct her actions so.
The princess' very favourite colour was red.
When the princess finally earned her rightful place at the royal court, she felt none of the apprehension her prince did. The old king had finally recognized their right to be there; why not be proud? There was no other could match their prowess.
The others looked at them askance when they entered; sadly, her prince had yet to master the art of a graceful entrance. She gazed back coolly, daring them to challenge her. When they did not, she smiled behind her sleeve. Good. They knew their places. For why did a trickster or a musician exist if not to serve their princess?
She approached the old king on his golden throne and bowed. Here, at least, was one worthy of her regard. And she was ready to take her rightful place at his side. Except…
"This place is not for you, little princess. Go back."
The princess was astonished. Who was this woman, this common whore, to speak to her so? An ugly sneer crossed her flawless face. The princess had never before had anything denied to her.
"And who are you, to think you can rob me of my rightful place? I am the Red Princess; there are none can hope to match me."
The woman rose from her seat, her deep violet raiment seeming to consume all light. She gazed disdainfully down at the princess. A chill wind rustled the fabric of her robe and stirred her crimson locks, though they remained in the marble hall. A gentle voice spoke from behind the woman. "Think carefully before you speak so, little princess. You know not who stands before you."
"It matters not who stands before me," she snapped. What need was there for posturing when her superiority should have been clear? The princess was perilously close to becoming enraged. Without thinking, she began to gather her power to overwhelm her foe.
She never got the chance. As the woman began her stately descent, an aura such as the princess had never encountered engulfed her utterly. Lust, power, shadows, death and rage. A whirlwind of sorrow and regret, a maelstrom of ecstasy and an all-consuming madness. None of these words could ever come close. The echo of manic laughter sounded in her ears, and the faint scent of the azalea wafted through her nose. The princess shook, and for the first time, was afraid.
The queen stood before the princess, cold aqua eyes boring into her very soul. "Do not play games with me, child. That is my domain, and has been since before your prince was even thought of. You are not worthy of my seat. You are scarcely worthy of your own place here. See that you do not overstep it again."
And the princess did not. Though during her short tenure at the royal court she fought the warrior, irritated the noble, disdained both the healer and the smith, and carried out a vicious rivalry with the assassin, never again did she challenge the Queen of Games.