-1Whenever gossip at the royal court lost its bite, the old ladies began to whisper what a shame it was that neither royal sister (now the queen nor the princess) had attached herself to a suitable young man or, better for the old ladies' stories if he were someone ridiculous like a horse-tamer, any man at all. Many of the old ladies pooh-poohed the implications that they might be ever so slightly hard of hearing; as a result the "whispers" produced a din that could, at its height, rival the cries of the queen's hounds at feedtime.
The more romantic women at court liked to believe that neither young woman had yet found true love, those better versed and battle-hardened by years at court wondered if the girls' lack of romantic interest at all reflected their stepmother's overindulgence of it. Though those voices were quickly hushed, glances were thrown at the beautiful dowager's plunging neckline and loose auburn ringlets and lingered, unsettled, on husbands brushing beads of sweat from their foreheads.
The speculations ran particularly hot one week before Anabelle's sixteenth birthday, on the day that Queen Lisbeth entered the ballroom, flanked on the left by Anabelle and the right by Clara, to celebrate her eighteenth birthday. Clara waved her hips and flipped her hair, but no one noticed her in their adoration of Anabelle; this ball was a step Lisbeth inserted into her recovery: her reemergence into court after the fever- and the court was awestruck. She had retired to her chambers an impossibly lovely young lady, and came back to them a year later even lovelier than before. Her modestly lowered eyes during her sister's speech sent them sighing, and the shy blush that colored her cheeks flushed and flustered those who looked upon her.
Anabelle did all she could to ignore the adulation of the court, but while their adoration may have escaped her notice, it had not escaped the notice of the dowager queen. The year of Anabelle's illness had allowed her to exploit her own beauty to the fullest extent. But now she watched the little tart, just shy of sixteen, by no more effort than playing with the little ill bred fur heap at her feet, walk in and sweep that ability away from Clara. What next? The young men who pampered her, would they fight for her affections once Anabelle walked among them? Would the women who feared and adored Clara's beauty withdraw their allegiance once Clara's beauty had been eclipsed by Anabelle's? Clara watched a young swain who had once pursued her ceaselessly for just one night in her arms lead Anabelle to the floor; the enraptured gaze that he could not tear from the twit sent Clara's blood burning through her veins- she would not allow her chariot to be seized by a mere girl who did not want to even glance at the reins. Clara shot to her feet.
For a moment they were hers again. For one brief span of consciousness, every eye had turned to her, and the power that had been hers was hers once again- and then, in les than the span of a breath Anabelle pulled it back again; the void it left great and consuming. She walked forward and rested her hands on the back of Lisbeth's throne.
"Doesn't it bother you that the entire court lays itself at your sister's feet, while you sit on the throne?"
"Not at all." Lisbeth looked up at Clara with a wry grin. "I appreciate it, actually: she keeps them occupied while I get things done. It's a good bargain." She chuckled. "Perhaps Ana wouldn't see it that way, but I think she'll survive."
"That's a dangerous assumption, don't you think?"
Lisbeth scanned the ballroom. She grinned when she found Anabelle, so resplendent that even standing still she kept in time with the music, while doing her best to blend in with the end of the buffet table. "Are you insinuating that she may not? I believe you are, and I am terribly curious as to the reason why."
"Don't forget," whispered Clara, "I was once a young woman of immeasurable beauty. With it comes a certain power. And power is very, very addictive."
Without an iota of motion, Lisbeth growled, "Madam, you grow too bold."
Clara shrugged and straightened. "Perhaps. But the morning you make with a dagger in your back, remember my warning." She stepped off the dais and turned back. "A wave of your hand," she whispered, "just a flutter. That's all it would take." Clara paused a moment, before turning to take the hand of a young man who had, until that moment, been devising a stratagem for approaching the lovely princess.
Lisbeth's eyes followed her stepmother's progress across the dance floor while her mind raced. For a woman who preferred to forget entirely any hint of kinship between herself and her dead husband's children, a life-preserving warning was a terribly magnanimous and suspect undertaking. But if her motive was power, this seemed to Lisbeth an absurdly roundabout route; if this was the only opportunity Clara had seen since the late king's death, Lisbeth had given her much more credit for cleverness than she ever deserved. But as Lisbeth watched, Clara's own gaze did not remain constant to her partners' faces; her eyes sought Anabelle's quivering form the way an alcoholic sought wine, and such hatred poured from those eyes to their object that would win wars even against the most persistant army.
I was once a young woman of immeasurable beauty. With it comes a certain power. And power is very, very addictive.
A wave of your hand, just a flutter. That's all it would take.
Lisbeth's knuckles went white on the arms of her throne. Taught with fear, she glared at the side of her sister's head, silently willing Anabelle to look at her. When their eyes met, Lisbeth gestured as gently, as calmly as she could for Anabelle to approach the dais.
By the time Anabelle arrived, Lisbeth was ready to leap upon her; but she restrained her nerves and settled for taking both her sister's hands in her own. "Thank you," she said. "I know you did not want to be here tonight, and I'm glad you did not leave me to face the throng alone. If you are tired now, you are welcome to retire. Just don't sleep to deeply; there is something I must tell you."
