The Jack of Hearts (House of Cards Book 1)

Chapter 15 | Pair Royale

Rosalyne was dressed in lilac skirts (the white having been soiled by mud and dye), paints a vicious violet (all the better to disguise her scar and fading bruises). Her jewels were simple — five strands of dark pearl scoiled around her throat, plain gold bands over her white laced gloves, and a matching headdress that pulled her hair back into a braided net. It was immaculate, a curated armour she was determined that none could circumvent.

Her battlements were her mater's tochered china and private sitting room far from her own chambers so that fort staff could not interrupt. The room was small, but since it was situated high in the fort, had wide open windows, freeing the room from enclosed intimacy.

She sent invitations to all three Jhaks — one came.

Rosalyne set tea, green with oak and lemon, down before Jhak Ona the morning after Cousin Zaire's funeral.

Jhak Ona's hands curled around the delicate cup as she gently blew the steam away. She brushed her locs over her shoulder as her eyes scanned the spread of flaky tarts, fruits, cheeses, and cured meats the Aertisian servants spread across the table.

Rosalyne tapped her nail on the porcelain pot. "Her majesty's kitchens were generous with my request."

Jhak Ona looked incredulous.

"I was anticipating her highness' brothers as well."

"Ah." The jhak nodded. "The pair of them can clear a larder."

Rosalyne poured herself tea to collect her thoughts and placed the teapot aside with a grim set to her face. "I find I am of a mind to take advantage of their absence. I owe her highness an apology for last night."

Her sister-in-law made no effort to keep the surprise from her expression. "About the influence? O'rian explained it. You don't need to apologise."

It was Rosalyne's turn to feel sceptical, but she nodded anyway. "All the same, her highness, I caused her distress on an already trying day and for that she has my sincerest apologies. Please trust that what she felt was not aimed at her." She held up her hands. "I wear gloves everywhere but funerals — she has no need to fear a repetition."

The jhak eyed the tight lace and pearl buttons securing Rosalyne's hands away with a pucker in her brow. "That must be tiresome."

Rosalyne, surprised, found herself her mouth curling up. "It is all I've ever known, but I suppose if I were to entertain the alternative, I can see the advantages of not requiring eighty-seven pairs of gloves."

"Eighty-seven? How could you possibly ever wear that many?"

Rosalyne felt a touch of embarrassment and ruffled her feathers. "Well, I have riding gloves, travel and summer gloves, and dinner gloves, morning gloves, gloves for feast days — special occasions. Wedding gloves."

Jhak Ona giggled, round eyes glittering with humour. "When I saw your trunks being delivered, I didn't think you'd have an entire trunk filled with gloves."

Rosalyne pretended to preen. "Her highness should see my shoes."

Jhak Ona lived up to the jaquelle's first impression of her. She was pleasant of face and temperament; she had a light air that made Rosalyne infer that the youngest jhak had seen very little of the world. Her cousin's and friends' deaths (Rosalyne learned she and the delegate Bomani had been close) struck her profusely.

It made more sense when Jhak Ona revealed she was only fifteen winters. Which meant she was only nine when the cease-fire was initiated by King Nigellous.

"How old were the other jhaks?"

"Thirteen winters and nineteen."

Rosalyne took a sip of tea as she swallowed the fact that her husband-to-be was her junior.