RosannaPatruno Presents: The Jade Queen, chapter 1

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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.

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