Court Games (Excerpt)

All stories must begin somewhere.
Anya touched the little leather bound book tenderly, before leaning back against the cool marble floor. Her delicate party gown pooled around her, and her curled hair fell around her face in a perfect mess. For one so young, her lips were pursed maturely and her eyes were pinched as she fought to concentrate on the crablike writing that was scrawled ornately along the first page. One fine silk slipper lay discarded a little ways away, and it's match was hanging at a point on the girl's tiny foot.
"Oh, how perfectly lovely," she frowned, and at once the remaining slipper was flung across the floor. "He's done this on purpose, it's the only explanation."
She sighed and rolled onto her back, holding the little book up to shield the candlelight from her eyes. Her fingers danced along the binding, and after one last failed attempt, she lay the book along the small line of her stomach. Against the rosy pink lace, boasting of youth and fashion, the thing looked almost ancient. Anya supposed that that was what had brought her to filch the thing, rather then the miserable clump of sacking.
"All of that work, and for what?" she pouted, lacing her fingers together and resting them just below her small breasts. She breathed in deeply and bit the side of her cheek in thoughtful silence.
There was always the matter of the party to attend to, but honestly, what fun would that be? Her curiosity had already been aroused, and she knew that there would be no denying it tonight. Perhaps she could ask one of the serving boys to read it to her, but only one in a handful knew how to read at all, and there was Papa, but she really did not fancy the thought of being chastised for such a petty crime. The whole thing was practically hopeless. Unless….
That boy!
"Gods preserve me! Mistress, what have you done?" Fiona's eyes were wide with horror, and her hands gripped uncertainly upon her dirty apron. The girl stood in the doorway, her hair falling loose from its messy bun, and her mouth open a bit as though she was about to say something.
"Lit a candle," Anya shrugged, bringing her knees and chest up, and rising into a sitting position. The book wedged itself between her corset and the fine taffeta of her gown. Her small hands gestured up at the lone candle that outlined a single picture frame. "I've lit a candle for my mother. Is that so horrible?"
"You've soiled your gown mistress and your gloves are covered with dust," the maid said softly, bowing her head as though she herself had committed the terrible offence. "The Duchess will be angry with you."
"Let her be angry then," she said with the dismissive flit of her hand. "It's perfectly fine with me. Now, if you'd be so kind as to leave me alone so that I may mourn in peace…"
The maid uncomfortably wrung her hands.
A cough rang through the room, causing her to jump.
"Did I not just dismiss you?" Anya asked sweetly. The girl gracefully rose from the marble floor and hovered protectively before her mother's picture. Suddenly her face pulled at it's corners. "I'd like one more moment alone with my mother, is that so very much to ask, you heartless creature… Just one moment…"
Fiona bowed quickly and for fear of upsetting the girl further, she hastened out the door and closed it behind her.
Anya sighed with boredom, and cast her mother's picture a disdainful look, "At this rate neither of us will find what this book says…"
"Bloody right about that!"
"Come on out Jonathan," she sighed, clutching the little book to her heart. She tossed her messy curls over her shoulders and straightened herself appropriately. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that playing in the vents was forbidden."
"Like hell they did!" From Anya's right, two hands appeared through the grating. They deftly pushed the copper bars from the wall, and a man rolled out of the little passage in a heap of limbs. "But when's that ever stopped me."
"Shouldn't you be off mussing up another respectable young man, and turning him into a common letch like you?" the girl retorted gently, tugging on one pink sleeve to make it even with the other.
In the dim candle light the man laughed and gave a long flourish. His hair was a rambunctious mess of blonde curls and his freckled cheeks were flushed against his sun tanned skin. He cracked his neck and gave a little snort, "And wouldn't you like to know? It just so happens that I've had my share for the night. I'm tired of playing the impassioned lover."
"You never tire of that role," Anya said, plucking at her buttons with her free hand.
The man sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "No no, here, let me help you. You look all wrong."
His large hands trailed down along the line of her bust, and he adjusted her corset with a knowing dexterity that was hard to match. Anya noticed that one of his buttons was askew and she moved to adjust it in return. He wore a navy almost military looking suit, and the black mask that clothed his eyes made him look slightly absurd in the room's chilly darkness.
"There we are," he said when he had fixed her to his liking. He grinned, "That's more like the Anya I know."
"And what Anya is that?" she wondered half heartedly. "Jonathan, will you hold onto this book? It wouldn't be proper for me to be holding such a thing on a night like this."
"You'll be expecting me to be your escort tonight as well, I'm guessing?" he asked with the quirk of his brow. He looked down at the book and then made a distasteful noise in the back of his throat. "How disgusting. You owe me Anya. No man will want me as a lover when he sees that my hands are full of dirt and grease. Queer little thing you've given me. A dirty book."
"Keep it to yourself," she said, ignoring the rush of blood to her head as she rose. "You can slip it into my chambers later."
"Through the vents," he laughed, offering her his arm.
"You speak as though the things lead to the gates of heaven," she said with a little scorn.
He chuckled, "They do, depending upon which young man's room I end up in."
"You're disgusting."
"I'm your escort. Be nice to me."

"The Lord Jonathan and the Lady Aniseria," the announcer boomed as the couple strode into the crowded ballroom. Anya stared with obvious distaste at the young ladies and elderly gentlemen that moved in swirls of silk and satin around the dance floor. "Like stuffed peacocks," she said through her teeth.
Jonathan did not lower his head, but his answer came quickly from behind his charming smile, "Quite. As I've said, nothing that catches my eye."
As they descended the grand stair case, Anya kept her chin level with the ground, and was sure to roll her steps from heel to toe. The lights from the many chandeliers were blinding and her corset was certainly not helping any. She had to fight the impulse to swoon.
"Corset?" Jonathan asked, with a flash of his magnificent smile.
"Unfortunately," she said back, keeping her hand gracefully poised on the skirt of her dress. Beneath the pale face makeup that had been caked on earlier that morning, her face was beginning to turn a furious red.
"Keep smiling. Once we're on the floor I'll lead you outside," he said gently, his hand closing worriedly on her wrist. "I'll help you loosen it a bit."
She nodded, blinking her eyes to push the yellow spots from her line of vision.

"Much better," she sighed, as they emerged from behind one of the well groomed bushes. She stretched her arms over her head and made a little noise of satisfaction in the back of her throat. "That bloody thing was strangling the life out of me."
"They'll notice, you know," Jonathan yawned. "Everyone will notice."
"They notice every ball," Anya scoffed, tossing her curls over her shoulders. "Because I'm the only one in the Gregory line that hasn't broken any ribs. I'd like to keep mine while they're of use to me, thank you."
"You're arrogance is only working to lower your status in the Duchess's eyes," he said with a look of disapproval. He brushed a hand through his hair.
"You're arrogant, but she finds favor in you," Anya snapped, plucking delicately at a glove.
"I'm male," he shrugged. "You and I both know that things are different for us. What is appealing in a young man, isn't half as appealing in a wild little girl."
"I'm as old as you," she sighed, picking up her skirts and moving to a little stone bench off to their left. She leaned back and looked up at the sky. It was already dark, and the light of the stars was a chilling comfort to the feverish heat that was rising in her head.
-Lauren Hatch