The Chessboard Undead Prince

Chapter the Fifth

As Ellius emerged into the bustling chaos of the Royal Kitchens, she found herself amidst the whirlwind of activity, like a mad rush, just as Alice herself, the First Queen of Estela, had run in the Caucus-Race, all running where they liked, and left off when they liked, do that it was not easy to know when the race was over.

"Quickly! The ball will not wait for anyone!" the Chief said.

"A ball?" Ellius had poked her head through the bronze doors. Chief bowed before rapidly slicing apples to soften with cider vinegar, brown sugar, water, and vanilla. "Not another damn one," she moaned. "Whatever blimmin' for?"

"Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty has suddenly declared a ball for an event."

His chefs had been thrown out of bed at one o'clock in the morning to prepare. "I have Hog roast, melting roasted chickens, herb-crusted bolar, stuffed apricot and sage swans, and ham hocks in ginger syrup. The pastry chefs are finishing off the sweet pastry for the jam tarts."

The aroma of nutmeg and coconut danced in the air, intermingling with the savoury scent of chicken stock strong in her nose. A cook was ladling a liquid as smooth as silk into a waiting bowl. Yet, before the bowl could be spirited away to its intended recipient, "Has Mother taken breakfast?"

"No, Your Highness. I have it here." She set it on the tray filled with assortments.

"I'll take it." She grasped the tray laden with culinary delights, including hot, buttered muffins and a steaming bowl of roast pumpkin soup.

The Queen's Chambers were on the fifth floor and Ellius took the servants' stairs winding around a tower to slip into the Royal Family's Quarters, slipping into the sanctum of her mother's domain. Inside, the Queen's ladies fluttered about like colourful butterflies, attending to their duties of needlework, sorting through stacks of gowns over the couch. "Which colours suit, Your Majesty?" they inquired, their voices a gentle chorus of concern.

"Perhaps the blue with the ermine trim?" called Melia.

Melia was engrossed in the delicate dance of hues upon an artist's palette. With a gentle stroke, she blended colours, her fingers dancing like a maestro orchestrating a symphony of pigments. She looked up as Ellius entered the parlour. "Ah! My love!"

Ellius, with a weight of worry still lingering from the night before, entered the room, her steps hesitant. "I'm sorry for last night, Mama. Did he—"

But before she could finish, Melia enveloped her daughter in a warm embrace, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes. "No, my dear. Let us not dwell on the shadows of yesterday," she whispered, her voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos. "Today is a canvas yet to be painted, a fresh stroke upon the masterpiece of life."

Ellius set down her breakfast on the side table. Yet, despite her mother's comforting words, Ellius' gaze fell upon the small trickle in the corner where the lipstick could not hide the split. Ellius clenched her fingers into fists. Was it punishment for her defiance, her refusal to bend to his will? she seethed.

Melia dipped her honey rolls in spiced pumpkin soup with chips of coconut. "Have eaten, my love?"

Ellius shook her head, her appetite soured by the bitter taste of resentment. "I gave my extra muffins to Mickey," she confessed, her voice tinged with sadness. "But I'll fetch some muffins, gingerbread, and cheese for my breakfast later."

Her gaze drifted to the artist's painting box, a portal to her mother's world of creativity and solace. They were mostly depictions of village life. Dancing girls among sheep with garlands of flowers. Hunters dragging in their kills of shot deer, their blood so bright and livid. Farmers with their collie dogs herding the highland cattle.