On Evil Queens

This is me actually writing fiction. Something I'm fond of. The prompt was: "proposal turned down" though it evolved into sort of something else.

Lady Veronique observed the man kneeling in front of her with some regret. Some, but not much. She was beginning to get used to this sort of thing. And by this sort of thing, what was meant, of course, was being cruel. Generally leading people on. It was, apparently, what she did to the people she really liked.

"Veronique, please, will you end my suspense?" Lord Jacque asked.

She could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. She sighed and walked towards the piano bench. She sat delicately, smoothing skirt, lifting it just slightly above her ankles. She tilted her head, flashed a painted smirk. It was an art form, really.

"Now, Jacque. You know I simply adore you, but really, I just can't be presumed upon to marry at this time." She sighed and looked at her lacy slippers, just peeking out from her rose-coloured skirt.

He did not seem very phased yet. "Veronique, please. I will do anything you ask. Just be my wife."

She laughed, a light, airy laugh. This was all so easy. She lowered her eyes to her feet, then raised them, fluttering to his face. "Truly, anything?" she asked, with utmost sincerity and innocence.

He nodded, entranced.

She allowed a blush to travel from her throat to her cheeks. "Oh, I couldn't!" she exclaimed, examining the lace on the pillow she was sitting on. Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her eyes to his face again. He had very blue eyes. Very pretty. And he was so very much in love with her.

"Veronique," he repeated. "What will you ask me? What can I do to win your affections?"

She could have snorted. She could have screamed. She wanted to scream and claw at him with her perfect nails, claw at his arms and his face and-- "You could kill the king," she said, laughing her beautiful, tinkling laugh. "I did always wish to be queen, you know. All the beauty and loveliness of royalty. And you, of course, would be my king." She tilted her head again, curled her lips into a smile, winked one eye mysteriously. (It's a joke. Laugh. Laugh. Don't listen to anything I say.)

He did laugh. An awkward, forced laugh, glancing at the floor, the tapestries, anything but her. Finally, he did glance up, giving her a fiercely searching look.

She was bright, all smiles and blushing cheeks.

He laughed again and got to his feet. "Well, Veronique." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, just a brush, a hint of passion. "My dear murderess," he said, with a louder, jollier laugh this time. "I will win you in time, my dear."

He let go of her hand and walked away. She watched him out the door, realizing within a moment that she would be queen. She drew up into a straighter posture, squared her jaw, and smiled. It was all so easy.