The Queen of Spades tapped an impatient foot on the ground as a pout graced her porcelain face, her unsettling temper rising with every wasted second. Where were they? Where were the Messengers?
She rested a chin on a slender hand, sighing and tapping her throne with her other hand. Blue-painted nails clicked against mahogany like a pin against a doorknob. Everything about the Queen of Spades was blue – blue lips, blue makeup, blue dresses, a blue sceptre. Everything was blue, save for her silky brown hair, which was currently tied back in a tight bun.
Another sigh escaped her, her royal cohorts growing anxious at her expression.
The Blue Queen eventually began to drum only one fingernail over her throne, a constant tap...tap...tap sounding from her chair.
The great doors at the end of the room creaked loudly, slowly opening to reveal two people: One of her cohorts, and the Messenger she had been expecting.
The Messenger strode in beside the cohort, his head held high and a sure expression on his face. The Blue Queen recognised this expression; he only ever had it when there was bad news, as though proving that he was not afraid if she were to "kill the messenger," as he had once put it. His eyes were as bright a blue as she had first seen them – half of the reason why he was her favourite Messenger. His curled dark hair fell loosely around him, barely touched by even a comb. Michael Everett's skin was quite pale, and it seemed to be quite normal from his world–it seemed to be normal to have pale skin in this "England" he spoke of.
"Your Majesty," the cohort – a small, plump man she could never remember the name of – announced. "Messenger Michael Everett has arrived with grave news."
She raised a delicate brow, urging him to go on, but received no response from the plump man. Instead, he glanced at the Messenger and inclined his head toward the Queen, and then scurried away in fear.
It seemed Michael had grave news, indeed.
The young Messenger took a few steps forward, hands clenched by his sides. "Queen of Spades," he announced, his voice coated in an English accent. It was so alike to that of a Wonderland accent... "I bring you terrible news from your sisters."
The Queen's mood fell, the presence of Michael barely enough to keep her happy any more. "What did they do now?" she demanded, exasperated.
"My Lady," he told her, and then paused to take a breath. His voice faltered ever so slightly as he went on, "They've declared war on your kingdom and each others'. It is believed that your eldest sister, the Queen of Hearts, is at the centre of it all."
A blue-painted finger landed once more on the mahogany throne, and ceased movement afterwards. Shock enveloped the Queen as she stared at him with wide hazel eyes, her face paling at the thought of going back to the hellish place called war.
Michael waited for her answer, merely standing there with a tight expression and a look of worry in his bright blue eyes. The Queen wanted nothing more than to run away, hide in the world that Michael had come from; but she had a duty, especially to Miss Liddell.
"I have one last command for you, Mister Everett," she announced finally. She met his eyes evenly and released an anguished breath. "Protect Miss Alice Liddell and make sure my red sister doesn't get her greedy hands on the poor girl."
Michael nodded in obedience. She dismissed him right after, and soon enough he was escorted out of the palace. The Queen was left with her cohorts – whom she dismissed as well once Michael was gone. Never had she felt so empty, nor had she ever felt so sad.
She had always thought that her sister was smarter than that – smarter than some power-hungry maniac that wanted nothing but more power. The Blue Queen must've been wrong, though; she must've been wrong when she'd thought her older sister was compassionate, or when she'd thought the Red Queen was merciful.
The Blue Queen arose from her throne and stood before her now-empty throne room, her thoughts drifting to her land. Her beautiful, blue-grassed land and its indigo trees. She couldn't help but wonder what her friends were doing as war was beginning outside their territory. Was the Mad Tailor harassing the April Hare to model a jacket for him? Was the Grey Rabbit organising every little thing that seemed out of place in some kind of panic?
She approached a nearby window, gazing out the lightly-tinted glass as she regarded the hedge maze between the castle and its gates. Just past the high, wrought-iron gates, she could faintly see three colours in the distance – three kingdoms. Green to her left, yellow to her right, red parallel to her. Was the Red Queen gazing out her window at this very moment? Was she watching her kingdom, taking in every inch of it and wondering what her subjects were doing? Or was she being the heartless witch that wanted to start a war, planning who she will destroy first and how?
With a scowl, the Blue Queen began to pace, getting as far away from the window as possible. She felt despicable and she had no idea why. Did she feel this way because she never saw it coming? Or did she feel despicable because she'd thought her sister was a good person?
She paced up and down the room, beginning at her throne and stopping at the last window before the doors. Frustration knotted at her stomach, her hands clenching and unclenching. It took everything in her to resist grinding her teeth, but every method she tried to think of seemed impossible. She could hear her heart throbbing in her ears, her breathing gaining speed. She was beginning to see red – oh, how she hated it right now.
No; "hate" was too weak a word.
She despised red.
She came to a sudden halt, right in the centre of the room, and stared blankly down at the carpeted floor, mesmerised by the cobalt colouring. She finally found her voice again, but not before she released an anguished scream that echoed through the empty room.
Breathing heavily, she snarled through her teeth, "If it is a war my sisters want, then it is a war my sisters will get."