The Royal Valentine's Day Ball was tomorrow and though I was expected to attend, the doctor had visited the night before and advised my husband it might not be wise for me to go. I ran my hands over my full, swollen breasts and rounded tummy. My second baby was due any day, and a night of dancing might be too strenuous, the doctor felt. Frankly, I didn't even know how I would find a gown to fit my pregnant body, but I would do whatever my husband wished. I stretched out beneath the blankets and waited for him to come to me, as he did each morning, thinking back to my first Valentine's Day Ball, five years before. . .
It was two weeks before the Valentine's Ball and the palace was a hive of activity. During the six months of corvée work all 18 year olds--except for those of noble birth--were required to do for the royal family after they finished school, I had gotten used to being a downstairs maid. I knew my duties and I did them well, just counting off the days until I could return to my family. But then the preparations for the ball began and everything was upside down. Downstairs maids were upstairs maids, indoor help was outdoor help as everyone scurried to make the palace ready for Valentine's Ball.
There was a ball every year, I knew, although a family of my station did not typically receive an invitation, but this year's Ball was something else again. The king had decided he wanted to step down, but before he could, the prince must marry. At age 30, Prince Aaron was the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom. King Rudolph had decreed that should he not become engaged by the night of the ball, he must pick a girl from those attending.
I, along with several other corvée girls, was hard at work scrubbing and polishing the ornate wood ballroom floor under the watchful eye on Mrs. Swigg, head of all the downstairs maids when I heard voices approach. It was the prince and his valet. I crouched lower to the floor, scrubbing with all my might, willing the prince not to see me. I had successfully avoided his attentions thus far, and I wanted to keep it that way. Everyone knew what his attentions meant, and while some of the maids welcomed the possibility, I, for one, did not.
"I'll take that one, and that one, and that one," I heard the prince say in a commanding voice, as if he were ordering horses or pastries. Please, I hoped, don't let it be me he's pointing at.
"Very good, Sire," answered the butler. "I'll have them brought up," he said, as he walked over to Mrs. Swigg.
Her voice rang out firmly, "Cristina, Agatha, Ella, you are needed in the prince's chambers."
I sighed, pulling myself up from the floor. Even girls who served the prince directly didn't draw always his attention; perhaps I wouldn't either.
"Right then," the valet was saying. "My name is Mr. Thomas." You'll be working in the prince's personal chambers. I'll need you three to clean up and change. Meet me at the bottom of the east staircase in 40 minutes. Mrs. Swigg will have your cleaning supplies ready.
Together we hurried back to our chambers for a quick wash-up. I splashed water on my face, my blue eyes staring back at me in the mirror, my white skin paler than normal with fear. I finished by smoothing down my long blonde hair and pulling my low ponytail tight. We changed, although of course we simply changed one uniform for an identical, although slightly cleaner one. We each wore a coarse brown jumper that scooped down just below our busts and fell to just below our knees. Beneath it we wore a simple white cotton shirt, held closed with a drawstring. I pulled my drawstring tight, bringing the blouse high up around my neck, while Cristina and Agatha wore theirs looser, leaving the top of the fabric just below their collarbones, but they were city girls and used to less modest fashions. On top of the jumper we each wore a simple white apron tied tight around our waists and brown slippers that allowed us to walk quietly through the palace without scuffing any floors.
In just under 40 minutes, we were at our assigned place. Mr. Thomas led us up the staircase and down the long hall to the prince's private chambers. I hoped that he might not be there, that we could clean his rooms and go back to work in the ballroom, but when the door swung wide, there was Prince Aaron sitting at a high-backed desk, working, a pair of councilors hovering around him. Mr. Thomas gave us our assignments and we set to work, dusting, changing linens, scrubbing every surface. The prince and his advisors continued as if we weren't even there, although once or twice I had the feeling of being watched. When we finished our work, Mr. Thomas dismissed us, complementing our efforts and putting us back in the charge of Mrs. Swigg. It was over, and with any luck, I thought, we wouldn't be called back tomorrow. Just as the door swung closed, I heard the prince say, "I'll have the blonde one again tomorrow. Alone." I glanced quickly at my two brown-haired companions and shuddered.
When Mr. Thomas fetched me early the next morning, I found a pile of shirts laid on the bed, an ironing table set up and three irons warming in the fire. "I don't understand, Mr. Thomas. The palace has its own laundry. Wouldn't it be better for me to take the shirts there and return them when I'm done?"
The prince startled me, emerging from his bath chamber and answering my question. "Yes, that would be more efficient. But I like to watch a pretty woman at work. Now, get to it. Mr. Thomas, you may leave me. I'll need you in two hours."
The prince sat down at his desk and began writing as Mr. Thomas left me there alone. There was nothing to do but begin ironing. I fetched a hot iron from the fire and sprinkled water on the shirt as the iron cooled slightly. Testing it on a towel to see that it would not burn the fabric, I set to work. The prince did not speak, but now and again, I heard the scratch of his quill pen stop and sensed his eyes on me, his stare eliciting a warmth in my backside or slender hips as I ironed or knelt before the fire changing out an iron that had grown too cool for a hotter one. I watched the clock as I worked. Twenty minutes before Mr. Thomas was due back, I hung the last shirt in the wardrobe and turned around to find the prince standing just a foot away from me.
"Is that all, Your Highness? Shall I return downstairs, or do you have other duties for me?" I stammered as he towered over me, at least seven inches taller than me. His dark brown eyes looked me up and down, lingering on my breasts before returning to my eyes.
"What is your name, girl?"
"Ella," I answered. What did he want from me? He was staring at my lips now, and I felt as if I could not breathe, as if all the air had been forced from the room. And then he was leaning toward me, his hand coming up ask if to touch my face. I stepped backward.
"Don't touch me!" I cried.
"What?" he thundered at me, his brown eyes looking black with anger. "What is this impudence?"
Not knowing where the strength came from, I answered, "I'm here to work, Your Highness. And I have worked hard. My corvee is over the day after the ball and I want to go home to my family. I don't want to be one of your conquests."
