At Your Service 1

It all happened so fast. I was just tending to the chickens, my hair tied back in a messy, auburn ball of curls. They fall to my shoulder blades while they're loose, wild and untamable. I had given up trying to keep them kempt, and even pulled up, pieces hung by my face, floating as I blew them back from my lightly freckled face. With a soft sigh, I scattered the rest of the dried corn across the ground before leaning back against the fence. It was hot, the sky cruelly cloudless, and I was in a simple tunic and a dark green apron tied with a strip of cow's leather that was too stained to sell. I paused long enough to wipe the sweat from my forehead before pushing off of the fence.

I gathered the chicken feathers scattered across the pen, saving the ones I thought were nice enough to tie into fans and tossing the others into compost. I had just bent down to pick up a particularly pretty brown feather when I heard the sharp whinny of a distressed horse. Concerned and curious, there was no choice but to follow the sound. Who wouldn't? Someone could be hurt.

I had to cross the tree line that father had planted where our land met the road. A piece of me hesitated, instinct telling me not to cross the border of safety and the unknown. As I pondered, I heard another sharp whinny and decided to cross the barrier, if only to calm the horse.

Twigs snapped beneath my step just as I stepped into view, and I suddenly felt three sets of eyes on me. Three large men, all towering over my small, 5'2 frame, stood around the horse, trying to settle it enough to place her bit to her nose. It kept pulling away from their grasp, and instead of letting it settle, they continued to corner it.

"Give her some space..." I called, my voice starting out strong but quickly losing its gusto. The men stared at me until the horse rears again; this time, when she kicked, they stepped back. The horse huffed, scraping the ground twice before seeming to settle. I opened my mouth to try and explain my presence, as if that was needed. I was right outside our farm; they were the strangers, not her.

Before I can even begin to introduce myself, a tall figure steps out of the carriage, with tousled dark hair and a slightly crooked nose, as if it had been broken and reset a long time ago. He adjusted his finely tailored jacket and stepped towards the commotion, reaching towards the horse and settling it with little resistance. It was amazing, the way the animal went still, but something about it upset my stomach. She still looked terrified.

I felt his eyes on me. They burn, and it takes me a moment to gather the nerve to meet it. For a second, under the trick of the light, his dark eyes shine red. Before I could question it, however, another figure stepped out of the carriage. She was haloed in a mess of blonde curls, rouge smudged and her eyes seemingly tired. They were watering. She held up one side of her dress, the sleeve torn, and I thought of the sewing kit in my apron. It would be an easy mend, at least temporarily. He read my eyes when they finally settled back on him, as if searching for something, and a slow smile spread across his features.

"Hello." His voice was smooth, regal; it sent a shiver down my spine that I tried to hide. "And you are?"

"...Olivia," I said after a moment, the words sticking more than usual in my throat. What was wrong with me?

"Well, dear Olivia. Is this how you always carry yourself in front of royalty?" My stomach dropped. Royalty? It made sense, the carriage, the bodyguards. But what of the young woman? My eyes widened at my interaction with someone so powerful. He was too young to be the king, and I had seen the Duke of this area. Could he be the prince? She had heard of his good looks, but he appeared more rugged in person than the stories made him out to be.

"I apologize, Prince," I stuttered out, "It is not often royalty takes these roads..."

The prince's piercing stare suddenly settled into a smile, softening his hard features. It was such a sudden change that it almost felt fake; could someone really so quickly go from anger to kindness? The pit in my stomach grew deeper, but still, I couldn't look away. Something about him was undeniably alluring, and the stories of his romantic escapades were well known.

"Please, call me Dameon." He extended his hand to take mine before the instinct to pull away took over. He brought my hand up to kiss my knuckles, a gesture saved for duchesses, princesses, not for unmarried twenty-three year old peasants. I glance over his shoulder to the disheveled blonde and he squeezes my hand, immediately pulling my attention away. I watched his gaze drag over me, leaving me feeling completely nude.

"Dameon," I repeat, although it is hesitant. To call a prince by just his first name? Unheard of. My attention is again pulled to the woman, her eyes to the ground. "I have a sewing kit in my possession, perhaps I could..."

The prince's smile falters so briefly that I could have imagined it and he drops my hand.

"Go on," He stated in a way that I knew was a command, and I was too caught off guard not to obey. I walked up to the woman, and she turned her face to the side, avoiding my eyes. From this close, I could see the smudges of charcoal beneath her eyes. Had she been crying? There was a round bruise at the top curve of her bust, and I blush as I quickly mend her sleeve. The stitches were invisible; I was surprised at how straight they were even under my shaking hands. The prince took notice of the fine stitches, the woman wincing as he touched her dress.

"These are neat for such mundane thread. I am impressed, Olive." I don't know how to react to the nickname, but it felt overly familiar. "Are you wed?"

"No," I whispered.

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty-three." There was a shame that came along with being unwed and without prospects at this age.

"Is your father around, perhaps?" Another smile tugged at his features and I could feel my heart drop. Perhaps my instincts knew better than I did.

"He is in the fields," I cleared a bit of nerves from my throat. "I could fetch him."

"Please do."

As I passed the tree line, I could have sworn I heard a soft cry of hurt, but it only increased my pace. Father was kneeled over a blueberry bush, gathering them into a deep basket, and I almost felt bad interrupting him. He first believed I must be teasing, but eventually I convinced him to follow, both to be sure the prince wasn't angered and to check on the young woman I had left behind. When I dragged him back to where the carriage had stopped, we were met with... no one. The woman, the guards, the prince, all having seemed to disappear.

"He was right-"

"Welcome back, Olive." His voice rang through the trees, as if coming from everywhere at once, just before he stepped out from behind the carriage. "You must be her father."

I got lost in my own thoughts for a few moments as they spoke, unable to shake the unease of his voice surrounding me.

"Then it is settled. She will come to the palace and work for me. You will be compensated kindly for each month she spends in my employment."

"What?" I came to just in time to be sold off, and before I could protest, I saw the look in my father's eyes. He must have offered quite a bit of coin. It did feel nice, to be deemed as worth so much in someone's eyes, but his eyes burned when they landed on me, his smile enough to make me wince. I turned desperately to my father, whose eyes were so full of gold that I knew better than to try and walk back the deal. I was twenty-three, unmarried, without a proper trade. This was an opportunity.

"She will have to come with us today, we must continue traveling to make it to the palace before the solstice."

"Of course. She will pack her things immediately. It shouldn't take her more than an hour."

And that is how I ended up rifling through my room, deciding what is important enough to take with me for this undetermined length of time. I pack what is expected, makeup, clothing, but then I pause. What else do I need? My days are filled with chores and handling the animals, so I did not have much else. I pause before taking my leather bound notebook and placing it in the chest, alongside some random bits and pieces, mostly so the chest doesn't seem too light.

My father helped me carry the chest back to the road, where the carriage was waiting alongside the price and the guards. The woman was nowhere to be seen. I almost ask about it, but I remember the tone he gave me when I asked to fix her dress, so I keep my mouth shut. The guards gather my trunk, and it sinks in that this is really happening. I had heard that the prince staffs his palace with non-nobles, a choice that is unusual, but unquestioned. Seen as almost a gift, a reward, girls would travel to wherever the prince was rumored to be, dressed to the nines, hoping to catch his traveling eye. And somehow, I wandered right into his gaze.

My father hugs me farewell, his eyes misting, as the prince returns to the carriage. After a moment, I hear him clear his throat.

"Olivia. We have little time." The prince notes without looking behind him, and I pry my father off of me to scurry to his side. How easily I fell into subservience.

As the carriage takes off down the road and I settle into my seat, I peek over to the prince. His jacket was fine, dark maroon and black, and it surprises me that I didn't clock him as royalty right away. Plus, he held himself with an aura of power, as if he knew he could get anything he wanted with merely a look. Now, it was my duty to indulge these wants.

"It is impolite to stare." His voice rumbles as he speaks, even as he smiles. I assume it is to try and settle my nerves.

"Apologies, Pr-... Dameon." I turn my head towards the window, peeking out past the gap in the curtains that appeared every few seconds. After a moment, I feel a palm on my knee as the prince leans past me and opens the curtain. I blush heavy, the pink traveling all the way to my chest, and hold my breath. As he pulls away, I catch the scent of fresh sandalwood, but I keep my eyes firmly on the window.

I see the palace far before we arrive. It was somehow even more haunting than had been storied, with the tall keep seeming to poke up into the clouds themselves. Beautiful stone statues line the path, well cared for and surrounded with white flowers, depicting beautiful feminine figures in seemingly flowing dresses. The gates were rich with dark ivy, striped and lush, and as we passed them, the carriage turned off into the stables.

"Come. I will show you your chambers." I nod, following with my eyes to the cobblestone path. The inside of the castle smells of warm honey, and as we pass the kitchen, I catch sight of a tray of flaky pastries that must be its source. My stomach growls, much to my chagrin, and the prince stops in place. He looks at me briefly and walks to the kitchen, handing me one of the fresh pastries. I haven't had anything like it before, and my hunger outweighs my hesitance, so I bite into the treat. It melts on my tongue, tasting of fresh honeycomb and vanilla. The prince continues to walk and I make sure to follow even as I eat.

The accommodations are nice, larger than my room at home, with a comfortable looking bed lined with dark purple sheets, a couple dressers, and a lovely vanity. I don't know what I expected, maybe a cell of some sort, but this was nothing of the sort. The prince stands in the doorway, but doesn't cross the threshold.

"This will be your chambers. Your work clothes are in the closet, the rest of the storage is empty." A guard walks to the doorway with her chest in tow, pausing by the prince as the two watch me, as if waiting for something.

"Could... you place it at the end of the bed?" The guard nods and follows my suggestion before excusing himself. The prince still stands in the doorway.

"This room is completely yours, and no one will enter without your permission. Including myself. Dinner will be left at the door each night, and breakfast each morning. You are to tend to the horses, the gardens, and keep the castle tidy." I nod silently, standing inside the room. It felt safe here. "I will leave you to settle in."

Without ever crossing the doorway, the prince leaves, and eventually I move to unpack. I fold my patched clothing and stow it away, not having the heart to even look at whatever uniform awaits in the closet. Running the worn fabric between my fingers, I sit on the bed and watch out the window. I've always been a daydreamer, a window-watcher, with my eyes always out there. Out there where? A palace? I'm already there.

I must've dozed off, suddenly awakening as a gentle knock raps on the door. Outside, a cart sat with a cloche on top. The hallway was empty; there was no sign of whoever had delivered it. In fact, I hadn't seen another person in this castle aside from the prince and some guards. What about the other girls he hired on as staff? Was the blonde woman one of them?

The food is delicious, and half of it I don't even recognize. I crack hard claw shells and remove soft crab meat, placing it on a piece of crisp bread topped with a savory smelling spread. I'm starving, more so than I thought, and this is the largest meal I've seen since harvest, so I devour it. Stomach full, I roll the cart back into the hallway, look once more for a sign of someone else, and return to unpacking.

I awake to a soft knock on the door. It's early morning, the sun filtering through a crack in the curtains. After I take a moment to remember who I am, where I am, I rise, still dressed in my work clothes from the day before. Peeking outside my door I see, as promised, a tray of breakfast. Toast, with a tart smelling jam and honey, fresh eggs, a sausage of some sort, and some fresh fruit. It was far more color than I was used to with my breakfasts, so despite my nerves I am eager to dig in. I close the door, still wanting the safety it felt like it provided, and sit at the vanity.

Stomach full, I stand before the closet, running the soft fabric of the maroon apron. The skirt is not too much shorter than my work dress when it's pinned, but enough that I can feel the air on my thighs as I pull it over my hips. My hands smooth down the skirt in a futile attempt to make it longer. Sitting before the vanity, I examine the perfumes and makeup that was neatly organized on the wooden tabletop before choosing a soft, floral scent and a tint of warmth on my lips, finishing it off with charcoal over my eyelashes. I was in a castle; I had to look the part as well as I could.

The halls of the castle are tall, seemingly endless, with large tapestries of battle and stained glass windows larger than I have ever seen, but eventually I make my way to the stables. There are six large draft horses in the stables, and I quickly get to work on breaking apart hay and letting the horses get used to my presence. They warm up quickly, thank goodness; the difference between a good day and a bad day is one kick.

I am combing the mane of one of the horses as I feel eyes on me. I pause, turning over my shoulder to see the prince watching me, his shoulder resting against the doorway.

"Have dinner with me tonight." He requests, although it feels like a statement. He's dressed just as finely as when she had met him on the road. Was he always this formal? Well, of course he is. He's a prince, I remind myself. I nod in response, holding the comb with both hands with my eyes to the floor. He watches me, his stare rendering me frozen in place. When I finally get the courage to look up, he's already out of sight.

Dinner comes quickly; after tending to the horses I moved on to the endless number of rooms. I feel as though I could clean the rest of my life and still only make it through a fraction of these doors. None are locked, so I move between rooms without hesitation until I walk straight into one of the three guards I had met on the trail.

"The prince has called you to dinner." He states, turning and heading down the corridor. It takes me a moment to realize I should be following. The dining hall is huge; it looms larger than my entire home, with chandeliers and one long table plated with an impossible feast. The two of us would not make a dent, even if we were starved; did he always eat this lavishly, or was this for me? My heart flutters, although it could be the nerves.

"Olive, welcome." The prince speaks from his seat at the end of the table, gesturing to the chair beside him. "Please, sit."

I follow his direction, my stomach flipping so rapidly that I can't imagine eating. He waits, and after a beat I realize he is waiting for me to serve myself first. Me? Before the prince? This went against everything I had been told about royalty, but I could only hesitate for so long before risking offending the prince. I take little bits of a bunch of dishes I didn't recognize, larger helpings of those I do. My plate is piled high and I know I will not finish it, but to take less would be ungrateful. The prince serves himself after I take a bite, hiding the shake of the fork in my hand. He doesn't eat, instead watching me as I continue to lift bites to my lips, if only to keep myself busy. Before I know it, my stomach is full and my plate is nearing empty; the prince's remains untouched. I place my fork down and it rings off the corner of my plate. I jump, finally looking up at the prince. His expression is less harsh here; whether that was from the relaxed setting or the lack of witnesses, or even maybe genuine softness, the tension from my shoulders starts to fade.

"...May I return to my room?" I ask after a moment of quiet.

"Is that what you'd like to do?" He replies, breaking eye contact to bring a slice of braised beef to his lips. There was a small scar on his cupid's bow, another through his eyebrow.

"...I think so." I whisper, staying in place until direct permission is given. There were rules when it came to interacting with royalty, and despite the few we'd already broken, I wasn't going to risk my head by assuming I could break another.

"You may go." He nods and brings another bite to his lips. I watch, stuck in place. He looks up at me, meeting my eyes, and I finally stand.

I almost got lost on my way back from the hall. As soon as the door closes behind me, I let myself breathe, surprised by how quickly this room had become a pocket of safety.

The next morning starts the same as the last: with a lavish breakfast. I start in the library today, a large, just as lavish room filled with more books than I'd ever seen. This also meant it had the most shelves I'd ever seen, with dust settling on each one. Was I the only staff here aside from the guards? These shelves hadn't been wiped in at least weeks.

It takes me hours to move through the large room, my new apron speckled with dust. I will have to wash it before I retire for the night. Clicking my tongue, I wipe at the marks with my rag, but it only serves to spread the gray dust around. I might have to clean it now.

As I turn around, I catch sight of the prince standing in the doorway, watching. I descend the ladder, trying my best to cover the smudges on my apron. The prince turns his attention to the library, running his finger along a shelf.

"You are thorough." He praises, and I feel a tinge of pride. I stand by the desk in the middle of the room; he approaches slowly, calmly, but something about the look in his eye made my stomach drop. I take a step back. "I knew you would do well here. Are you enjoying your time here?"

"Yes, Prince," I stutter, only noticing my mistake after the word left my mouth. I suck in a breath, looking up at the prince with wide, frightened eyes. His own meet mine, the flash of anger I see is quickly replaced by something I don't recognize. Something dark. Something hungry.