I stood in the hallway beside two other women and two young girls. We waited, just outside the first of the royal chamber doors, waiting for the sun to finish hitting the horizon. I shifted my weight back and forth slightly, trying to wake up my tired muscles. One of the things I haven't been able to get used to about serving the royal house is waking hours before dawn.
Finally, the light hit the elaborate stained glass masterpiece on the far wall. The five of us tensed slightly, watching the line of light drift upwards. It hit the middle of the glass mural, and the oldest of us gave a nod. "Time to go."
She turned and gently knocked on the ancient wooden door. She had been doing this for decades, and somehow managed to knock hard enough for the sound to carry, but not hard enough to seem impolite or insistent. One doesn't wake the queen with anything but gentle politeness. After a respectful heartbeat of waiting, she put her key in the doorknob, unlocked the queen's door, and eased it open.
The five of us swept in, immediately splitting up and moving in different directions. This first room was a sitting area, where the queen was wont to take her breakfast, or even her dinner on nights when she wasn't expected to entertain guests. The two youngest servants moved immediately to the table, small by royal standards but large enough to seat six or eight people, and started arranging all of the plates and cutlery and napkins and culinary miscellany.
I followed Charlotte to the queen's bedchamber. Charlotte gave the same knock she'd done a moment prior, then entered her majesty's royal chambers. She made her way straight to the queen's wardrobe to pick out a morning robe. Picking out and putting on the day's outfit would come later, and would require at least another two people.
I moved to my position by the window and pulled on the thick cord to move the heavy drapes. Early morning light spilled into the royal chambers. It rushed in with none of the polite hesitation Charlotte had shown before stepping inside. If ever a person burst into the queen's chambers with such reckless haste, she would have them beaten.
Nonetheless, the sun shone in the room with reckless indifference to the royal preference. Not even the queen can punish the sun... but if she were particularly displeased she might elect to have me punished.
Queen Roselyn rose from her bed, and joined Charlotte at the dressing mirror. I skirted around the edge of the room, staying well out of her way, until I reached the enormous bed. It really was big enough for three or four to sleep comfortably, which was wasteful since it was very rarely occupied by anyone other than herself. The king's bed down the hall was similarly empty save for the man himself. If the rumours around the castle were to be believed, it was a rare thing indeed for the king to be welcomed into his wife's bed, despite them having been married for almost ten years and having no heirs.
I took hold of the edges of the royal sheets upon the royal bed, and shook them to clear them of any royal dust that might have accumulated from the queen's royal body.
Pulling the sheets up the bed was an act of precision and careful coordination. The three pillows must be fluffed first, positioned just so, then the sheets could come halfway up the pillows. The queen was very particular about that - halfway up the pillows, not more or less.
I pulled the small roll of measuring tape from one of my apron's many pockets, and laid it over the royal pillows to make sure the royal sheets sat just right. It was a trick I had been taught by my predecessor, before she retired. I moved slowly, pulling the sheet ever so slightly this way then that way, arranging it to royal perfection.
Then there was a blanket, a duvet, and twelve more pillows, eached arranged just so. All said, it took me only twenty minutes to make the bed, much faster than when I had started.
I surveyed my work to make sure it was flawless, then laid the finishing touch: a single rose from the castle's garden, placed in the very center of the bed. It had been the king's idea, a romantic gesture that the queen hated. Nonetheless, the words from the king's mouth are law, so I placed a rose on the bed every morning.
The queen had been moved from the dressing mirror to her accustomed place for breakfast. A gentle knock on the door indicated that her food had arrived, and another servant bustled in with the dishes just as the queen settled into her chair. Timed to perfection.
I stepped out through the open door, turning to give the queen a deep bow that she didn't deign to notice. Then I turned and walked down the long hall that separated the king's room from the queen's. The door was open slightly because his personal servants were already doing their various duties. I stepped into the king's personal rooms, which were almost identical in construction to the queen's - a large sitting area, an adjacent bathing room, and the royal bedchambers.
It is towards the latter that I moved, stepping through that open door with a polite knock. The room was empty, as it always was at this exact time. I would finish in the queen's room, move to the king's room while he was still in the baths, and make his bed. Then I would help clean the king's bath, then collect his dishes, then check in on the cleaning of the queen's rooms and help however I was needed. Everything is timed just so in the royal household.
I knew all the timing by heart now. I knew how long the king usually took in the bath, and how long he would laze in his comfortable chairs before summoning his butler to dress him. It is beneficial for any professional servant to learn their employer's schedules... especially when that servant is scheming.
I took slightly longer making the king's bed this morning. I paid very precise attention to the exact lines of the sheets, even though the king had never cared as much as his wife. By now I should have been standing in the main seating area while the king moved from his bath to his bedroom, so that I could help clean his royal bathtub. But today the cleaning staff had a trainee, and she told me last week that I would be able to step out into the hallway and have a little while to myself, if I wanted it. I was indeed planning on having a few moments to myself, but I'd chosen a different location.
Because I was taking my time, and because I was very carefully arranging the king's blankets, I was still here when he stepped into the room. I heard him pause as he took in the sight of me on all fours on his bed, and I gave him a moment before I turned to look at him over my shoulder.
"I'm very sorry, your majesty," I told him in a demure voice. "I am just finishing up here, and I will be out of your way."
I had given him a moment before turning so that he could enjoy the view before I turned to him. I hadn't necessarily expected him to still be staring at my ass when I looked at him, or for him to continue looking while answering me. "No, no, take your time, my dear."
"Thank you, your majesty."
I turned back to the job at hand, and fluffed one of his pillows for the third or fourth time. Then I stretched out to place it, making my back arch and my ass move slightly. The king was not the kind of man who picked up on subtlety very well, so I was making sure that my message was loud and clear. I'd even bunched the front of my skirts under my knees just before he entered the room, so that the back of it would be clinging to my backside.
"What is your name, dear?" the king asked from behind me, his voice lower than usual, "I don't believe we've been introduced."
I stopped what I was doing, still bent over on his bed. "Arabela, your majesty."
"And how long have you been employed in our service?"
