ã€ŠThe Second Prince Loves a Lowly Servantã€‹


 Chapter 1: Wedding Bells

    "Take it away! Now!" Her royal majesty, the renowned queen of Merthingham¡ªor "the feisty old-wench," as several palace servants called her¡ªroared several decibels louder than a gunshot. "It is wretched! Utterly wretched!" she continued. "How dare you feed poison to my guests, girl! I will have your head on a silver platter for this without a doubt. Save your crocodile tears!"

    "I have no tears to shed, ma''am."

    The old woman choked in shock.

    "Your Royal Majesty," Lucy corrected herself; rightfully, yet tryingly. "I will simply approach the royal cook and request timely alterations that suit your most distinguished taste. And, if you''ll forgive my curt words, Your Majesty, tears will not move mountains to make it happen; but actions most definitely will."

    Besides her worrisome form of communication, Lucy Auclair was naturally a bland, uncharacteristically unenvious side character. She had brown hair, like the daughter of an impoverished family, and emotionless, black disinteresting eyes, with a very typical ivory skin which half of the continent''s population possessed. However, she wasn''t always like this. Or at least not this bland.

    "You dare speak back to me, girl!"

    "Shall I play deaf then?" She beamed perversely, confounding the shaken woman further. "That will pose no difficulty on my part, My Queen. You see, I think silence is a characteristic you lack immensely, so feel free to use me as a paragon of politesse."

    Lucy instantly reduced the woman to a sputtering mess, and she watched quite proudly, all while playing deaf as she had said she would earlier.

    Indulging further in the situation, her thoughts travelled back to her life before this novel-ish world, where such bodily functioning was a luxury to her. There, she was also a brunette that had complementary golden flecks in her just-as-ashy brown eyes for some touch of uniqueness. What also sold her off as "unique" was a hearing loss disability, setting her apart from the crowd and making reading Ashley Stevenson''s¡ªnow Lucy Auclair''s¡ªall-time favourite escape from life. She would read about princesses whose so-called hardships would be set straight by the help of some handsome prince or knight... or about petty rivalries between ancient families who wielded magic... and of tragic romances between amoureux whose different societal classes sentenced their love to a preordained grave.

    Sometimes she would also wish that she could live such exciting, frivolous fairytale lives on days when her parents would gnash at each other, analyzing at the defective thing they brought into existence. Or days when fool-hardy attempts of rising above her circumstance would rein in more trouble than upturns.

    "What are you still doing here?" The shrilling voice of the Queen snapped her out of her mind. "Get out! Now!"

    "Yes, my Queen," her mood switched instantly, and she complied, picking up the trays of petit-fours and assorted truffles she had previously come in dignity with.

    * * *

    "She called ''em trash, didn''t er?"

    "''Wretched! Utterly wretched!''"

    "Close enuf," Matilda, the head kitchen maid, with questionably the strongest northern accent amongst the staff, embraced the irksome fact, guiltlessly taking the trays from Lucy and placing them onto a nearby counter space. "If we can enjoy ''em for ourselves after da wedding, Itz notta complete loss, love."

    "It is for Victor, though."

    "How selfless of ya, suga cube; carin'' bout da royal cook when ya never-ever once did," the lean, austere woman mocked Lucy''s humble duplicity. She carried the exact pulled-back brown chignon and black eyes like hers, too. "What d''ya do to ''er this time?"Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    "I told her to shut up..." Matilda was unimpressed. "Basically." I had actually done more than just that; I''d committed treason, Lucy thought to herself.

    "If that''s the case, don''t give us a thought. Get on up ''n get an early start on ya packin''."

    "I don''t want to go packing!"

    "Ya shud learn ta keep ya damn trap shut, then!"

    "Matilda! Please!" Lucy took the woman from behind. "Help me! I have nowhere else to go apart from here. I''m a poor diligent soul, hardly a ragamuffin who needs charity, so please talk to her for me! Please!"

    "I talk''d ta ''er five times in da past month already. Go get charity somewhere else!"

    Seeing that her whining wasn''t stirring the conversation in the auspicious direction she intended, Lucy saw no need to continue¡ªor even carry on with her work here, either.

    Change wasn''t always a bad thing, she convinced herself. Moderately literate in the continent''s language, plus some saved-up coin¡ªwhich she never saw use for until now¡ªwas enough to get by for at least a month before she found a desirable charge.

    Originally, encountering a nobleman like a duke, marquis, earl, or even the most unattainable of them all, a prince, was her hope upon applying for palace work. Reflecting now, however, they were all unattainable in the first place, considering how rigid a social structure this world operated with without sparing second thoughts of broadening its thin horizon. In one of her books, though, the heroine had no social standing¡ªsure enough; she was a beauty¡ªyet she snagged herself a wealthy earl!

    "This isn''t fair!" she pouted, splaying across the beautifully marbled and gold-accented kitchen countertops¡ªthe Merthingham kingdom really loved to display their wealth, even where it was not openly observed.

    "Itz perfectly fair, suga cube!"

    "Have you people seen Prince Eric''s bride from the Cryptal kingdom?" Another clone maid came running in, shivering all over from excitement. "Gosh, the girls really are as pretty as the rumors say they are over there! I mean, she''s got the most bluest orbs¡ª"

    "How blue?"

    "The most cherry pinkest of hairs¡ª"

    "Describe ''pinkest''."

    "I even heard she''s as kind as a queen when, of course, she''s yet to be crowned!"

    "Please! Couldn''t be our queen¡ª"

    "Oh miss Lucy, would you shut up!" The young still-room maid finally snapped at the interrupting chatterbox. "Picture everything you''re not and you''ve got her!" Offended, Lucy rose up from her seating position. "Stop asking silly questions!" Then, slamming her hands on the marble countertop for a dramatic effect that didn''t land as it should have, she bellowed: "Why does everyone want to see me go mute today?"

    "''Cause ya talk excessively!" Matilda nipped her ears from behind, eliciting a shriek of pain. "This is da last time I ever help ya, ya got that!"

    "Thank you. I deserved that."

    "A chambermaid friend of mine, you know, Lucrecia, she told me she saw her in the flesh with her own eyes! And that she was tall, beautiful, and courteous. How I''d love to be her lady''s maid! Or even her, herself!"

    "Ya''d have ta live a ''ole new life for da ta ''appen!"

    The entire kitchen broke into exuberant laughter¡ªeven the people who pretended to be aloof to the conversation shared the sentiment. The perfect picture of "family" sat before Lucy, making her realize she couldn''t leave this heavingly prison even if she wanted to. Parting ways with these individuals would be life-changing compared to the previous family she lived with her entire (past) life.

    A simple life...

    The lust for greed and over-indulgence in worldly vanities had blinded her to an unconditional gift every soul possesses; class, colour, and differences notwithstanding. This world was the key to experiencing it.

    "You know... I''ve lived a crazy-ass life before I reincarnated into this one which, by a long shot, is candidly heaven."

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 1.1: Wedding Bells

    "Don''t try to make us laugh. It''s not funny, Lucy."

    "But I wasn''t."

    "Not everyone has ta be funny, suga cube. Itz not really ya talent."

    To hell with talent, she thought. My whole life is a joke! "Well, it''s not exactly you guy''s talent to be nice either!" Satisfied with the blow she had given them, she got up and left the room¡ªsneaking some treats as she did¡ªnot knowing they actually laughed at the statement. What was so funny about the declaration would forever be a mystery.

    * * *

    Heading to receive miss "eyes bluer than blue and hair pinker than pink", Lucy prepared some white tea and butter biscuits for the new guest. While doing so, she could not help but be drench in the love surrounding this perfect, mystery princess from the Cryptal nation. It was truly insufferable; she couldn''t go anywhere without hearing of her nonpareil beauty.

    In the Kitchens, servants would gossip her smile was as warm as the mid-day sun, or exaggerate that a person need not visit the beach if you stared into her ocean-blue eyes, in the servant quarters. However, Lucy also picked up the opposite side of this mass hysteria. A malevolent minority thought of her a bitch whose beauty acted as her best and only quality, and that she most likely consorted with cosmetic magicians to build a face that stops everyone in their tracks. Which to be fair, was plausible.

    Why was everyone so bedazzled with her?

    There were plenty of female leads with pink hair or blue eyes in Lucy''s books, so identifying a specific plot she read of, applicable to this situation, was not a possibility.

    "Eric, Eric..." she thought, handling the tray of treats with utmost diligence; any more demerit points would only give her majesty more reason to get rid of her. "The only Eric I know was from the little mermaid. Needless to say, I''ve never seen the first prince''s face since arriving here, so I can''t connect any dots."

    "You!" She heard a resonating call from behind.

    She then turned to see a tall, lean, fair man, approaching at a scary pace. "Have you seen a voluptuous bitch anywhere? She''s got crazy red hair, full lips, and looks thoroughly ravished." He let each unbecoming word float out casually from his rich, red lips.

    More taken aback by his features than his words, Lucy drooled over the bare skin inching out from his laced, linen shirt, which in turn was being swallowed up by many, many erect, golden locks of hair he boundlessly possessed. She also didn''t need to visit the beach¡ªnot that she ever had¡ªwhen she looked into his piercing, bright, blue eyes.

    "Are you slow?" He snapped her back to her wits with a nudge on the shoulder, but it had sent the gold serving tray she once held paramountly out and flying from her grip onto the mercy of the ground.

    "SHIT!" She cried out loud-way too loud-then began to salvage the mess she had mindlessly created.

    "Have you seen her-"

    "HAVE YOU NOT SEEN WHAT YOU''VE DONE, HUH!"

    "Your Highness!" An appalled Housekeeper bellowed at Lucy''s, once again, brash words. "W-what are you doing here? Are you not supposed to be with her majesty, his highness, and princes Cecilia?"

    "I would''ve..." he caught himself pausing and staring at the odd creature crawling the floor, picking up cookies, spilled milk, and whatnot. "But I''ve lost something of dear value."

    "Well, we shall help you find it then."

    "That... doesn''t sound very reassuring. As you have just witnessed, your service would not be of much use," he snarled, crossing his legs over a crouched up Lucy, and continuing on his way.

    "The biscuits..." her hands quivered as she attempted to undo her mess. "There''s no use."

    "What have you done!"

    "He spilled them, ma''am! He made me drop them!"

    "He did no such thing¡ª"

    "As they always do," she bit off.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    "You shall watch your tongue now, or pack your things, young girl!" The elderly woman gnashed her teeth to the point abrading noises could be heard, while pointing a firm finger at Lucy''s deviant expression. "You clearly do not value your life and it is only God who sustains you with all the calamity you create."

    Pulling her up from the ground, she then tried to clean up her tarnished appearance. "Send for Mary and Catharine to clean this, then ask Abbey to serve their highnesses in your place. Your mien isn''t fit to serve our guest any less than you are. Go clean up, girl!"

    "Yes ma''am," she complied.

    The first meeting with a princess who would soon become the queen of Merthingham was an occasion unfit for a drawing room. This event would be marked by afternoon tea in the royal gardens, with its exquisite overview of the nation''s vast fields bathed in an assortment of flowers, extravagant fountains, precious statuary, meandering rivers, designer-trimmed trees, and beautiful, gold paths that formed bridges at river interjections.

    On the queen''s orders, the place was set up with a prettily gold-accented gazebo and especially massive Alstroemeria flowers to ease the princess'' homesick heart. Served were high tea essentials: white tea, an assortment of biscuits, finger sandwiches, and with some traditional fruits, cut and prepared aesthetically for the eye to taste, the day was in order.

    "Cecilia, darling," her majesty smiled brightly, watching the young girl curtsy in reverence. "I''m content to see your journey was secure and without trouble."

    "As I am, my Queen," she reciprocated the sentiments. "I hope my luck shall aide the continent''s war just the same."

    "Come now child..." the gregarious woman''s face immediately turned dour. "That is no conversation to have at afternoon tea, is it? Did your parents fail in your upbringing?"

    "Mother," Eric, an auburn-haired, blue-eyed, strapping young man, interceded on behalf of his future wife. The one word being enough to quench her out-of-check, magisterial superfluousness. "I''m sure she meant no harm," he finalized more than suggested, and the queen read so immediately. Her first son had an odd way of disarming her with his cold, blue eyes; just like his father''s. But how she prayed he wouldn''t be like her husband one bit.

    "I suppose you''re right... where is your brother?" She redirected the cheerless conversation that had crept on them unsuspectingly. "I request his presence for not even half a day yet he fails to show. He''s always off somewhere across the continent if one cannot manage to catch him at his estate¡ªoh, how my frail heart cannot take it any longer."

    "I guess you have failed in my upbringing too, dear mother," The guest of honor finally made his appearance, from out of nowhere.

    "Heavens! What are you wearing, child?"

    "A shirt... pantaloons..." he took a seat at the table. "Oh! By God, were you expecting I showed up in dittos?"

    "Suits, son. Suits."

    "You''ve failed again," he grinned, picking a ripe grape from off the tiered tray and tossing it into his mouth, chuckling at her indignant expression. "So, what do we have here?" His attention dawned on the awkward princess. "Princess, was it?"

    "Yes, this is princess Cecilia. Cecilia, Deidrick," Eric took the reign from his exasperated mother in making the introductions. "We will be married in 6 days, in case you missed out on that part."

    "You think too little of me, brother."

    "How can I not when you bring a mistress home as a ''present'' when called on after disappearing for god knows how long at god knows where."

    "OH FOR HEAVEN''S SAKE!" The queen fumed, slamming the designer fan she used as a cooler onto the table.

    The brothers'' relationship was a hostile, ongoing war whenever one of them so as opened their mouths. Ever since growing out of their diapers and leaving the palace to seek a higher degree of education across the continent, upon meeting again, one instantly found himself disappointed in the other, and one found the other unrelentingly overbearing. The saga continued, even leading to fighting outbursts, which forced the family to make ignominious decisions.

    The king provided Deidrick an estate to live separate from the family at the age of seven-and-ten¡ªprioritized second since he was not going to be the next king, and shunned for his frivolous reputation that stunk up the Merthingham''s name.

    He didn''t mind though.

    He took the opportunity to waste money, party, travel the continent seeking adventure, and wholly indulge in lascivious activities to his heart desired.

    "CAN YOU TWO STOP IT!"

    That was easy for one of them to do. "You really aren''t as crazy handsome as rumors cock and bull."

    "Deidrick!"

    "Rest assured I''m disappointed," he continued with a rehearsed sullen expression, ignoring his mother''s affronted protest. "But! I simply can not blame you. We do not get to pick out how we pop out."

    "T-thank you?"

    "Do not thank him! Do not talk to him at all! I see now that it was a terrible mistake asking that you stayed for your brother''s wedding for even one second, you insufferable brat!"

    "Your majesty," a parlor maid arrived with some biscuits and tea Lucy had misplaced, bowing, then serving despite the ruckus.

    "I swear, you are the bane of my existence!" The weary woman sank back into her seat, fanning the life out of her hand fan.

    "Oh. I forgot to mention, we also don''t get to choose if we pop out at all," Deidrick saw fit to add, gaining an unbecoming chuckle from the proper Princess¡ªeven stealing a smile from the quintessential, conscientious mold a royal maid was edified to exhibit.

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 2: Antagonistic Orders

    <hr>

    "Please, you have to help me! He refuses to let me go and I cannot stand being here for one more instant!"

    A voluptuous bitch indeed, Lucy agreed with the inappropriate description given earlier, surprised she had even heard it at all, as she was too enraptured with the prince''s physic than his words at the time. The woman sprawled in front of the servants'' quarters was majestic¡ªshort of royalty even. She was blessed with a dainty, sexy stature compared to Lucy''s lanky frame, had curly and red fiery hair similar to the people of the north, the fullest lips, and purple gemstones in lieu of eyes.

    Truly, this world didn''t hold back in depreciating its supposed heroine.

    Lucy pushed past the lady, trying to overcome the fact she wasn''t a heroine on days when she was confronted with its harsh reality, decidedly set on admiring beauty instead of craving its perks; a goal she pledged to solemnly abide by because, with so many hurtful memories from her past life and her not-so-lucky one now, avoiding links to such emotion was for the best.

    "I''m sorry, but I can not be of help right now."

    Yet, it was one thing to admire a man, and another entirely to envy a fellow woman who possessed every aesthetic feature that you lacked. A harsh defeat to most people, yes. But to Lucy, it seemed frank and honest, and she liked her that way: frank and honest.

    Although...

    "Move it, you debauched whore! Your job is servicing customers, meaning that ''he'' couldn''t have forced you to come here¡ªthe goddamn royal palace¡ªagainst your will! So politely take your second-rate problems with your second-rate assets somewhere else because I am actively trying to save my ass right now¡ªI have no time for this!"

    Ambivalently, it could be argued that the trait shone either foolishly or sagaciously in everyday speech¡ªthe latter option occurring much often than she would have liked it to.

    The woman''s eyes widened in astonishment at whom she thought was a proper-trained palace maid, spouting words only heard within the dirtiest slums of Merthingham''s disparaged towns and villages. Eerily, the read head dropped her distressful act. "I am also trying to save my ass here. So if you don''t want help in losing your job faster,  you''d best do as I say."

    "If it''s a fight your itching for, I will happily mess up your pretty, little face¡ªLater." Lucy then tried to push past the woman again, instead, tripping on a purposefully placed foot and slamming her face into the hard pavement stairs. Her vision blurred for a brief moment, and sharp pains shot through her skull in agonizing jolts.

    "I could make a huge scene out of this. No! A scene couldn''t do it justice¡ªa scandal would. I''ll tell him you''re a perverted slut who assaulted me when I was trying so desperately to find him in this maze of a palace"¡ª"him," referring to the second prince. "Deidrick may not be a king or highly esteemed, but a title is a title, and he will use it to do anything for me. Anything."

    Getting up despite her wounded parts, Lucy considered her choices with a stupored brain.

    "What do you want?" Resigned to the cunning woman before her, Lucy brought herself to do what was expected of her in the first place. Considering her current condition, fighting would not be in her favor because it would only spiral gossip across the palace and end her faster than she would like¡ªa maid fighting a guest, be it a mistress, could not be overlooked.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "I want you to discretely prepare a royal-crested coach for me. They''ve all been told not to service me on Deidrick''s orders so I can''t approach them myself. Lie¡ªbribe them if you must! Just do anything to get me out of here! Also, remember to gather my things from my room in time for my departure. And as much as it saddens me to say, I will be needing to stake out here... with you people. My pet mustn''t know my location."

    Oh, the irony, Lucy thought. Whoever this person was genuinely thought that aristocrats didn''t esteem her any better than a servant when in reality, she was denigrated especially for practicing harlotry.

    "Why me?"

    "Why you?" The woman couldn''t hold back her perplexity. "Because you are a servant! Should I dirty my hands in your stead?"

    "I meant there are other available servants, so why me¡ª"

    "Madam! It is madam!"

    ¡­that was the third time today.

    "I am a guest of his royal highness so you shall address as so¡ªproperly! We are not on par, you brazen wench!"

    "Madam... I shall get started on it."

    * * *

    "Lucy! You''re head, it''s bleeding!" The young still room maid nearly detached her jaw from her skull from shock. "Are you alright?"  She flung herself up.

    "Yes, I am fine."

    Ignoring her friend''s protest, she instead suggested easing the self-reliant, headstrong injured person before her who was limping across the room, pretending the picture of health.

    "Theresa, really, I am fine!"

    "Matilda''s still upstairs; she won''t feel bothered. I shall quickly just¡ª"

    "Theresa, stop it! I said I was fine!"

    There was a knife-cutting effect from both the words and expressions used, rendering both girls mute. But neither intentions were intended to inch into an overbearing territory; Lucy simply wanted to draw less attention to herself considering the past few slip-ups she made in less than twenty-four hours, while Theresa earnestly wanted to make amends for her "rude behavior" earlier that morning. They could now barely manage to go about the outwardly grand space with all the thick fog of tension that clouded it over-indulgently¡ªLucy, seating at her bedside whilst tending to her injuries, and Theresa spending her expiring break writing letters in her own corner.

    "I''m sorry."

    "No, it is my fault. I should''ve listened and not pushed you to the brink of exasperation."

    "Of course..." what more was needed to be said, Lucy wondered, finishing up her treatment then changing her dress. "Wanna go on an adventure with me?"

    Theresa shot her a skeptical glance from across the room.

    "It''s harmless. I promise."

    "Pardon my asking, but did that adventure give you that scar?"

    "The scar will clear with time."

    "And if it doesn''t? You''ll be demoted to a lower charge Lucy; scars are unfit for a proper parlor maid... I''m a living testament to that, being a 5-year still room maid with a gazillion of them."

    "Then what more do you stand to lose? It''ll only last a day! C''mon!"

    "Your duplicity is frightening, miss Lucy."

    "Fully dressed!" She exclaimed. "Let''s go now, shall we?"

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com or RoyalRoad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 3: Dubious Strategy

    <hr>

    "David!"

    "David! Come, we need your help!"

    "David!"

    The second footman saw two females beckoning him with flailing arms; females whom he did not know nor have to comply with because they were mere young maids. Pulling into his direct vision was someone he couldn''t help noticing, however, as he returned to his charge. Theresa Tyrone; a chippy, young maid of six-and-ten with brownish-red hair, an unruly pair of chocolate eyes that reminded him of his sister, and a vivacious abraded tenor in her voice whenever she got riled up about aristocratic drama... or about him.

    "Is there a problem, David?"

    He was curious why her urgency required assistance from a footman when stillroom maids usually reported directly to the housekeeper. "No, sir"¡ªbut he chose to respond solemnly. The first prince, Eric, whose thinning patience spurred from much more than David not opening a carriage door, huffed his aggravation before entering the vehicle. "Your highness," he bowed, accompanying the ticking-timebomb-of-a-man off at the side seat with a well-polished coachman.

    That had terrified Lucy.

    "D-do you know any other footmen? Surely David can''t be the only one."

    "He''s the only one I''m close with..." a blush briefly danced across her cheek. "Well, sort of." Theresa could not help but notice panic suffuse Lucy''s already dark, desolate disposition¡ªproverbials say eyes were the window to the soul, after all. "Why must we go on this ''adventure'', Lucy? Are you in trouble?" A pretty close guess in itself, but not exactly correct.

    More than the threat of prince Dedrick capitulating to his mistress'' will in an instant, she was more scared of what the witch would do if she ended up staying at the castle any longer. For Lucy, it was better to be rid of anybody or any complications that would place her in danger''s way¡ªjust one minute with the wicked, old wench ended with a bloody head.

    She would be in trouble if she didn''t see this illegal nonsense through.

    "Does this have to do with the woman lounging in the servants'' hall?" Theresa probed for more answers from her secretive senior. "C''mon, we maids can''t be seen strolling about the palace! We only work in the shadows¡ªmy kind the most! Let''s go, we can''t loiter in the front hall any longer!"

    "What is with you and this ''my kind'' garbage!" Lucy snapped at the prattling girl. "We are all the same as far as I''m concerned! Servant," she pointed at Theresa, "Servant!" Then at herself.

    "You say that only because you''re not me!"

    "I''m damn elated not to be!"

    "At least you can serve refreshments at afternoon tea, sometimes dinner¡ªthe cleaning is just a minor quandary in the grand picture¡ªwhile I''m stuck in a lame still-room making alcohol, oils, medicines, and damned cosmetics all day! Have you seen my dress? I don''t even have a decent uniform!"

    "Your job sounds fucking fun, you little prick! I''d jump at the chance to play pretend in a half-kitchen, half-lab in a heartbeat!"

    "You get a change of scenery!"

    "Tending to these royal asses all day is not at all glam as you think it is!"

    "You get a larger pay!"

    "You!" Lucy tried to think up a rebuttal, but couldn''t. "You... get some of that too... cleaning action... when you''re not in the lab."

    "I''m not talking about the cleaning! I want to see royal processions, too¡ª"

    "You two there!"

    Popping out as if she had an unfailing compass which led directly to Lucy irrespective of time, place, continent, and yelling up a storm as she approached, too, was Durrell¡ªthe housekeeper. "What are you doing loitering the entrance hall when there is much work to be done! Move it now, or go packing!"

    "Go packing again?" Lucy muttered to nobody in particular. It was beginning to sound like a nightingale that wantonly tormented children with nightmares.

    Mentally setting that aside in place of apt, much-needed critical thinking skills, she formulated a justifiable excuse in the nick of time. But it needed effectuation by the lovely Theresa. "Tell your chambermaid friend to gather the lady''s things secretly and have them moved to the gardens under darkness. I''ll take care of this."This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Theresa¡ªthe lovely''s¡ªeyes slimmed with anger.

    Lucy was selfishly using her and couldn''t bother to say what the whole fiasco was about or talk her through its repercussions. "She won''t do it," she conveyed. But Lucy pushed the dubious girl away before the storm approaching from behind could unleash its wrath. "Convince her otherwise!"

    It was too late. It had just arrived.

    "What seems to be the matter here?"

    "Nothing important ma''am. I was just telling Theresa that Vector said it''s of paramount importance that Matilda told me how wanting walnut oil is, to tell her¡ªTheresa¡ªto make more olive oil."

    "To do what now?"

    "She''s got the message already. Right, Theresa?"

    Her scowl was hidden beneath her drooping head, "Yes, ma''am," but Lucy felt anger sans unrestrained in her docile, subordinate tenor.

    "Then best be on your way, girl!" Theresa did as so by the cranky old woman. "And you go help clean up the gardens. Afternoon tea with their royal highnesses is finished."

    "Yes, madam Durrell." Lucy swiftly made her way to the gardens, surprised she somehow duped the dour woman but overall excited to remove herself from her presence, quickly finish the task given, and find herself a footman willing to help.

    Using designated servant backstairs scattered around the palace, and only cutting into hallways when necessary¡ªroyalty took sharing halls with peasants quiet personally¡ªoutside, she walked for 20 minutes from the palace building to the event site where maids placed valuable china into cushioned boxes, dusted, footmen dismantled extravagant props, as other''s sneakily ate untouched leftovers from the event. Upon examining how cleanup was practically not finished, she deducted that their highnesses probably came and returned with a superfluous amount of coaches to the palace a long time ago¡ªsome weird tradition Merthinian queens invented over the centuries to assuage their boredom; showing off their carriages, crests, colts, and everything stable-related.

    "Maybe that''s why we couldn''t find any unengaged coachmen¡ªor footmen. They were helping here... and some will definitely come back after tending to the used carriages."

    "You bet!"

    Lucy turned around to see a fellow housemaid.

    "It took us a week to set this whole scene up in preparation for the princess; of course, we''ll need the help moving it back."

    "They sure love to spend lavishly, don''t they?"

    "Like crazy, too," the maid agreed, and Lucy concurred with subdued laughter. "Personally, I think they should be investing coin in the army instead. I heard the North just took over  Sewithia and are advancing to Merthingham faster than expected. Crypton will be next if Alledore falls."

    "They''re that close?"

    Hope grappled with certitude over the woman''s features as she agreed. "The continent is calling them ''mighty and unstoppable''."

    "Unstoppable" could not have been a flattering title. If it touches this perilous predicament, it inexorably spelt an end to everything. Genesis war, which started as rumors six months ago, was charging headfirst for the continent''s most unstoppable people; the Merthingham nation. And they seem to be bending under pressure, appeasing the threat''s challenge with an arranged marriage instead of showing face, having ruled with a renowned, universally known history.

    Merthingham himself was a powerful wizard king who created the continent and established many nations within it, ceasing power at the resourceful, gold-riddled south as his dwelling. His actions accompanied a fervid desire to preserve his linage, his death at age five-and-one hundred was a formal decree made to ensure that the thrown only be passed onto the purest in Merthingham family: both in blood and character. The world thought of Merthingham: the creator of life itself. Because, for centuries, wars would come and go... kingdoms would rise and fall... but his was forever unshakable.

    That was, until now.

    Marrying to conjoin forces with another kingdom meant weakness and uncertainty in one''s strength or abilities. And ever since this marriage got a calendrical date to betide, this Kingdom swiftly became a continental laughing stock, never to revisit its previous glory days.

    "We can only pray that our faithful king will help us from above, right?"

    "He''s dead." The maid gave Lucy a derisive look. "He cannot do anything in the grave. He''s rolling in it¡ªwe are all doomed."

    "And you''ll be doomed faster if you don''t silence that gutter you call a mouth."

    The woman''s body froze, only her mouth retaining some form of movement. "Y-Y-You''re highness!" She exclaimed, shell-shocked the man had been patiently listening to her besmirchment of a great family name¡ªhis great family name. The blonde stranger wore his hair packed up in a ponytail and lounged lazily dressed in a white shirt and green pantaloons. His eyes were a different shade of blue underneath the cover of green leaves; a sea-green of some sort, Lucy noticed again. Hers was always black despite locations or lightings.

    "I shall ignore this once, but I won''t be as merciful if I so hear of a repeat."

    "Yes, your highness! Thank you, your highness!" The woman sprinted for dear life, like her making a deal with the devil never even happened.

    "And as for you," climbing down nonchalantly from his position atop an old oak tree, his attention dawned on Lucy. "Come with me."

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com or RoyalRoad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 3.1: Its a Go

    * * *

    "You''ve met the woman. Where is she?"

    Shutting the double door behind them, Deidrick studied the young maid''s subtle nuances in body language. She appeared panicked to suddenly be trapped inside a commodious space decorated with golden arches which met at a grand, levitating crystal chandelier; the centerpiece of the room, otherwise enhancing the venerability of its sinuous shelving units built into flock wallpaper. It was his study. One he had not revisited since seven-and-ten, rekindling a mixture of fond and unwanted memories.

    "Seen who, your highness?" She finally staggered a response.

    It was dark and Lucy kept nudging seen and unseen writing implements off the desk because all she could decipher was his tall, imposing silhouette approaching eerily swiftly.

    The room''s sole light source was cast on an antique wooden desk with a large inset which Lucy backed into, pressing hard against it¡ªa leather chair tangent to its center. Windows were draped away with heavy, deep-green brocade curtains, banishing sun penetration in lieu of a suffocating illusion of emptiness that Deidrick adored. It made him feel in charge of a small, personal sort of world... made him feel like a fox toying with dinner that encroached on its territory.

    Lifting a soft, brown tendril of hair from between her eyes, "Don''t play dumb with me," mirth filled and spilled from his insides, out¡ªthen she flinches before his intended action had even transpired.

    The sudden gesture took him aback at the notion she thought he would do her harm.

    Conversely, Lucy thought that any signs which could give the truth away might first appear on her face. Going by the logic: she was brazen and reckless with her tongue. Why would her face beg to differ?

    "I do not hit women." She heard a slight tremble in his voice before it hardened unreservedly. "Ever."

    "My apologies, your highness."

    "No normal parlor maid goes from being untouched to injured in a 2-hour time span." Deidrick lifted the hair lock that covered her skillfully positioned gauze, regardless. "Unless you''ve met Delilah."

    If the second prince wasn''t abusive and was truly a gentleman (sort of), why Delilah¡ªa scary suiting name¡ªwas so eager to leave his loving bosom was simply incomprehensible. She would be paid in full, no doubt, and enjoy the comfort of the royal palace¡ªthe best life the continent has to offer.

    "I tripped on some stairs earlier, your highness," Lucy replied¡ªwhich wasn''t a lie in itself. But he wasn''t buying it.

    "Bullshit. You''re too docile... not cheekily insubordinate like before."

    Really? Had she been imagining being compliant, then? Because insubordination only went so far in aiding someone under gun-point, even at this moment, she knew better than to speak carelessly and face the consequence of one minor action which may cause him to skim her insides as a peeler did through classified files, opposed to perusing her like a tedious read. She was disturbingly more obvious than she had thought and simply had to give him a run for his money.

    "Look at me."

    "I cannot. It is against protocol, your highness. Servants cannot look masters in the eye when being spoken to, if at all."

    "You''re going to make me repeat myself," he ordered more than asked, sending Lucy into a panicked tremble. She would expose herself lickety-split with eye contact.

    "Umm... I have not met the debauched whore, your highness!"

    He sucked in a lengthened breath and redrew from his stance in from her.

    Too much, huh?

    "I said insubordinate, not stupid!"

    Lucy pondered what the difference was.

    "You''re obviously faking it!" His temper kept thinning with every indifferent reply, but convinced that it would overwhelm him to throw in the towel, she remained resolute in her path. "Had I said I didn''t hit women earlier?"Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    "Yes..." And... why was he asking?

    Sharing the growing unease dicing his nerves to pieces, Lucy reevaluated her tactic and decided to employ a backup plan for safety and plausibility reasons. She could only imagine how he felt, never having been disrespected or lied to in such an intransigent manner all his life¡ªby a lowly commoner, to say the least!

    "Why not notify another staff? I can get Madam Durrell... o-or enjoin them all if I must!"

    The different approach would make her elusive countenance appear guilty-free; seeing as he already caught on to her nasty trait of cynicism, she didn''t dare give him ideas that indicated a conflict of interest... despite its obviousness.

    "Also..." crossing some serious boundaries, "Why must it be me?" she pushed her luck with another question.

    Those very words haunted her service here, and she kept hoping that, maybe, there would be a different answer, redefining her chagrined take of life in this world. "Ever since I started work here, I''ve always been getting in trouble for the tasks people expect me to run."

    "Firstly, that mouth of yours probably landed you in half your shit." A storm fulminated in his usually languorous pair of rich blue eyes. "And secondly, who else works for your pay? Fucking me?"

    If it weren''t already perturbed, the atmosphere thickened with animus... then diffidence. Deidrick''s jaw swung wide. He found himself gaping at the sudden realization that he actually hurt the scrawny girl''s feelings¡ªby professing the truth of a social structure acknowledged by all, by the way.

    He had caught her daydreaming, wrapped up in his ice-blue eyes¡ªa striking effect he had on the weaker sex and, and, dare he say, the greater one¡ªsubsequent to a ruthless trashing before her unavailing yet useless effort of picking spilled milk and cookies from the ground. She casually engages in forbidden gossip, schools politesse out of nowhere, and becomes distressed when addressed as what she vividly was; a maid.

    The bitch was confounding his mind.

    "I''m... fucking getting out of here."

    "To where, your highness?"

    "I don''t owe you details of my whereabouts," his strides lengthened with every word, only halting when she said: "I am a mere servant to use at your discretion. The least I can do after letting you down is my duty."

    What kind of silly mind game was this sly wench playing? he thought. Reverse psychology? Freudian slip attempts into some empathetic part of his stone-cold heart... or something?

    A wry smile spread across his features. "There is no need for a carriage. I shall leave on my mount."

    "NO! I insist! A prince can not¡ªand will not¡ªbe seen pony-ing about Townsquare. It''ll reflect badly on the royal family''s prestige. Nobility''s finest... you are not the son of some viscount, earl, or baron!"

    Skeptical and wary¡ªbut flattered at the charm of her praise¡ªhe complied. "Prepare a carriage, then." Reminding her who truly was in control, he added a firm: "And make it quick."

    A careless smile spread across her face and disappeared just as quickly, its lightning speed demobilizing him. As unreal as it sounded, he swore an assortment of colours sprung up in her pitch-black eyes. And he wasn''t even high on narcotics.

    "It will be ready for you in 10 minutes, your most royal highness!"

    "You''re layering it thick with a trowel," he watched as her silhouette faded into the day''s bustle.

    She was the intoxicant.

    Racing out of the study and into the halls, Lucy grabbed hold of several servants and questioned them about their destinations. Finally, finding someone who was headed for the servant quarters, she promised a generous amount of coin if they notified the lady with red hair, purple eyes, and full lips¡ªDelilah¡ªto be at the gardens in 10 minutes STAT.

    Halfway into the timer, she had finished passing the request of a coach by his highness to an available footman, then sped to the west wing where bedrooms were located to help Theresa''s friend¡ªwho hopefully was packing as schedule¡ªif there was a need. She didn''t doubt the possibility.

    Mistresses were the second most lavish creatures to a Queen, surpassing even a princess with how much money they sucked out of their hosts; especially beautiful, cunning succubus like the one Lucy was entertaining illegally.

    "What are you doing?" She watched the chambermaid, who was unloading instead of packing up in horror. "Those are leaving, not staying!"

    "What do you mean? The guests arriving at the palace are not coming for a day''s visit. They are staying a few days after the wedding. It''s tradition."

    "Well, this guest is leaving! Give me that!" Lucy snatched a green dress from the law-abiding fanatic.

    The maid briefly watched her senior frantically pack up the belongings, analyzing the scenario before impertinently asking, "Are you Theresa''s friend?"

    "Yes! And she was supposed to relay a message to you."

    "She did."

    Lucy paused and turned to the haughty girl standing above her.

    "But I don''t do anything without coin first."

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com or RoyalRoad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 4: Cacoethes

    <hr>

    "Coin?"

    "Yes."

    "''Coin?''"

    Lucrecia looked at Lucy funny, wondering if she was experiencing some form of mental deterioration. How hard is "I want money before I can aide you" to understand?

    "Yes, ''coin!'' Settle me with coin before abetting me!"

    But Lucy did not have any more of it to sweeten the pot. Not so long ago, she had just pledged 30 mercs¡ªa sum one would have to work months on end to earn, needless to say, was 30 percent of Mrs. Durell''s paycheck and 60 percent of her''s¡ªto a very rapacious individual! Plus, wasn''t this supposed to be a friend of Theresa''s? Why would she be keeping such noxious company? That poor girl was in dire need of guidance pertaining to the judgment of character with whom one associated with, Lucy thought.

    If this was a friend, David would probably be nothing short of malevolent.

    "Do not help, then!" She turned around to resume her charge. "I will handle this by myself." Eminently improbable, yes. But "hope" is defined by believing some sort of good would arise from a precarious situation... sort of halt the world on its axis and force a miracle to occur if publically declared.

    In earnest, she had not said it to beseech a heart in the selfish person standing beside her; her blood was too poisonous to nurture the intimate organ.

    "You cannot expect me to believe you."

    "What a trifling comment," Lucy muttered purposefully, loud enough for the pesky acquaintance to hear and hopefully exit the room, too... with any luck, disappear from the face of this planet. "Am I tieing you down? Take your own advice and leave already."

    Vexed, the young girl propelled the guest''s property from Lucy''s choosings with an overindulgent intensity. "I will alert madam Durell of what you''re doing sans authority which is heavily against household decretals!"

    Then she stood there. Nose turned up and arms crossed¡ªthe young chambermaid''s. Mimicking a legitimate display of superiority, a smug tilt on her lips strenuously reinforced the perverted appeal for attention. And she sure as hell would get it, of course.

    "You''re sure as hell showing more unwanted help than wanted help, you greedy, evil, insolent-" Clutching a firm grip on the chambermaid''s brown locks, Lucy pulled, twisted, lurched, and clawed until the surly girl wept bitter tears from a pair of hazel-brown eyes.

    "It isn''t fair!" Lucy grumbled, taking notice of herself.

    The girl was mean, bumptious, and haughty, yet she spawned into this world with a slightly above-average characteristic undeservedly! Moreover, the fact she wasn''t even above in position-or age, for that matter-was the most audacious part of it all. "Beautiful, enchanting, golden-eyed," she digressed, "yet terribly disrespectful leprechaun!"

    Finally set free at Lucy''s volition, the girl''s face stained red, over wrath with each embarrassing plea of surrender while remembering her previous display of pomposity. In the same manner, she scootched into a corner and sat, cradling her hair whilst watching her senior resume stowing gowns, shoes, and jewelry; fervent and eerily nonchalant after the ruthless thrashing.

    "Are there any other suitcases? How many did she come with? And have you unpacked plenty?"

    The girl gave no answer.

    Her victimized face morphed into impish undertones, wearing an expression that plotted revenge of the highest order.

    "Surely, all pieces of jewelry haven''t been unpacked. How many pairs of shoes are accounted for, do you know?"

    Still, nothing.

    "On Merthingham''s grave, say something!"

    "You just assaulted me, you crazy bitch!"

    "AND I WILL GLADLY DO IT AGAIN IF YOU DON''T START TALKING, YOU LEPRECHAUN!"

    "OH, FOR FUCK''S SAKE¡ªWHAT THE FUCK IS THAT, ANYWAYS!"

    What did she mean "What was that?" A leprechaun was a cereal-box, Irish icon who was sold alongside every breakfast meal that ever existed, Lucy was about to say, but ceased oral mobility after realizing the apparent confusion. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    She felt utterly abashed.

    Stupid.

    Despite reincarnating at infancy into this world, it was hard to break "illiterate habits," as locals called them here¡ªthis one amongst others¡ªlike relating personalities from her past life with applicable persons presently. She was always teased for one thing or another whichever ill-fated existed she spawned into. Like in grade school, "friends" would grovel waste into her locker for geeking out about villainess Eun Hyung for days on end. Or how in Merthingham''s orphanage slums, where Disney princesses or superheroes were dismissed as illiterate tales, kids would mock her for delusional, unworldly imaginings.

    But how could someone who acted and looked¡ªfor the most part¡ªlike a leprechaun not be addressed as a leprechaun?

    "IT D-DOESN''T MATTER!" She then stammered.

    Stammered.

    Everyone knew it was the first step to revealing vulnerability, hence making an opponent believe they still possessed the upper hand in a situation; a mortal mistake in any confrontational front. So, quietly, she eluded the conversation.

    "I''ve got no time for this."

    The damage was already done, though.

    "You''re foolish!"

    "I know that already. I do not need your iteration!"

    "The gardens? In the daytime? Their highnesses just finished afternoon tea and clean-up is still in order. More aristocrats are bent to show between now and into the evening¡ªyou will be caught, no doubt!" Lucrecia slowly stood up and approached the door. "The second prince does not take lightly to servants acting against his orders."

    Was that a threat, Lucy thought.

    "So, sure you may have secured a carriage... but you just bought yourself an enemy of the worst kind, you mental bitch!"

    An enemy? "This little..." She looked up from her work, ready to spare another round of thorough thrashing, but found herself alone. "THAT''S RIGHT! RUN, YOU COWARD!"

    She had to say it.

    How could anyone not say it?

    "YOU FUCKING LEPRECHAUN!"

    * * *

    Night skies settled over a sunset veneer, accentuating the castle''s shine like a beacon in pitch-black darkness. This could only spell one thing; dinner preparations were in full swing. And it wasn''t just any kind of banquet, either. Tonight, esteemed guests who bagged themselves first-day letters of arrivals dressed to impress. Every season''s event was a chance to find oneself an eligible suitor, of course. But most importantly, every royal wedding''s first pre-night would eventually become a historic moment to remember. And who wouldn''t love to be present while it happened?

    Money would be spent in excess; a first priority to show off the nation''s splendorous wealth. Then secondly, to commemorate the next majesties from amongst a lengthy lineage, it was entirely normal to request that royal planners attempt spending more than the previous king and queen''s budget in planning one''s first pre-night.

    Fine dining was a must, prepared, preferably, by foreign chefs. Grandiose balls would follow after the lofty meal where everyone could barvard, dance, search for possible matches; center stage being solely reserved for the new majesties, and how terribly discourteous it would be¡ªdancing astray during the night''s procession. It could end any well-bred gentleman''s or lady''s chance on the marriage mart instantly if they tried hogging the spotlight.

    And when (if) one managed to survive that minefield of rules, etiquettes and pleasantries, after-parties in different wings would surpass every other event, lasting till sunrise. Prepared with an assortment of entertainments, they were organized to keep fickle guests enthralled just the same.

    Enjoyable to the pleasured? Yes, indeed. But it was a nightmare for the palace servants. And it was just the first night, too. Five more ensued after, bearing different themes for each figurative celebration.

    "At least we can thank our lucky stars the surplus of chores happens every once in a blue moon. It''s not every day a person gets to partake in royal wedding events like this one while in service."

    "Nobody needs ya positivity, Theresa! Neither do we need a wedding, quite frankly!" Matilda ran from one side of the kitchen to another prepping 50 plates of foie gras and instructing her girls on crucial plating etiquettes since the chef was hustling to make some surplus, last-minute jelly desserts... ingredients weren''t available when requested or something, she was told.

    "Do not judge me!" Theresa glowered at the easy dismissal of her feelings. "I finally get to serve their royal majesties tonight, don''t you see!"

    "Yea''? Good for ya!"

    "How fortunate it, we were short-staffed!"

    "Na for-u-nat at all!" This time, a cleaning cloth was gripped between her lips as she handled the gourmet dishes on two shaky palms. "Iz eck-tic!"

    "It is what?"

    "Te-i-ble!"

    "''Tear a bull?''"

    "Tor-tu-some!"

    "''Turtle dove?'' Those are certainly strange proverbials, Matilda¡ª"

    "Take this! Take this now and be on ya way!" The sweaty maid shoved the fill trays into Theresa''s idle hands¡ªidleness being an expensive, consequential leisure the staff couldn''t afford at the moment. "Follow that preppily-dressed ''all boy. ''e''ll lead ya to da royal dining ''all! "

    "Yes, ma''am!"

    "AND WHERE IN TARNATION IS LUCY!"

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com of RoyalRoad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 4.1: Romantic Prepositions

    The kitchen staff couldn''t give Matilda any plausible answers because no one ever knew where Lucy was most of the time. Maids went wherever they were needed anyways. And it wasn''t that they held a grudge against her, but because, despite her chatty eccentricity, there was no other reason to be solicitous about Lucy Auclair.

    She looked like most everybody else¡ªevery other commoner, to be exact¡ªso telling her apart from a crowd was a special skill in itself. Plus, she was usually a punctual person who need not much supervision or reprimands to acquit herself accordingly with her service¡ªmost of the time.

    Practically every staff bellowed impersonal truths in a meshed array of noise, proceeding a fellow maid who attended afternoon tea''s clean-up. "I think Fanny," the housemaid who Deidrick had sterned earlier, "Said the second prince took her away in a nasty temperament. She barely escaped the savage duress herself"¡ªFanny. "Poor Lucy."

    "A scolding?"

    "I''m here! I''m here!" Her hair was a stringy, palpable wet; passably presentable, but barely managing to cover signs of hastened scamper. Her uniform was freshly washed, ironed, and starched, meaning it must have been her second pair, Matilda took notice.

    What exactly had she gotten herself into after leaving that afternoon? "Da second prince scolded ya?"

    "It''s really not important."

    "Matilda, where do I take these?" A subordinate approached, seeing as things had resolved themselves. Then several other demands ensued, also.

    "Excuse me! My Lords are wondering when the young master''s dinner plates are to arrive."

    "Mine too. He cannot consume meaty meals, however; been awfully picky about raising awareness for animal cruelty. He will create a scene otherwise."

    "Pardon me, but my ladyship requests someone heat up her room during dinner before she turns in! She has been suffering a dreadful cold recently, you see. Can I speak to the Housekeeper?"

    A number of lady maids, governesses, square valets, and companions who chaperoned respective families crowed over the kitchen corridor.

    "The dining hall is packed and the second-course meals need cleaning. Mr. Valingo," the butler, "Needs to borrow some more of your girls; five, if that''s alright with you. We best transition swiftly," Mrs. Durrell imperiously bellowed her way through the clustered throng of bodies shouting their urgent requests.

    "I will go help."

    "And we''ll talk later," Matilda told Lucy who had volunteered amidst the chaos, getting back to work. "Have at ''em! Four only, ''owever!"

    "That will do fine," Durrell settled. "The ensuite ball will begin shortly after," pushing in some more and eyeing the room for eligible participants, "I''ve been assigned accounting for its various light refreshments," she subtly probed the kitchen staff; neither directly at Matilda or indirectly at Victor, the head Royal chef who was far off cooking in the corner. It was already a palpable insult the royal highnesses gave him¡ªhiring a foreign chef to take charge of dinner preparations¡ªbut it wasn''t one''s position to question the authority of those outside (or above) one''s work station, as there were hierarchies withstanding to uphold. This applied to Durrell herself.

    "Everything''s as ''er majesty requested¡ªtruffles, petit fours, and all dat."

    "Very well," she turned to usher the compiled maids to where they were needed. Although higher in position to the royal cook, compassion failed to elude her senses. "I''m sure they will all be exceedingly scrumptious. Right along girls."

    Escaping the tumult behind and moving into a sparsely populated passage, the girls lined up according to class¡ªsuch was the way of life¡ªso Elizabeth Durrell could better inspect each respective fingernail, glove, uniform, mobcap, personal hygiene, and most importantly, the maids'' nimble preparedness. If anything were to go wrong or servants failed to look their best or exhibited the slightest form of nerves, not only would their majesties reputation tank amongst their peers but the house name would be sullied extensively as well.

    "Teeth," she told a younger girl, three down from Lucy¡ª"It''ll do"¡ªthen took to bombarding her with swift queries of public conduct.

    This part of the job, especially as the housekeeper, was vital to venerate the Royal family''s perpetual pride and create a collective sense of dignified servitude. Lucy, however, had a menacing feeling that she would dismantle the whole thing on its axis tonight when, confoundedly, Durrell''s renowned eagle eyes missed the jutting gauze that had slipped out of place on the run over behind her humid, sparse locks.

    Truthfully, she wanted to avoid working in the hectic kitchens¡ªthat is why she opted to clear dinner plates instead. Irrespective of inexorable tongue-lashing, it was much preferred to requests like helping beggarly scullery maids; their jobs were clear-as-day what people called nightmares.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    So, for better or worse, Lucy ended up tottering plates to and from the kitchen and dining hall, and conveniently wasn''t allowed to enter its ornate vicinity. It didn''t irk her¡ªshe wasn''t particularly itching to be caught, throbbing and ill at ease, neither did she feel like subjugating herself to opulent, self-declared peers. But she was eerily downcast not being able to snag a sparing glance of the gallant Sir Eli.

    "How lucky they are," being able to dine beside him. He had told her earlier to address him as so, promulgating that "Elijah" was far too formal and outr¨¦ seeing as everyone else kindled little fancy for his first name. She was basically on much the same level with everyone else; the intimate nickname being very impersonal.

    "To eat?" Theresa, beside her, asked.

    Well, no. Not at all, actually, Lucy allowed her thought to run-on undividedly. Even nursling babies knew it was degrading to like a maid when recently appointed and esteemed by his royal majesty himself. That aid and benign display from earlier was simply a gentleman''s conduct. Knights were supposed to be chivalrous after all.

    "The jelly pudding smelled absolutely heavenly, I suppose," Theresa continued, refusing to welcome the hasty silence. "And also the marbled beef tenderloin sent in from Crypton... some foreign oysters made an appearance, too... now, they very much are lucky!"

    Lucy barely spared Theresa a taste of acknowledgment. "Hm." She got up.

    "Where are you going? You haven''t told me how you solved that vice woman''s issue!"

    "I didn''t."

    "Who then did?"

    "The knight," Lucy pointed in a vague direction, hoping it was close enough to the dining hall. "Sir Elijah, I believe."

    "The Sir Eli?"

    "I''d heard of him¡ªyes, him¡ªbut I didn''t think he could easily disparage a precarious frontier to attend the royal wedding."

    "Isn''t he needed at the salient eastern lines?"

    "I''d implied just as much¡ª"

    "What did he do? How did he do it? When did this happen? Spill it all out already!"

    "After," Lucy scurried off down the backstairs. "We need to get back to work else madam Durrell''s blood pressure might hit a new record today."

    "You''re right," she finally settled, "But I want every nitty-gritty detail, alright?"

    "That will be at my discretion. Remember your place, would you." Just great. The hieratical hymns were beginning to get to her head. "Y-you know what I mean."

    "You''re stingy, Miss Lucy!"

    She didn''t mean to, she thought as they turned themselves into a corner at an incoming aristocrat. Unless currently servicing them, you were required to be invisible while avoiding them.

    "When they said they needed more people, I thought it meant I would be able to serve in person. Why didn''t you?" Theresa revved the brusque conversation again as they turned a corner into the south wing where the servant quarters were situated. "Aren''t parlor maids allowed to serve in place of or with footmen?"

    "I thought she hadn''t seen my bandage," Lucy propped a finger at her forehead. "I was very wrong."

    "Trust her eagle eyes," Theresa shrugged. "What a dastardly woman; fettering our chances of first-person viewership."

    "You mean yours."

    "You do not fancy viewing dear Sir Eli?"

    That stumped Lucy. "Ours it is." Then Theresa prattled on some more.

    "I heard from a friend of a friend"¡ªAnother questionable friend? Lucy thought¡ª"That prince Eric"¡ªthat must be the first prince she hadn''t had the pleasure of meeting. Hopefully, he would be more charming than his counterpart¡ª"And princess Cecilia''s chemistry wasn''t there at all."

    "Surely that couldn''t be a requirement for world peace."

    "Of course it isn''t," Theresa eyed Lucy, horror-stricken and completely missing the humor of the statement. "They will marry, love or no love because the continent depends on it," She turned her face away. "But it would''ve been nice to know that they sought comfort in one another. Since one can not live out one''s romantic endeavors¡ª"

    "You mean, you cannot live out your romantic endeavors."

    "Have you never fancied a man?"

    Again, Lucy was stumped. "Okay... ''one''s'' it is."

    "Since one can not live out one''s romantic endeavors, it''s a shame those who can fail to hang unto it."

    "''it?''"

    She turned again; astonishment: the emotion clouding her features. "Love. Love, Miss Lucy. Have you never experienced its bliss?"

    Bliss? That wasn''t the appropriate word for her type of love.

    Ashley''s Stevenson''s 9th-grade crush rejected her because he couldn''t take the responsibility of dating (highly unlikely, but marrying, also) a deaf girlfriend. And Lucy Auclair certainly couldn''t wish for better luck, seeing as she inborn as a far-from-fortuitous maid.

    Love for her was not "bliss".

    "My love acts as a poison in disguise."

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com or RoyalRoad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 5: A Price for Freedom

    <hr>

    Far from the grandeur of Merthingham palace, Delilah Purstek rode under the cover of night, cutting into Forest Purmount, northeast of the closest inns or villages. Her mien was clean-cut and proper in spite of the haste she''d departed in. But it couldn''t compare to how unpunctual her insides squirmed and tussled, sensing dire apprehension.

    Preferring not to think like that, however, an apt task of mentally accounting for her surplus, lavish belongings¡ªyet another innumerable time¡ªwhich a certain wench, not far from being a cheeky thief, could have unscrupulously embezzled, surmounted in her head.

    Lucy, was it? She recalled.

    Delilah allowed the queer pang of affinity to thaw her frigid blood, pitying the youth who, although adjudged socially dishonorable was admirable to she, herself, wielding a drive and spirit that Payhen law dictated a gentleman''s honor. Likes and dislikes aside, it wasn''t often¡ªborderline rare¡ªthose unusual emotions meddled with Delilah''s sordid heart. But when they did somehow invade her worldly solitude, she always took solace in the chances they hardly stuck around.

    In a manner of speaking, Lucy''s resource will undoubtedly go untouched, squandering away scrubbing grimy chamber pots for an eternity. Therefore, one can suffice it did little to any good crying over spilt milk, her being charming or whatnot notwithstanding.

    It also wouldn''t stand to reason... changing her rank... her life... or even destiny, itself, with one sole (half-hearted) sympathetic approval.

    To assuage the heavy mood, Delilah decided to pay heed to much better circumstances, exempting the fact that she, herself, wasn''t any less ill-bred than¡ªor on par with¡ªthe strange specimen, via their irreputable bloodline, there was at least one thing she certainly knew she wasn''t; a beggarly servant.

    Going as far as revelling exultantly in the stark distinction¡ªand would especially in the next few hours¡ªsuch notoriety in association with Delilah Purstek''s existence was exactly that. Acting selfishly, earning wages solely on her own terms, and consuming them just the same. This, for several reasons, ordained nobody to dare dictate how she handled, managed, or expressed herself. Not even her own mother¡ªthe bawd who she worked under.

    Living with that exquisite kind of evil... the trade ought to come naturally, after all.

    So in following set notion, Delilah branded reliance a fickle doctrine¡ªor maybe, just the little her mother apportioned¡ªafter the sick words "Trust me" were cooed into her little, cold ears that fateful dawn, inciting the sentiment. "Wait like a good, little girl, and mommy will come running right back," it had continued. The voice, so sweet... warm... and loving sang its words like a serpent melody.

    Such a viable thing!

    Taking place underneath Mistress Purstek''s already guileful nose!

    Without relinquishing a sparing ounce of profit!

    Delilah could almost feel her mother''s 3rd-person, high-pitched voice rake across every lobe within her skull. Constantly swaying from hot to cold was her sort of "reliance". Which in turn, without a doubt, will very well tie her down to Deidrick for a pitiful sum once word of their uncommercial dalliance circulated within the brothel.

    The tedious situation simply couldn''t be overlooked, whichever sugarcoated excuse is put forward. And certainly, no amount of blazon autonomy, either, when the person in question was an affluent member of the continental aristocracy. Purposefully excluding a bloody crowned prince amongst her clientele was not an option for that woman. Delilah knew that much.

    And it seemed to be the hardest pill to swallow.

    She''d quite liked him¡ªDeidrick. The long, blond tendrils ironed till the brink of his nape, his silk-smooth skin on hers, his full, lush blonde lashes, his skillful and wicked ways in bed had also all turned her on. How he humored her generously in East Sewithia where they''d first met or his unconventional, surly temperaments included were not, however, sum enough for her to bide faithfully by his side. Or, less humoredly, in his bed, as a mistress.

    "Pardon, Madam..."

    Unable to bring herself to split the plight so unfairly, a supposition within her convicted the brothel for half her misfortunes, then a fair half to the world itself who made it abundantly clear that women are deemed unimportant for being birth as the weaker sex. Which could only denote preordained doom for the existence of a "lesser commoner," fair and square. No amount of sympathy or crocodile tears could change that.

    Not for herself.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Madam?"

    ...nor for Lucy

    "Madam, I''m opening the door."

    Turning to move out from her dejected position, she met the mocha eyes of a stout, crunched man, whom she supposed was her coach, staring dubiously into the carriage space. He must''ve been the one knocking incessantly at the door, rattling her skull along with her mother''s vile screeches. His fidgety hands sold the story. Then another realization dawned.

    "Yes?" She jutted her head into her neck, allowing her eyelids to shadow her purple gems achieving an image of cordial irritation. So lost in thought, she hadn''t noticed the coach had stilled. "What is it?" She asked. Which had really meant, "You''d better provide a plausible excuse for your incompetence!"

    "Madam, this territory... it''s scarcely inhabited."

    "What''s that got to do with my orders to take me further; this isn''t deep enough! Must you be such a half-wit!"

    "I quite know what you''ve ordered. But the horses are jaded. We need to stop at a coaching inn for the night, or"¡ªhe seemed distasteful of the preceding option leaving his mouth¡ª"We could camp." Not quite to her severity, however.

    "I don''t think you understand."

    "With all due respect, I fear it is you who does not! Your companions have abandoned you, it is well past midnight, monsters will certainly awaken, the horses have been moving non-stop for the past 11 hours, halting at only 2 break stations¡ª"

    "I do not fucking care!" Delilah seized him hard by the cravat and dismembered him with a searing, lethal gaze of criminal intent. "Take me to my destination, boy! Come hell or high water!" Before shoving him far from the coach and unto the ground.

    The following meeting was going to determine her future and couldn''t be rebuffed for anything. Some shady men promised her coin in exchange for the easy task of obtaining a royal carriage. What for? She didn''t care. It was ridiculously easy a task¡ªthe only hard job was the arduous venture of finding them¡ªthat would pay the second half of the 3 million mercs they''d promised so she could flee. To anywhere, really. As long as the haunting shadow of her whoring days sank 6-feet under before she''ll crumble with the immortal Merthingham.

    There was no hope for this land¡ª

    No way humanly possible they would win the incoming war when the North, labelling themselves terrifying giants across the face of the globe, proved themselves so. And the only reason nobles are too blind to decipher the blatant message is because they''re too busy "hunting" deer in royal forests, or dipping biscuits in "afternoon cream tea", at the cost of civilian blood loss.

    Upon spotting a soft whiff of smoke from, presumably, a campfire, she sprung into action, frantically banging the carriage roof, hollering indications for a stop.

    Then jumping out before the vehicle halted fully, "Delilah," A bronze, tattooed man sang her name with a familiar note, sending shivers up her spine.

    "Felix," she replied squarely. Could she truly rely on this person? "You made me travel half the continent to find this place, so, money. Now! I''ve done my part of the deal." But he proceeded to stare at her. Dumbfounded, at first, then blazed with backwards pleasure. "Where''s mine, sugar tits?"

    "Your what?"

    His wicked smile grew unearthly at the scorn riddling her blanched features.

    "I need to get some kind of reimbursement, Lady Delilah."

    Watching his eyes cover her intimate parts, she was overcome with self-abasement, bellowing a loud gasp as mental support from the shock. "Are... are you fucking slow? ARE YOU RETARDED? THE CARRIAGE IS RIGHT THERE! MY MONEY! NOW, FELIX! OR ELSE¡ª"

    "Or else what?" He closed into her freshly paralyzed form. "Or what, Lady Delilah? What is it you would do? Hurt me, is it?" But more than his mocking, perverted threat, Delilah froze, acutely aware of figures approaching them both from behind¡ªaccounting 6 sturdy, male shadows emerging from the density of forests, gripping savage animals that foamed by the mouth on tenuous, scant chains. Each one, ready to have their piece of her.

    "Yoo-hoo? Delilah? " he jested facetiously. "You''re enjoying it that much?" But her body remained unmoving, helplessly paralyzed with thinning fear and twitching nerves at his corrupt, perverted touch. Furthermore, she chastised herself for stooping as low as trusting the words of a man she''d known for less than 24 hours, and who would inexorably release wild justice to end her.

    She''d relied on him.

    And see where it got her.

    The haunting words instantaneously snap her out from a somber daze, commissioning a fighting spirit from all her cells. "That is below me, Felix."

    Cupping her bosoms firmly, he kneaded and purred the next words into her ear, enjoying the ticking timer of her gnashing teeth. "C''mon," he goaded. "Be a good, little girl and tell me more."

    Apoplectic with rage, Delilah bit hard into the neck of the distracted man and loped from his grip enough to sight tall thickets in lieu of a carriage she had hoped to escape with¡ªwhich should''ve also been trailing behind after she''d frantically exited it earlier.

    The stout coward hadn''t even bothered to follow after when she dashed out early, blatantly abandoning her. "Hahaha, you''re a feisty one!" Her perpetrator, on the other hand, kindled an excessive interest, interpreting her defiance as a coy chase, laughing evilly as the wild dogs and men from behind came into full view at his side. "I love it."

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 6: Breakfast till Dinner

    <hr>

    "Hustle! Hustle!" Matilda steered a group of kitchen maids into the servants'' hall, where footmen and parlour maids readied themselves to waltz another fresh bounty of toasty trays. "These ain''t exactly gonna serve ''emselves, and we can''t keep da guests waiting!"

    "Sweet Merthingham above! Why can''t these people just go without it."

    "And why can''t money just fall from the sky, Auclair?" Elizabeth Durrell eyed the inexorable deviant who, although appearing passive and mundane, failed to minimize her wit¡ªand volume¡ªexponentially. "See who''ll be footing your bills then."

    Why, the sky! Lucy fought an urge to riposte, answering instead with: "I''d rather not be paid at the moment, madam," fully aware that even the upper staff would agree that they''ve had more than their fair share of the 6-day fiesta. The all-prudent Durrell wouldn''t dare wield impracticality to perfection, was she withholding a pocket change worth of strength¡ªleftovers for admonition¡ªwhen every other servant was equally exhausted.

    Unless...

    Lucy dreaded aloud, cursing how, unerringly, she was right.

    "One more reason to forever be wary of the woman''s eagle-like mettle in addition to her razor-sharp ears?"

    "It''d boil any sane person''s blood, without a doubt." An emphatic voice tickled her eardrums as she picked up her flounces and fell in line with eight similarly groom girls wearing uniforms fit for the day''s royal processions, so deciphering who exactly proved impossible. Each girl squeezed into layered green dresses embroidered with unalloyed gold; white laced aprons with surplus flounces at its edges; the fanciest pair of golden laced Camille boots; and carefully hand-crafted lace caps.

    However, ordinarily dressed was a hazel-eyed maid Lucy knew too well. Lucrecia¡ªa chambermaid loitering about the busy kitchen when there was a surplus of chamber pots needing to be emptied, bedsheets changed, lady''s maids in need of acquainting with the palace or her many other pending duties. If anyone needed reprimanding, it should''ve been her. Durrell wouldn''t miss an opportunity to berate an unlucky deviant, yet the housekeeper went about as if nothing were amiss, causing Lucy''s blood to simmer to the subtle verge of boiling.

    She simply walked into the kitchen, leaving her girls behind to beckon some subservient someone; a tool who''d transmogrified down the hall adjacent to the kitchen, gleeful at the prospect of finally being paid attention.

    "Yes, good madam?" After many years of boot-licking, too, it''d appear. That much desirousness is distasteful on any person.

    "Switch out with Lucy."

    "P-pardon me, good madam?"

    "WHAT!"

    The maid blanched; shocked then amazed, as her head, stiff in its movement, creaked along her shoulders to shoot a picture-perfect visage of evil at her nonplussed foe. Happening within trying, elongated seconds, it pushed Durrell to roar a beastly: "Now!" seething with a tenor of which she habitually expressed heavy derision. Then in sensing the situation''s severity¡ª"Yes ma''am!"¡ªLucrecia speedily rushed over indulgently to Lucy''s side, nudging the tense figure who, fighting against a growing lump of shock, voiced a foolhardy protest.

    "I-is this not against household decretals? Madam, as the installed second parlour maid¡ª"

    "I do not care what you are or what you are not!" Durrell shot a finger at Lucy''s affronted expression, screeching with a voice steeped in raucous decibels and laced with baleful intent. "I''ve had it up to here with you, Auclair! Why Mr. Laurence is taking so long washing you off my hands with all your arrogant atrocities, whatever the ruling circumstance, is above me! But young lady, this is my service! A duty which, unlike you, I take very seriously!"

    "I do, too," Lucy tested another approach; a sympathetic one. "However¡ª" She''d let her mouth run off the rails again and there was no one there to help, neither was she willing to drag them into a mess she made. Expulsion hadn''t been the end goal, considering how little an income she managed already. Therefore, placating this in any feasible way possible was top priority... even if it meant capitulating to penitence.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Before she could complete her sentence, brusquely, Matilda annulled the vain attempt, eyeing the callow 17-year old¡ªa charming but rambunctious individual who, sadly, failed to straighten up with time, thereby elongating the game of resolving avoidable conflicts; previously better-dispersed occurrences.

    "Elizabeth, I''m sure she didn''t mean it," Matilda beseeched mercy with the intimate use of her first name. "Lucy''s just tired."

    "We are all tired!"

    "But da celebrations aren''t even ''alfway done," she fought on. "And there''s always work ta be done."

    "Three impudent nights are as much of her I will permit, Matilda; short-staffed, no staff, or a prolific of men notwithstanding!" Eerily sensing Lucy about to input again, "NO!" The woman''s scleras coloured blood-red, revealing several layers of ugly, contorted wrinkles which in turn bore definitive, stark valleys, stretched across her temple and forehead. "YOU DO NOT GET A SAY IN ANY OF THIS! KEEP YOUR TINY MOUTH SHUT, YOU HEAR ME!"

    Further painting Durrell the picture of blatant evil¡ªand sending a ripple of nonplussed gasps through the servants'' hall, kitchen, bedrooms¡ª "IMMEDIATELY, GO MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL IN THE SCULLERY!"¡ªeven the scullery itself¡ªthe real show-stopper fulminated.

    But she didn''t seem to care, disappearing with victuals and servants after backing her verdict with: "There is dignity in all labour! So get back to work before you sample it! All of you!"

    * * *

    His eyes, ever so dynamic, wore several themes tonight; bathed in the yellows of the room, it appeared almost greenish-blue, then a grayish-blue when displaced from light, echoing a calm before a storm. Clearly, he was discontented, and Cecilia saw it yield ridges on his velvet-smooth visage.

    "Perhaps the meringue isn''t to your liking?" she mustered some courage to stir conversation which, upon re-evaluation, was improper; discussing the richness of a host''s courses fell shot of decorum. For him, however, she hoped to afford some humor.

    "I dislike this formality," Deidrick flashed the Riamond a practiced smile¡ªthe type of a rake''s whose jaded pursuits caused his eyes to shine less, brows barely rise above its temples, or mouth curve quite enough to reveal a charming set of white teeth. Then, suddenly bubbly with questionable interest, "Isn''t it too fucking sweet?" his eyes latched onto her mystified, ocean-blue pair.

    Noticing his whisper inch a tad bit close, a perplexed tint flushed Cecilia''s porcelain skin. "I am rather impartial towards it," she replied, recovering from the ungentlemanly comportment which she inwardly enjoyed¡ªin stingy doses, however. Governess Shawl, a decrepit elder who taught of all society''s demands of a well-bred noblewoman, would certainly be anything but pleased hearing she mingled with uncivil persons after 10-years of study.

    "Well..." at her boring response, the grayish-blue revived his previously aloof eyes. "That''s no fun."

    His deadpan interlocuter indulged further in the pastry, its texture (seemingly) melting wonderfully on her tongue, and the lemon tang balancing out its sucre. "What isn''t?"

    He replied a candid: "You! You''re no fun!" bothered that she derived simple pleasures from a cloying piece of pie when many exhilarating worldly options one could pursue in its stead lay desolate. Folding his serviette, he beckoned a footman with a menacing stare for another refill of the only stuff remotely getting him through the perpetual evening. "Neither is your fiance. Where has he been the past few days, by the way?"

    Cecilia felt her utensil slip from her grip. "Do you think..." she first eyed him dubiously. "Assuming you are his brother and you know each other quite personally¡ª"

    "Assuming?"

    "I meant n-no offence¡ª"

    "Are you implying something, princess?"

    "I... well¡ª"

    "Do you insinuate I am illegitimate or of the sort?" His voice lowered again to a medium, not too hot nor too cold, eliciting an embarrassed gasp from her genteel-bred disposition which in turn was instinctively muffled with a pair of hasty, slender hands.

    "Your highness, that is hardly an appropriate conversational topic for the breakfast table."

    Drawing a contented sip from his goblet, Deidrick smiled¡ªa more genuine kind this time, which nonplussed Cecilia further. "Dear pet, you started it."

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 6.1: Dirty Temptation

    "Fine," she summoned inexpedient courage. Coupled with the endearing nickname, his words, so boyish and childlike in nature, yet honest, sent a warm fervor up her spine, surfacing a delinquent side of which she never knew she ever had. "It seems the only way to confabulate with you is one way and one way only."

    To that he arched a brow.

    "Formalities w-will have to b-be..."

    "Be damned?"

    "Be damned," she repeated firmly, burning hot holes into her clenched fists hiding underneath the cover of lace tablecloth, unable to quite look him squarely in the eye.

    "Good girl," he leaned in again, whispering more sinful words out of the gossip-loving radius of Countess Crubgubli who sat earring in at his right. "Where''d you pick that one up from?"

    "My sisters."

    "Sisters?"

    "Yes. Sisters, your highness." The pie seduced her once more, pulling her hand to the idol fork and knife to savor its warm tinges of flavour. "Our oldest is a ripe one-and-twenty but refuses to debut until thirty, and the youngest¡ªMerthingham help her¡ªis ten... follows Portia around like a faithful disciple."

    "Damnations are usually watered down to ''alas'' around a gentleman. Your governess must be ousted immediately, my princess!"

    "You are no gentleman."

    "I try, believe me." He smiled widely again; his playful side exploding sans constraint, especially in hearing her refer to him without the use of a title. "But I feel a stronger connection towards pubs and scoundrels as opposed to drawing rooms and posh toffs."

    She flushed again, afraid to adhere to the fact of his statement however much her face expressed seething sentiments. Affronted whines breezed her clenched lips and the conversation become louder than some many clicking cutlery, chatting masses, or the unabating promulgations of victual aromas.

    In noticing her face scrunch in childish disapproval¡ª"We''ll work on that"¡ªDeidrick smoothly reclined, before catching a keen Duchess Barret Houghton eying them from her place, across the table.

    He immediately recognized her to be the mother of a friend from Uxford who also happened to be an infamous schadenfreude case¡ªwith so many defaming rumors running openly about town warning job-seekers about the tales of those who disappeared sporadically at the Barret Houghton residence, it was simply impossible to miss her¡ªeven in pitch darkness.

    Of course, he only learnt of such insubordination whilst living away from the restrictive chains of aristocratic life; it was morally reprehensible a comment to make unless one was a prince, like himself. Nevertheless, Deidrick saw little fun gossiping amongst sneering peers who enjoyed ratting out each other for some short-lived sense of familial laudability or moral elevation, which ironically, they lacked immensely. Worst than the "ill-bred working class" or "gentry" in fact.

    "Your brother, does he hate me?" Deidrick locked onto the disreputable woman despite assuming a demanding conversation with Cecilia.

    "You think that because?" he asked, absent-mindedly.

    "We''ve only talked once¡ªat the picnic, if you recall¡ªsince my arrival."This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    "Hmm..." as if paying attention, he nodded.

    A surviving insider he''d met once at a pub who voiced that it was due to cruel punishments, enforced by yours only, trailed his thoughts to a wild occasion at a flea market east of Townsquare, where audacious persons vociferate that she would lure and eat poor souls as a means of wielding magic above that of a marquis'' status, thereby leading him to wonder how in-laws survived under her malevolent watch.

    "It''s like he runs away from my company at every chance." Cecilia''s voice, previously faded into the bavarding droves of nobles lining the breakfast table, resuscitated. "So I was thinking..."

    Deidrick knotted his brows, slightly irked yet semi amused that the bitch knew not to lock eyes with a person of higher rank unless spoken to but kept on.

    "Do I... displease him?"

    "Displease?" Reeling back his attention, he made an alarmingly quick turn to eye the simpering girl. "As in, you''re not good enough?" When she was every convenient characteristic Eric desired in a wife incarnate?

    "Yes. You said so when we first met; that I wasn''t handsome. Remember?"

    Oh. That.

    The statement simply meant that her regal coiffures, tenuous aura, and refined mannerisms weren''t a major turn-on for him. He hadn''t thought she would take it so personally. "Rightfully, too, seeing how volatile you shine," he mused to himself, hating dealing with the likes of her.

    "Don''t overthink it, pet," drawing two considerably large sips from his goblet, he curtly ended their gaze. "A tentative marriage like yours doesn''t exactly allow pace for acquaintanceship. Needless to say, falling in love."

    "I do not need his love!" An indignant tone welled in her voice.

    Bored, Deidrick returned his attention to the elderly duchess who had never peeled her eyes off him an instant¡ª her being well-advanced in age only helping justify her rash behaviour¡ªwhen, suddenly, he''d noticed someone, previously unseen, beside her.

    Absent-mindedly, again, he goaded on: "What then is it you need, princess?" Grazing over the auburn wallflower who was unorthodoxly grotesque, rounded, and¡ªsweet Merthingham above¡ªin possession of two entirely different eye colors!

    Interesting...

    Richard, his Uxford friend, always said his likely adopted kin looked unlike anybody one would come across. But he would''ve never guessed she''d be this unconventional.

    "What I''m trying to say is, I would like..." Reluctantly, Deidrick circled back to his lame conversation partner. "I do not want... I wish to..."

    Good God. Was she about to cry? He thought.

    "Choke up now and this scheming lot won''t let you live a day off it, princess" his voice hardened. Sympathy only went so far in quelling a post-swooning maiden.

    "I do not cry."

    "Good."

    "Good!" She said to no one in particular but watched as he indulged a ninth glass of port, aloof to his ungentlemanly conduct¡ªshe''d been counting.

    Irrespective of drinking of any kind midday, or extorting a footman to serve it exclusively and downing ten glasses at a common area aside was wrong, the short space between them quickly became a frigid, untraversable mile. Their relationship battered in less than a minute and he didn''t seem to care.

    Suddenly feeling amiss, suffocating in the capacious walls of the dining, Cecilia folded her serviette after dipping her hands in a designated finger glass. "I''ve... I''ve had my fill. If you''ll excuse me."

    But Deidrick remained distant, displaying no remorse or princely concern¡ªanother cup refilled and downed just as quickly whilst, tottering from her seat, curtseying, and leaving the room with a pair of satin-red gloves in hand, Cecilia longed for his attention. However, seeing she wouldn''t get it and he lacked shrewd understanding, she let a cruel whisper escape her lips. "I really hope you are adopted." Which he heard. Loud and clear.

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 7: Upheaval

    <hr>

    "What did you say, Miss Lucy?"

    "I said I wished the sky paid my bills!"

    "Really? If that set Durrell off, she must''ve been very tired, indeed." The scullery exploded in laughter.

    Strictly appointed at a copper sink, Lucy eyed the arduous chore of china after china before splashing foam off her pruney fingers and stepping into a thin sleet of water below its duckboard platform.

    "Can I take five?" She bellowed in earnest, a hint of anger accentuating each vowel. "My hands are aching."

    "Nobody takes zero," A young scullion, no less than 13, replied, slushing about the murky surface with plenty plates to spare. "Until supper at 3, there''s no shortage of grime or sludge to scrub!"

    So, boxed into admission, Lucy took to examining her surrounding: an apt terracotta flooring which, with the constant rush of dirty water, appeared wenge brown; a space made to capaciously account for bustling denizens¡ªa rarity for any scullery; and plenty, sturdy pieces of equipment sounding hard against each other¡ªpots, fricandeau pans, and fish kettles enacting a cacophonous production.

    All in all, Incessant chaos steamed hot, attempting to mask the extortive undertow of young labourers crammed within its wet abyss, which even its veneer of luxury couldn''t hide¡ªbeing largely the reason for Lucy''s impaired productivity.

    "By God! It''s a metal hell." Rarely did she enter the scullery during her 5 years of service. So, while everyone else moved with schooled familiarity through the steel implements, she staggered, bearing a passing resemblance of a wounded predator aiming for its unsuspecting prey.

    "Jenna!" Lucy yelped. "Can I help over here?". A nervous stammer swiftly refluxed at the girl''s cynical gawk. "W-with the d-drying?"

    "Miss."

    "Yes?"

    "You wished the sky paid your bills, right?"

    Was this a trick question? "Yes. That''s correct," Lucy replied in earnest, unwavering in her childish fervor.

    "Well, it won''t," The girl''s face turned sour. "And it can''t. So, respectfully, stop weighing the rest of us down with you."

    Although spoken conscientiously, each word prodded Lucy''s chest with tinges of despair and plenty reality¡ªhaving been accustomed to disparage and vitriol long before this world, for a younger girl to serve it hot churned her insides. How worldly at such a tender age. And how foolish she must''ve seemed. To Matilda... to Theresa, and... even though she didn''t want to admit it, Durrell, as well.

    "Wish, was the keyword, Jenna," Lucy solemnly returned to her charge. Every douse and desiccation of water quickened her mind, desperate to retrace where she''d begun inching out of line. Maybe it was after getting away with securing a coach?... or had it been the stranger who''d assisted incited such emotions, subsequent to the sentimental chat with Theresa.

    Glancing back at the girl, Lucy found the obvious conclusion. Such is life: scrubbing with no end, capitulating to others'' will, running here and there for less than 20 mercs a year. And that the thrilling possibilities of escaping the hapless cycle in which life revolved around... that wanting more than she deserved was truly as dangerous as it seemed.

    An apprehensive roll of a dice called fate is the be-all or end-all; being tossed out unto the mercy of back street alleys, picking scraps in lieu of meals, pickpocketing until one''s forced into harlotry since respectable trades were reserved solely for men.

    She wouldn''t subject that young girl¡ªor herself¡ªto such suffering and justify weary fingers for a fate worse than death; which is candidly paradise in comparison. She had to get her act together. "I''ve got to get my act together¡ª"

    "Miss Lucy!"

    Catching Theresa skip into the suffocating vicinity, straight to her side, her mood instantly chippered. "Sweet Merthingham! A familiar face!"

    "Dignity in all labour, huh?

    "How is serving their noble migraines treating you, Tyrone?"

    "It becomes increasingly boring." The whimsy companion (tried) settling beside the sink, resolved in executing the impossible mission of leaving a scullery spick, span, and dry. "Seeing so much lavishness after being tucked away is, I must say, ironically underwhelming."

    Lucy heaved as she settled a silver salver on a dry worktop. "Not surprised."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "However..." In seeing some slight satisfaction lift her rigid lips, Theresa tacked on a sly remark. "Were I the one doing more of the reveling and less of the serving..."

    Enjoyment? "Tyrone, what are you doing down here?" Lucy shot down the thought, vision, and longing immediately. Fresh wounds did not exactly heal with extra salt.

    "I am but a humble paperboy." Who, unlike somebody, is very generous with my details, she wanted to add. "I have news to report."

    Sarcasm riddled Lucy''s response. "Magnanimous of you."

    Foam danced off her fingers into the lethal embrace of air; some landing on Theresa''s uniform, which she quickly patted dry with a piqued scowl. Lucy riposted with an unimpressed stare that read: Dry? Seriously? In here of all places? Therefore forcing Theresa to soldier on, ignoring her lame conversationist.

    "The second prince was seen chatting it up with some grotesque wallflower in the ballroom," deep heaves escaped her thin lips. "Merthingham help us all if he chooses to pursue her. Her mother especially; extremely cruel, self-indulgent and comes from a cowardly, ill-reputable line of Marquises."

    "Grotesque?"

    Weren''t wallflowers simply "plain" or" unexciting", Lucy thought.

    "Yes, Miss Lucy, grotesque. A nonpareil beauty in youth¡ªthe duchess however much her kin is otherwise."

    "Oh." Even in the rare case of borderline ugly, "grotesque" was never a term readily used unless she was a yeti or some supernatural creature. Someone uglier than herself? "Interesting." It''d pique any sane person''s interest.

    "Lilith''s was her name... or was it Belinda? Oh, bother! Even I wouldn''t cross out the rumors of curses from her checklist of ruination. Plus, how would our future highness look were the prince spellbind!"

    "As in, she is outlandish, or..." Curiosity overcame her. "Or she is queer¡ªin Merthinian standards, of course."

    "From all I''ve reported, a selective adjective bothers you the most?"

    Her prickly conversationist semi-corrected herself with cold fervor¡ª"I meant to ask how it concerns me!" The reason being: denying gossip was borderline denying bread and wine below stairs, and she couldn''t do that! Even if the topic of conversation ardently disquieted one''s heart rate, entertainment was entertainment. Especially when it touches aristocrats; one could hardly find fault in amusing themselves with their curated angelic lives that really hid malicious, scheming, and sinful secrets.

    "To whom it may concern," Theresa paused to accentuate before continuing her story. "She, the fiend, had crone-paired eyes, is rounder than we put together, and portly-er than a gnome to say the least. The second prince isn''t known for taking interest in fine-bred, aristocratic ladies, parading, eh, rather sinful tastes. Do you think¡ª"

    "Again, how is this my problem?"

    "Miss Lucy, you are so¡ª" Theresa bit her tongue. "I am trying to build up to the aggravating part." That revived Lucy''s interest. "The vile lady we helped 2 days ago, turns out she''s the second prince''s mistress!"

    "Shocker," Lucy''s shoulders slouched with pristine dissatisfaction.

    "Not shocker! She came back."

    "What?" They leaped back up.

    "Walked into the ballroom, gave me a fright and everything!" Scanning the perimeter for listening ears, Theresa drew closer. "After struggling to get a coach she thinks she can just parade in here like nothing happened. We broke rules, Miss Lucy! We broke rules!"

    Lucy''s silence was frightening. She was never a silent kind.

    "So... eh, you and Madam Durrell."

    "This isn''t permanent. It''s just for one night." she resumed drying.

    "Forgive me for holding doubts out on that one."

    "And you mean what by that?"

    "Miss Lucy, Durrell''s pissed. Like, as in, very pissed." That hadn''t convinced her, however; Durell was always pissed. "Her eyes are bloodshot."

    "They''re always bloodshot."

    "They''re bloodshot-er!"

    Yep! She believed it now. "I''m so dead."

    "You are!"

    "What am I going to do?"

    "I, unfortunately, have no answers for that."

    "That bitch came back to ruin me!"

    "W-what?" Theresa almost fell over from shock. "We are talking about the same person, right?"

    "I didn''t take her to be such a heel! She was so keen on running away¡ªthere was adamant, tenacious passion in her eyes when she''d ordered me to fetch that carriage!" Forgetting to dry her hands, Lucy grasped hard on her friend''s shoulders. "Why would a woman, desperate to leave a person, suddenly return to that dire situation, Theresa?"

    "My uniform! These are the most expensive fittings I''ve worn in my life and they''re not even mine!"

    "Oh, confound it! I have to go!"

    "Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy, you can''t!"

    Loosening her apron and tossing her mob cap, "Why''s that?" she asked. "I risk expulsion either way¡ªthe plates aren''t going anywhere; I''ll have them finished by tonight!"

    "Merthingham above¡ªMiss Lucy!" Theresa quickly raced out the door. "You''ll be dead, not just removed at this rate!"

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 7.1: A Seductive Interruption

    "Lucrecia has my uniform."

    "Please do not insinuate what I think you''re insinuating."

    "Then if you know," incoming voices accompanied the frenzied maids'', "Let''s switch. And quick."

    "Never!"

    "What? Why?"

    "For one, you are not my size!"

    "Says who?" From behind her, Lucy pulled and pushed the girl between a bend in a bifurcated staircase and loped to join her shortly after dodging the unwanted attention of the two strangers who obtruded obstinately beneath its rotunda skylight. With each individual''s respective sable and flaxen locks hovering above their unyielding pale chests, they seemed keen on sunbathing during the chill of the morning in skin-tight bodices and elbow-long silk gloves.

    She gritted her teeth, rich in furry, barely managing a whisper. "We can''t possibly stay here forever"¡ªwhich they hadn''t... that is, after a good eight minutes. In front of them was a crucial enfilade that led to the west wing where bedchambers were located¡ªaccessible with some extensive detours, but accessible, nevertheless. Yet as Theresa predicted, their many meanders only met with more swarms of female voices growing louder and louder with frightening sounds of ludic "Tee-hees", even occasionally teasing to inch into the cover of apt statuary already serving as an invisible shield.

    "Why are these giddy chits blocking each hall and every corridor? Today''s processions were exactly: breakfast, a royal hunt, dinner, following a performance at the concert hall commemorating the royal family''s ''prestige, might, and vigour!''" Facing Theresa to parade her pruney, out-of-fingers-to-count fingers, "They should either be in drawing rooms or outside," she continued. "All activities nowhere near bedrooms... are they not?"

    But, similar to the ladies under the rotunda, and equally curious about the commotion brewing outside, "Uh... sure," Theresa poked her head out the green drawing room¡ªan convenient unoccupied sanctuary.

    "Get back in here, would you! " The interest was not mutually shared; the tug back, unnaturally hard, indicating so. "Aren''t you the one who normally tries not to get caught?"

    "We''ve already been caught," Theresa moped without restraint.

    "Have not!" Lucy attested. "You are just want to for some inane reason."

    "I''m not supposed to be here in the first place. We are not supposed to be doing this," Theresa sat on an evergreen ottoman with acanthus scrolls carved into its rosewood legs. Quiet and somber for a long few minutes while Lucy idled at the door, they were equally unsure what to say about anything and everything. "Truly¡ªno, candidly¡ªthis is stupid!" She suddenly shot up, grounding her feet so deep into the wood it had given in. "Why must you act too imprudently nowadays, miss Lucy?"

    "That woman wanted to leave desperately. It''s incomprehensible she''d return, Theresa."

    "It isn''t our business¡ªher business!"

    "Surely it''s our business to protect their majesties!" Lucy couldn''t control the rage creeping up the length of her body. "If a woman possibly being held, used, or abused against her will isn''t any of our business, then the perpetrator''s is paramount if his demise spells ours, is it not?"

    Indignant, Theresa penetrated her self-righteous words with: "Do not blame me for living in reality and doing my job as I am told!"

    "I did not¡ª"

    "I am no bodyguard; I''m a maid! That harlot knows her job just the same, so stop trying to change centuries over centuries of order!"

    "If that''s order, we may as well drive heads on a pike and show them what real peace looks like!"

    Suddenly the door flew ajar in a brief second and slammed shut in another; as if it''d never happened to begin with. A familiar voice followed.

    "Miss Auclair?"

    Backing the door, every inch of the stranger''s honey tan skin¡ªface, neck, forearms¡ªwas an exhibition of cascading trickles of sweat. Even his black Napoleonic shirt hugged its wet embrace, inadvertently disheveling his normal gentlemanly look which his visage abhorred with strong opposition. His caramel-brown hair was damp. But, in an after-showering sense.

    No way... Lucy thought.

    With practiced (normally unsuccessful) control, she willed her hands not to fly, hover, or near her face, as to not appear prudish¡ªTheresa was already doing one hell of a job at it. Instead, taking little pertinent steps near him, making sure not to look him in the eyes, she elegantly curtsied.

    "Did you need something, Sir. David?"

    Although aristocratic men normally leaned toward heavy colognes, Lucy noticed this man opted out of the bandwagon. He leaned towards a naturally musky, forest scent, bearing good measures of primitivity amongst a populous of urbanity, which she adored both now and at their first encounter.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "How may we be of service?"

    Despite being indirect, "I dare not move freely around this palace without crazed children tailing me," his statement desperately asked how to fix the irritant, not how to survive one more day of discourteous torture, which appeared to have been the only response he''d gotten so far¡ªeuphemisms for "get over it."

    "Children?" Theresa finally moved to join Lucy who stood oblique from Elijah. "I can assure you, Sir, every infant is occupied in the nursery."

    "Not in that sense." Ironically being gruff, dark, and rich in virility, his voice bounced easily around the ears'' sensitive canals.

    "Miss Auclair," her shoulders flinched at the sweet, second utterance of her name¡ªplus his flexing muscles as he turned to survey the daunting, filly-infested hall before sinking, albeit, dismally into a chaise lounge chair. "I don''t mean to inconvenience you."

    "No, not at all. It''s a simple instance of impropriety which we will take up with the girls'' governesses. One mustn''t stalk a gentleman while he takes a shower; correct me if I''m wrong." Turning to Theresa, she jerked her head towards the door after another customary curtesy. "I will relay to your valet your predicament. Shall I get his name?"

    "I don''t have one."

    "Oh."

    His chartreuse eyes looked into her black opal orbs with self-deprecation. "Is it that strange, dressing one''s self?" As if asking for validation, he broke it off. Then, with Theresa aptly out the door, Lucy pithily followed after to shut it again before drawing to his side on the lounge. "I wouldn''t know. I do do it all the time," she reinstated their gaze, trying to sound indifferent. But any attempt of assuaging her jittery nerves and focusing her dancing eyes off him only incited suspicion.

    Intently regarding her, "Is something wrong?" his voice dropped to a whisper, which left her feeling flustered.

    "No. Well... actually, yes..."

    "Did you get in trouble for the coach?" it sunk lower. Extremely lower. "Or has mistress Barret Houghton been giving you a hard time ever since?"

    A blush rose to her face as she swung her head side-to-side, motioning "No" despite not fully knowing who he was talking about.

    "The young lady who accosted me that night we''d met; her name is Lilith."

    "Oh." The name sounded familiar, but Lucy chose not to dwell on it. "There''s no problem there. My bane''s the lady who left with the carriage."

    "Delilah Purstek."

    "Really?" She caught his mutter. "I didn''t even know her name! Merthingham above, am I a fool!"

    Noticing how anxious she became, Elijah instinctively sought to still her helter-skelter arms in his. "Is she back?" They were weightless, he noticed. Her fingers, dainty yet callous-riddled; so small and mingy that he pondered the feasibility of her charge as a maid.

    "I shouldn''t care this much..."

    "I think it''s wonderful you care."

    "More for my sake, I want her gone so I can lead a peaceful existence without worry that she''ll poison the second prince''s mind against me. The man loathes me already!"

    "Sir. Elijah David!"

    Good God.

    Lucy knew that voice too well-more than she would have liked, in fact.

    Deftly shutting the room''s grand double door, the housekeeper curtsied in haste, anxious to pull her away from the affectionate embrace which a king''s highly esteemed and anointed must not dispense so nonchalantly.

    "Madam, I was just-"

    "Please." Dour yet practical, her tenor demanded silence if she was ever going to address Elijah, who had promptly stood up upon feeling the harsh tug Lucy left his arms with. Her hands, previously wrinkling life out of Lucy''s, with much effort, fell laxly over her skirt, holding one other conscientiously like a nun in the holy presence of a Merthinian convent. "Sir. David." Her disposition unequivocally emulated a saint''s.

    "Eli works the same," he interjected.

    She didn''t budge. Adding, instead, a sardonic smile to the untasteful words, which ruffled Elijah''s thick, brown brows. "Sir. David, I must advise that you bring such matters up to me next time, not an insubordinate servant who isn''t even supposed to be here. Auclair is so ineffectual, her crassness disparages his royal highness'' urgency, happening just a few days ago. So, please, allow me to offer real assistance."

    She equally itched to lecture him about the inappropriate conditions he impelled her staff into, and how his savage side was unbecoming of the honourable title he just newly attained, and if he persisted on retaining his degenerate practices and traits, no matter how anyone looked at it, he would forever remain an uncouth commoner.

    Turning to Lucy, "Back to work," Durrell growled, seeming to have tested Elijah''s patience had she not pleaded otherwise, an iridescence playing sheepishly in her pitch-black eyes.

    Defending a maid would raise questions about both their intentions, having her out on the streets before sundown and him long displaced. He understood that much, so he backed down. But not before making her this steadfast promise: "Thank you, miss Auclair. Everything will be sorted out; just make sure to take care."

    Her stomach burned with such unease, speaking proved difficult.

    She left straight away with Durrell, back to the dungeon called a scullery where she realized these strange feelings emerging sporadically was one she could never be able to afford or entertain.

    Amongst others thoroughly trashing her nervous system, like empathy... subversiveness... and amity, love had to be the deadliest of them all. And she was in love with Sir. Elijah David, a knight newly appointed as commander in Merthingham''s salient eastern lines.

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com or RoyalRoad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 7.2: Unscathed, Unsullied, Bearing Little Consequences

    * * *

    "Oh, my poor, poor heart. Oh, whatever shall I do to ease its inundated self?"

    Whenever Durrell got to pacing about like a human-sized hare, one of her arms digging firmly into her hips and the other hovering above her midriff¡ªthe untrained eye would safely assume that she struggled with digestion issues, or maybe it was simply Lucy''s preferred take on it, but¡ªevery staff expected some inexorable and disastrous consequence to transpire in exchange for a sort of restored tranquillity.

    "It can only go on for so long without giving out if this nuisance," her index finger held Lucy firmly at gunpoint, "Remains under this dignified roof!"

    "Calm down, Elizabeth." A stout man seated behind a mahogany Directoire desk, Mr. Valingo, stood to approach the unrepentant maid across him who shifted anxiously in the gold, damask-patterned upholster armchair she occupied. His face shone with pristine venerability, Lucy noticed. Outliving his fair share of chaos yet still appeasing the inanity with a jovial outlook, she was nothing more than a rebellious adolescent under his astute gaze.

    Light coming in from the room''s transom windows played across his rich, silver locks, even the deftly shaved sideburns that extended across the length of his upper lip. Guardedly clasping each hand in the other''s grit, "May you grace us with your side of the story, Auclair?" he asked.

    "Grace us?" An indignant howl bounced off the room''s Oakwood-panelled walls. "Richard, have you lost your good mind? It has yet been a month, but her offences are boundless! We do not need her side of the story any more than we need ruin!"

    "Elizabeth," he tested the amicable use of her name again, but requested complete silence in lieu of calm. Their relationship resembled that of an older brother and a younger sister''s¡ªthe "I love and appreciate you, little one, but zip it and control yourself" sort. And it was powerful, too; seeing how quickly the lioness Durrell herself backpedalled, receding into one of two settees adjacently placed between a long coffee table, it truly was shocking.

    "I''m afraid that, while I am brazen, sir, I''ll become the embodiment of a heel."

    "As afraid of probable destitution?" A cynical, exhorting smile lifted his delicately preened brows.

    "No, sir."

    "The carriage you lent out bearing the royal family crest... it''s gone missing, did you know?"

    "No, sir," her fingers broke into a fervid sweat, less worried about the damned vehicle than the way Valingo''s coffee black eyes dissected her every thought¡ªand as per usual, her face''s intractable expressiveness rendered her a (guilty) open book. "I have nothing to do with it. Madam Purstek"¡ªhow Lucy loathed addressing the bitch with a dignified title after she had practically cracked her skull half-open¡ª"Asked for a coach and I did as so. She mentioned something about furtively acquiring it without disclosing a thing to the second prince. But that''s all, I swear it!"

    After exchanging glances with Durrell, who disapproved of his likeliness to believe her, Valingo decided to probe another topic¡ªthe latest quandary which she threw herself head-first into. Soldiering on, he asked: "Auclair, what exactly is your relationship with Sir. David Elijah?"

    "Elijah David?"

    "Yes, child. The very and only one."

    At the sound of his name, her stomach jerked up her esophagus and down. Her breath quickened. Her eyes trailed the lofty space of the housekeeper''s room, seeking an apt placidity that would calm her racing heart while, taking notice of her unease, Valingo thoughtfully made his way over to the coffee table and poured a calming cup of Assam tea. She took it reluctantly and jittering, the cup ceaselessly clicking and clacking on its copper plate.

    Conversely, Durrell scorned at the gesture, abhorring the idea of an interrogation that involved kindness.

    The tea had not helped.

    "Merthingham above¡ªanswer the simple question already, girl! We haven''t all day!" Neither did her irritable company ease any disgruntlement. But unyielding and dead-set on finding her Zen, Lucy sought the comfort of nature; surely, its greenery was a definite place to find respite. Flowers, trees, fields-peaking in from transom windows or fixed within several hanging picture frames which accented the room''s lofty walls should have done the trick... had all its teeming abundance not resembled Elijah''s deep chartreuse corneas.

    Nature itself was punishing me, she thought, before zooming in on another object: two antique ceramic dolls enacting a scene from an accolade where a knight knelt at the mercy of a fair maiden''s sword.

    "Mr. Valingo is talking to you, girl!" Durrell''s screechy voice shook her nerves (again).A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    "W-what we are is..." It was much easier ratting out Delilah Pursteck, but her body simply revolted doing such injustices towards Elijah.

    "Sir. David was unceasingly assaulted by a pack of wolves¡ªpardon me. Ladies¡ªand I had jumped in to help." He is kind, and despite festering parvenu affiliations or his overwhelming burly semblance, having little¡ªno, having absolutely no business in her carriage predicament, he chose to help, regardless. "He is of respectable character and has not compromised me whatsoever." And because Eli promised a solution, she purposefully embellished the truth, assuredly convinced that a knight never goes against their enduring word. "Sir. David would calm any woman whose nerves unbecame of her in such a quandary..." she looked Valingo dead in the eyes, continuing. "Just like now, you poured me a hot, conciliating cup of tea and I thanked you, I thanked him."

    Valingo''s eyes glittered with venerable amusement.

    "That''s all there is between us!"

    "I don''t doubt that." Gingerly, he returned to his desk, foraging for a quill pen and book¡ªpresumably a ledger because it evidently pleased Durrell''s silent fury¡ªgracing his penmanship across its smooth manila surface. "The part where you thanked me earlier did elude my ears, however."

    "Oh," was all she thought (and voiced), followed up with: "Sir, I didn''t mean to disparage the kind gesture or conflate it with nugatory, ostentatious theatrics."

    "Lucy Auclair."

    "Yes, sir?"

    "Do you read often?"

    "Pardon me, sir?"

    No one ever asked that; only ever shunning her volatile, atypical vocabularic repository.

    "No, rarely, sir. Actually..."

    I led an entirely different life in an entirely different universe¡ªwithout the wonders of magic, without shadowing, carnivorous creatures lurking in towering forests, solely coming out to have their occasionally meaty fill. I lived in a world where technology was the order of the day; knowledge, accessible with a single careless click.

    English was the businessman''s language, and I was English. I also happened to be deaf... bullied... yet hopeful. I read books like crazy. I was an avid bookworm¡ªthese outlandish words, somehow carrying through despite English and Merthinian vernacular.

    Lucy fantasized recounting all of this in the short ten seconds he awaited a response. The subtle movements of his quill hitting her ears with alarming intensity, every stroke awakening suppressed desires, urging her to take an over-indulgent step towards what people here called insubordination.

    "I speak exceptionally well, don''t I?" a sardonic whisper gave out amidst the congested competing options. Just touching a pen and not being of at least gentry upbringing is tastefully considered a mortal sin. So, of course, she couldn''t rebel.

    "Richer than an attending lady-in-waiting," Valingo humored, and Lucy shrugged.

    In a way, she simply dreamt too much to be of this world. Everyone knew main characters were the only ones obliged to taste the excitement of zeal¡ªand that she evidently wasn''t. The one thing she was, however, was frank and honest. And, hard as it may be to believe and act on, fostering affection for the narrative was frank and honest in itself-plus safer in the long run.

    Pausing briefly to take in her subtle chagrin, "Richer than the queen?" Valingo tested, fully knowing trouble could arise from their playful banter. But banking on the kind man having her back¡ªuniform with Durrell¡ªLucy inadvertently performed a nonpareil imitation of the fuming woman''s umbrage, regardless. "Richard, how dare you!"

    The housekeeper, at first, wanted to further attest her outrage with more screaming, indictments, and affronted theatrics, but knowing it would only prove their point, "Enough small talk!" Durrell stood up, dusting her unblemished dress with excess vigor.

    In her head, she swore to confront Valingo about revisiting his poor etiquettes, especially amongst filly, immature children¡ªbecause that is what Lucy clearly was; foolish beyond a doubt! If a girl, young enough to be her niece, happily mocked her at his approval... Valingo unquestionably tainted her honor beyond repair today and would definitely receive a mouthful about this¡ªfor the rest of his already fleeting life.

    Approaching the door, she concluded, "Deduct her wages and call it a day already! There is work and it cannot magically be done!"

    "DEDUCT MY WAGES?" A piercing cry rang from Lucy''s lips, compelling Durrell to stiffen.

    Creaking her rusty neck, she cast a goading glare over the arrogant maid before quietly leaving, allowing Valingo to finish the untasteful work of clean-up.

    "Mr. Valingo, it isn''t my fault girls chased that poor, naked Adonis of a man!"

    "It is your fault for leaving your station at the scullery."

    "I-"

    "It is your fault a carriage is missing, further endangering the lives of our Majesties'' during this precarious war." He stood from his seat, intending to help her from hers, but she was already standing¡ªbecause of the shock incited earlier. "Did you really expect to walk out of this unscathed, unsullied, and bearing little to zero consequences, young girl?"

    Lucy gave no response, solemnly staring at the empty spot he had previously occupied.

    "Durrell is right; there''s work to be done."

    That was her cue to leave. So, ignoring this extended arm, she walked to the door, solus.

    "And if it means anything..." Barely hearing the last part, "It''s your fault that Tyrone has to suffer the same fate," she was out the door.

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 8: Two Compromised

    Deidrick eyed himself in a tall gold-ornate body looking-glass, loathing the preened, non-dishevelled sight being advertised. He was dressed in a stifling¡ªonly outwardly loose¡ªwhite blazer with tassel chains, epaulettes, and a soon-to-be-buttoned-away rouge waistcoat inside, all accented by golden trimmings and embellishments, summed up with a superfluous, obtruding gold cravat.

    "I''m actually going to marry a goddamn whale, Nolan."

    "Miss Lilith Barret Houghton, your highness," the valet said more than asked, rearranging the ruffled layers of hair sagging languorously off Deidrick''s slick, wide shoulders¡ªa task made absurdly impossible with his employer''s constant erratic movements.

    "You''re more gentlemanly than me, Nolan; do you know that?"

    "You flatter me, your highness."

    "No, seriously," he made another stark twist, sending an unfinished braid flying from Nolan''s patient embrace into a turbulent mess. "Call it what it is: Lady Barret Houghton is a cheap, slutty whale whom I wrongly trusted." His eyes paled grayish-green beneath the dim lighting from the room''s grand cast iron hearth; and so did his mood.

    "Do not tell me you too are in support of the bitch!"

    "Never," Nolan answered, attempting to placate the easily combustible lion cub... which semi-worked; his shoulders slouching somewhat down, returning to their usual sloppy placidity and his pinched pupils adjusting to the comfort of its dull surroundings¡ªan openly proclaimed sanctuary.

    "You''re lying."

    His voice: unnaturally grave, Nolan noticed.

    "Your highness?"

    Frustrated, Deidrick moved to pour himself a scotch that lay idle and abandoned from last night''s exertions with Delilah at his bedside table and subsequently fell into a plush armchair, downing cup after cup of intoxicating elation. Then, after a long silence, "What?" he asked Nolan, who stood gawking at God knows what¡ªbecause it sure as hell wasn''t him. It couldn''t be him... something about servants not looking masters in the eyes and shit, he thought, irked by how dismissive of normalcy aristocratic elitism persisted.

    "What then do I call you... your highness?"

    "Were you born a parrot?" He took another large gulp. "Has it ever occurred to you that I''m in possession of a solid, practical name... just perhaps?"

    "Perhaps." Nolan waited. "And¡ªjust perhaps¡ªyou may refrain from drinking because, at tonight''s processions, we can''t have guests finding their prince reeking and smelling like he bathes with alcohol in lieu of soap."

    Deidrick shrugged from exasperation, allowing the goblet to slide from his grip and roll onto the Persian carpeted floor, echoing subtle crunches and tinkles. He jumped up, pointing an index finger as if it was a lethal pocket knife while stealthily creeping towards the door. "D''you wanna switch places, huh? It''s either that or get out of here, so choose one."

    Click.

    A loud knock ensued, followed by an imperceptible gargle.

    "Open the privacy latch, Deidrick."

    "I''m changing!" he yelled at the unwanted company, retreating to entertain his lonely alcohol bottle once more.

    The voice, faded into the crackling fireplace for a few brief seconds, bellowed again¡ªgentle-er. "Vincent wants to say hi. You wouldn''t disappoint your one and only nephew, would you, little brother?"

    "Less ''disappoint'', and more ''traumatize''," was his retort, leading the intruder to express her discontent like an adult-sized baby. That was his sister, for you; always using unscrupulous methods to get her way¡ªkin or not, notwithstanding. "Plus, what are you going to do? God forbid you hang him upside down until I show face."

    Right now, her sea-blue eyes probably crackled with mirth, illuminating the porcelain skin she manicures eerily with a perky pink shimmer. Her swan-shaped shoulders were probably also soaring sky high, and her dirty blonde hair, bouncing up and down, sharing in the exploding unladylike zeal her body ostensibly tried to suppress.

    He''d given her a very nasty idea... but she wouldn''t act on it. Would she?If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "See what you''ve done, Deidrick? Vincent is crying now!"

    Classic Genevieve, he sighed.

    Self-righteous, unbending, tenacious, rebellious as fuck, and openly going against status quos. Riding anyway but side-saddled. Using fruit knives instead of butter knives at breakfast, lunch, or supper, because they were her favourite. Purposefully embarrassing fellow debutants in front of gentlemen who she took an interest in. And, the worst offender in mother''s good opinion, which had also almost killed her off early, was when Genevieve joined an infamous feminist lobby group¡ªwhatever that is¡ªwhile sent to spend a social season with poor, unsuspecting aunt Merripen in Cryptal.

    Then five years ago, after falling into a trap set by a sleazy commoner with nothing but his money to show, she''d finally compromised herself and was forced to marry in exchange for a non-stop pecuniary buffet, if not titles. The marriage, just like my pending one, was arranged reluctantly and appears to be loveless¡ªnothing like the abusive scenario I''d imagined it''d become.

    "Merthingham above... What do you want?" He clicked the door open, Nolan following behind to cradle the outstretching surly baby.

    "I heard you compromised a young lady some nights ago," she let herself in. "Hello, Paqoski."

    "Your highness." The valet bowed, closing the door behind them as he exited to find a wet maid.

    "Well, I heard you fucked an ugly footman."

    "I''m a good 10 months older than you," her voice hardened. "Don''t test me."

    "And I''m a good penis stronger," he slunk into his armchair again. "Beat that¡ªa penis."

    "Trust¡ªI''ll pound it, instead."

    "Ew."

    For a woman, Genevieve had always been openly frisky, which was likely why she never scored a "decent" husband among even the most desperate aristocratic counterparts. However, "frisky" was just as evil connotatively as it was denotatively, meaning there was reason to believe her child, after 5 years in a clearly unwanted marriage, could have been a last-minute attempt to conserve her worth and dignity.

    "Not that way, you pervert!" she sunk into the gold sheets of his walnut-carved, button-tufted canopy bed, taking in his heavy-scented Acadia covers. "But if that''s what you''re into..."

    "I''m not."

    "Rightttt..." her face turned crimson. "How I missed this room."

    "I wouldn''t miss it too much if I were you," he muttered, a wicked grin taking shape across his face as he handed her a lit pipe. "You want one?"

    "Thanks," she supported the snake-carved meerschaum gem with both hands¡ªjust one amongst hundreds in his extensive collection¡ªand puffed several wisps of grey which suffused the dimmest crannies of the capacious chamber. They took turns sharing it, a resonating memory carried through every inhale and exhale: of her various misadventures in their father''s wine cabinet... of their first smoking experience done together... of his fishing trip with friends, where she''d tag along just to pester them and he''d curse her ears out till they bled afterwards. Or of magic experiments gone wrong with each other''s belongings¡ªshe, his sex manuals and erotica, and him, her favorite rag dolls.

    Being the golden child and all, Eric preferred to avoid those instances, spending more time with their father and discreetly discouraging Genevieve''s company with Deidrick. However, whenever it became too much, and they started interfering with his personal life, hellfire even the two troublemakers couldn''t possibly create broke loose; especially between the two brothers.

    At age twelve, an unofficial peace treaty was signed when Eric left for school abroad. But whenever he returned, the document would be dissolved, and they''d start fighting all over again.

    "You even started brawling at Uxford, when you came of age to follow suit!"

    "Hmm..." his eyes shut softly, soaking in the disorienting effects of cannabis.

    "I never understood why." Genevieve rolled off the bed, setting her leggings straight, putting her heels on, and slicking back her blonde coiffure. "Why did you two like fighting so much?¡ª"

    "Who''s the fucking father, Gen?" his lax eyes suddenly flew open. "You ramble when you''re nervous. Who''s the father?" he asked again, watching her linger silently at the door.

    "You, of all people, shouldn''t judge me."

    "You''re a woman, not a man."

    "Now that''s a very Eric-like thing to say."

    "You''re a woman," he went again. "Not a man."

    She felt her heart rip from her chest, staring at her aloof brother, silently praying he would say something otherwise... something indifferent.

    "We''re not children anymore... sweetheart... we''re different."

    Filled with bitterness, she wanted to riposte: "How''s that working out with Delilah?" but was sure the reply would be, "Delilah knows what she is. But, clearly, you don''t."

    "It''s Gatsby''s..." she replied, turning. "Vincent is Gatsby''s, you asshole."

    "Really now?"¡ªeach word extensively drawn out.

    "My word against... well, no one''s." Her heart shattered further, seeing him smile drunkenly. "So make haste and hurry to dinner. One never keeps a fianc¨¦ waiting."

    _ _ _

    "If you are reading this message on the site NovelHD, please be aware that the work is uploaded without the express written permission of the author in any way, shape or form, and does not support the author. Please read on Wattpad.com. Thank you!"

 Chapter 8.1: His Highness Secrets

    He couldn''t remember how long he''d sat by the hearth, a glass in one hand while the other cradled his muddled head, fatigued. Once Genevieve had left, all he could remember was the door clicking shut, then no person came in thereafter. Just him... happily alone, left to contemplate which route could destroy his waning existence with maximum damage; believing that if one has to live such a hellish reality, they may as well ditch the pacifist route, consume every worldly sin possible, and perish faster.

    "That''s how you ended up in this predicament? Because you couldn''t keep your stick in your pants?"

    Somewhere in between his thoughts, a maid had crept in, going about her business as if he were invisible.

    "Men are visual creatures..."

    He found himself spilling everything-like a leaking tall cup, neither half-full nor half-empty.

    "For better or worse..." The maid snorted at his analogy, hiking up her apron to sweep getaway specks of ash trying to escape their rightful displacement, as he made a sardonic toast.

    She had no wine or goblet. So, "Will you go through with it, then?" she asked, observing the tenderly booze-swollen prince pondering still in his sumptuous armchair, internally regretting secluding herself in a chamber with him in the first place. He could see it on her face.

    Her new position as "slave girl"-more colloquially known as a skivvy-had been passing uneventfully for two subsequent pre-nights. Lucy avoided trouble, remaining either in the scullery, servants'' quarters, sneaking cherry tomatoes off tomato plants in kitchen gardens, or occasionally skipping rocks across its omnipresent country ponds-practically anything to assuage boredom ever since Theresa and her wages got extensively cut.

    Further alienating her was an immoral rumour circulating about, which especially pleased Durrell and was no doubt catalyzed by Lucrecia Harthin. Lucy was stuck: washing dishes, cleaning vegetables, plucking several fowls and scaling many sorts of fish, scrubbing countertops and swilling floors, emptying staff chamber pots and preparing their breakfasts and serving their teas. Getting her previous position presented improbable-almost like a simple ragamuffin''s dream.

    Tilting his neck with swan-like grace to meet her perturbed expression, "The conversation with father granted only two prospects," Deidrick answered, the room''s fireplace adding an obscene element to the ingenuous gesture. "So stop being too panicked for me. I''ll go jobless otherwise."

    Maybe this was another case of nasty boredom. Lucy chuckled, a smile broadening her lips in enjoying herself too much to address a valid inward supposition: a sagacious judgement that suggested better ways to assuage ennui. One which maintained a survival-driven, strictly sympathetic train of thoughts. One that ensured her, and only her, best interests.

    "Care to share the least favourable option?" she asked, and he stared at her delphically, a newly empty goblet employing the languorous hand that wasn''t propping his poreless, crimson visage.

    "Premature death or wed a crazy bitch. Take your '' least favourable'' pick!"

    "His majesty couldn''t possibly kill his own son."

    "Killed his five older brothers; what''s one more man, no?" Overindulgent chills coursed down Lucy''s spine, generating shivers of which he goaded on, getting up to stretch his beautiful yet inertly impaired set of lengthy limbs. "Mother''s the only reason Father''s been holding out thus far..." Like a lazy, fat house cat, he yawned, envisioning touching the ceiling. "There''s not a hope in hell for me now."

    With the last of his golden duvet tucked in between his three-layered king-sized mattress, "She loves you..." Lucy muttered reluctantly, inwardly amazed by how a statement that shouldn''t require much speculation weighed so heavily.

    "Loved." Deidrick teetered beside her, long fingers tracing the puff sleeves of black cotton before retreating, offering an untoward glass of alcoholic beverage while wrinkling her impeccable administration. "She loved me."

    Proceeding to preen his dishevelled mien, he slouched, still in his bed, with extravagant reluctance-one of which polite society forthrightly reproaches to no avail to this day. But Deidrick remains intractably unconvinced that bedraggled hair-with all its incomplete braids, ends, and curls-half-buttoned shirts, open waistcoats, obtruding cravats, lanky pantaloons, and a barely caked maquillage were influencing an explorative generation''s sensuality.

    Anxiety bubbled profusely, compromising Lucy''s healthy metabolic homeostasis, like an overflowing kettle, when she noticed his unnaturally lasting gaze.

    At the tender age of five-and-ten, rumours claimed to have caught him brazenly affirming a sullied taste in women, stating, "My over-leavened opinion stands by those who constitute ''pure animal magnetism.''" And, "We are all brutally untamed at heart, no matter how loud we promulgate otherwise." Lucy only recently learnt of those, plus some several lesser-known ones, which included: "Humans are no less civilized than a lion pride-mate, evolve, or die!" And even, "Did your great great great great great grandparents fuck because their royal majesties decreed so? I thought so!"

    Consoling herself that she looked nothing indecent, tempting, or sultry, she nudged the fireplace''s dying embers routinely with a wrought iron poker, generously gusting puffs of wind through it using a worn bellow, but picked up her otherwise peaceful pace, regardless. After collecting debris with the brush and dustpan into a bucket, his eyes still passionately puzzling her actions out, "My work here is done, your highness," she bowed, racing towards the door when a sickenly earnest "May I tell you a dirty secret?" sounded.

    She turned, finding him patting an interdict-infested space right beside him. "I''ll let you in on it, and only you, if you humour me a bit."

    "Egg you on, you mean?" she said, in the most polite, innocent voice she could muster. "Your roguish tendencies precede you, your highness."If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Deidrick made another toast, happy with her astute analysis. "Father''s always saying I''m an incorrigible delinquent." But she remained unimpressed.

    "Trust me, nothing you''ve said thus far is surprising, in the least."

    "You''d deign to marry a man whom sensible persons consider vile?" Ignoring her sagacious words, however, Deidrick carried on, spewing scotch in between incoherent sentences, tossing and turning and ultimately obtaining little comfort in any which position. "For a woman to ruin me using external manna-an illegal form of forbidden magic, mind you-conspiring with an uncannily nonchalant mother... death wouldn''t be so cruel a consequence in the grand scheme of things, no?"

    "I really must be leaving," Lucy responded, in haste. "The head housemaid will find reason to question where I''ve been off to for so long." Especially after having grudgingly assigned a task unfit for a person in her current station-also accounting her strange predicament-in the midst of critical pre-night festivities.

    Short-staffed, but nearing its conclusion, no reputation in the world could impede practicality''s advantage-of enforcing each royal servant''s dutiful contribution, despite stolen carriages, arguing with superiors, or even alleged whispers circulating about sleeping with an anointed commanding knight. These couldn''t, however, go invalidated by disappearing for extended periods of time, rousing only the most unfavourable speculations in an already thorny circumstance.

    "Lilith accosted poor Elijah in broad daylight, didn''t she?" Deidrick mused, ruffling himself in his comfortable bed at her sudden interest. "We''re good friends," he paused. "I and him."

    Lucy remembered stalking into his room, finding him dispirited... lonely, drowning in an emotion she, too, wished substances could assuage.

    "Unfortunate news; yes-yes," he said, sounding like an overgrown toddler. Nothing suggesting the appeal of maturity or the overflowing remoteness he''d shown when they first met-sober. Not a trace of remorse, and barely a shilling''s worth of distress, Lucy noticed.

    "Shouldn''t you be at dinner?" That intangible something which made her pause previously disappeared completely.

    He beamed prettily, ballsy amusement bubbling within his proper, regal eyes. "People have always told me caring too little is-and always has been-my inexorable problem." But seeing hat the humour flew over his company''s head, via her discontented expression, "I very much ought-to be dining with righteous malcontents, at this very moment; yes," he answered.

    Lucy picked up her flounces again, ashamed. Realizing that if the comfort she was seeking couldn''t come from a friend, it definitely wouldn''t come from the self-absorbed likes of him. That this boredom wasn''t really boredom. That Theresa was never wrong, along with other palace staff who proceeded to ostracize her, walking on eggshells whenever they were forced to consort because of "secret dalliances" touching Sir. David.

    This was true.

    It was frank and honest... They were being all frank and honest, wise, sagacious... everything she''d believed herself to be-crumbling.

    Realizing now, after some excessive days of reflection, she exacerbated this queer emotion welling deep within her chest. By being orphaned her entire life, she''s found herself projecting onto an ignorant prince whose pretentious drinking habits only outwardly made it appear like he cared or somewhat understood the intensity of helplessness.

    Insubordinate... crass... foolish... impertinent... she couldn''t control any of it. Always, she''d be acting against her better judgement, and the frustrating part was that she couldn''t figure out why exactly, either.

    Determined to leave this time around, Lucy clasped on the doorknob when a firm hand tugged back on her bleach collar, "There''s only so much a man can take," ultimately pulling her back into the gold sheets of a walnut-carved canopy bed. "But your intransigence has been very amusing so far."

    The figure joined her shortly, smiling. His hands curved around her face, scalded hot with intense anxiety, before catching his breath, choking ferociously on some unswallowed scotch. "Elijah''s newfound popularity precedes him; Lilith wouldn''t be the first... n-nor the last to pull what she did."

    "I have no relations with Sir. David..." She lost the strength to push hard against his firm muscles, both appalled by the dangerous situation yet aroused by the feel of it-physically. He was a ripe prince of seven-and-twenty due for marriage who, in keeping with his elder brother whose nuptials would betide in exactly two days, wasn''t supposed to be doing this.

    As a matter of fact, tentative plans were made to announce the pair at a dinner which he should''ve been attending-all everybody has been talking about. Instead of imbibing bottle after bottle of substances or romancing conscientious and unsuspecting maids innocently trying to make a decent living, he should be out there taking on responsibility.

    "Your behaviour is absolutely abhorrible."

    "Yes." He turned her body into his, coaxing off her mob cap and playing with some brown baby tendrils. "There you go... What''s your name?"

    Then it hit her.

    "Lucrecia," she said, excitedly.

    It struck her! Exactly like lightning!

    "My name is Lucrecia Harthin, and you''re right. You shouldn''t marry someone who sensible persons would object to! What kind of sense would defend a perpetrator and not the victim anyway?"

    "The cheeky maid who''d left me waiting for a coach for over 30 minutes?" he chuckled. Beside her, his eyes appeared vast-just like Cecilia''s, but resembling an endless aqua waterfall and not a sea-blue summer ocean. His skin looked like it was made from the explicit fragile material of milk glass, with peach splotches simmering beneath its creamy surface.

    "Yes," Lucy beamed, suppressing the rapid succession of thumps coming from her chest, or the rouge blush rising to her skin. "Don''t marry Lady Lilith. Absolutely do not marry that Barret Houghton, because you deserve better! If anything goes wrong because of that, punish me! And punish me hard! But I seriously think you shouldn''t marry her!"

    "Honey-brown hair, sparkling eyes..."

    Sparkling eyes? She wondered, more (and unintentionally) enthralled by the flattery. "H-half the palace''s servants literarily exhibit those features, your highness,"-a push. "So, if you come looking for me, just tell Miss Durrell that you''re looking for Lucrecia, alright?"-and was he seriously still fixed on deciphering her identity? "We''ll talk some more then. But, for now, I''ve got to go."

    "George..."

    George?

    "George''s gonna kill me."

    Kill...?

    This man was her direct ticket to freedom! Anyone planning to end him soon had better postpone that occasion for another time!

    "Your highness, who''s this George?"

    No response.

    "Your highness?" She pushed again against him softly, his body rolling easily off hers. "Your highness? Your highness?" She nudged his cheek. "Your highness?" Then slapped his arms when a faint smoky breath parted his raison-dry lips.

 Chapter 8.2: Houghton Foul Play

    * * *

    "Deidrick?"

    He jumped in his seat, recognizing the low timbre of the unfamiliar voice... silky, smooth, and soothing to the ears, tuned like an oboe. Then, with both eyes slit, a tall hourglass-shaped apparition travelled deeper into the room¡ªslender with midriff-length fiery hair cascading down (her) shoulders and snow-white, dewy skin, painted artistically by the windows'' intimate radiance. It felt impossible to put a face to the voice, irrespective of his drunken stupor and impaired state of mind.

    However...

    "Princess..." his hands, heavy as cement, craned through the lustful pressure, emulating an impatient toddler beckoning for an enticing rotund pacifier. She was far away... idle at the threshold where escape happens too easily. "Come here..." he said, and she obeyed whilst taunting his slim patience. He wanted her fixed between his thighs, straddling and fucking him senseless. And he wanted it now.

    She smelt different¡ªpresently in his embrace. And tasted different, too. Reeking of jitters and floral, woody musk instead of her regular concupiscent damask fragrance; kisses¡ªslow, chaste, and controlled, ostensibly struggling to conform to his wanton, needy insistence.

    Coy foreplay? he thought, allowing his stroking hands to play up and down, along the soft curves of her shoulders, impinging on the warden of a pair of long kid gloves. She wriggled in his lap, pulling their lips apart now and then, ashamed of her bare (plump) fingers, leading him to question if she truly was who he thought she was. Yet, being up-close, and her face fully into focus, amethyst eyes, heavy rouge lashes, rich lips, and tomato-red blush could definitely only belong to one voluptuous person.

    "My love?" she asked, red locks mutating into short auburn for some blunt moments.

    "You''re..." he pushed her off himself. "What the fuck are you? You''re fucking changing!"

    "My love! My love, please wait!"

    Only because he was heavy-headed, tipsy, and under vague conjurations had she caught up to him, binding her arms around his chest and pressing firmly into the space between his spine. "You''re mine because I''ve chosen you¡ªyou''re mine! You told me you liked me, Deidrick! You''re mine!" Supercilious and unapologetic when she''d said it suffused betrayal thicker than blood remoter into his thinning arteries because Lilith Barret Houghton, an outwardly docile and oppressed damsel, proved to be otherwise.

    "Hands," he sputtered hazily. "Hands... off."

    Using a spell-binding hex, this wolf dressed in sheep''s skin, who he''d once thought of as a younger sister, lured him into a drawing-room that would soon be receiving guests; and he needed to escape now.

    "I love you!"

    "I''m not fond of repeating myself, Lilith."

    "I can''t." Her eyes finally returned to their blue and hazel tints, arms clenching firmer into his oblique muscles. "I won''t, because I adore you, your highness!¡ªI love you!"

    "Good God... well, I do not!"

    Remaining recalcitrant, he hustled her onto the floor with intemperate strength. Then, just when he made contact with the doorknob, she began to scream¡ªcrazed, devilish and outlandish, as if permissibly possessed.

    The walls shook. Pictures fell, crashing onto the floor with ear-splitting reverberations. Blood trickled out of her sockets as her pupils rolled back into the depths of her skull. He acted quick, disorientedly moving settees and ottomans to form a towering blockage at the door, so limited persons¡ªor, with any luck, none at all¡ªcould come in and draw catastrophic assumptions.

    Lilith''s muted skin discharged an army blue cloud that wrung the room''s cool neutrality dry, from behind. Her body¡ªcrippled, caught in a contorted position where the arms craned deep into its scapulars, twitching. Her legs, similarly sunk past their hunches, buckled beneath a sheet of periwinkle fabric.

    Possession, he deducted.

    "It''s either that or she''s harnessing external manna?"¡ªan illegal form of magic where energy derives from the external environment and not within... ultimately meaning that this entire scenario was an elaborate setup.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "People will flood here if you don''t stop, Lilith!"

    Bang!

    "Lilith!"

    BANG! BANG!

    Was this a duplicate? A changeling, maybe? Or, again, a more plausible reason¡ªdemonic possession; a classic case of weak-minded individuals binding themselves to untrustworthy and nefarious creatures via life-and-death contracts, he thought, lingering by the door.

    Despite several verbal attempts that should''ve placated her distress¡ªcoaxing, negotiations, and threats. Everything but actually approaching and giving in by default¡ªLilith roared on, drawing a constant rush of murmurs outside the door, consisting mostly of servants howling words of unease and concern.

    No one could come in. No one dared enter except their immediate families, else he would kiss his rakish, carefree days goodbye, and end up having an external-manna-wielding witch for a wife!

    "Come undone... I exchange... come undone." Forced to her side, he crouched, planted a hard kiss on her icy forehead, hugging as resolutely as he could. He dug his fingers into the flesh of his palms till his knuckles stained white, expelling drips of golden liquid onto the magic circle summoned beneath them, and silence fell over.

    Subsequently, she lulled her tired head into his chest... fatigued. Every laboured breath stunk with hiccups, pain writhing beneath her typically reticent features as they both rested in each other''s embrace, silent until Nolan eventually broke through the barred door.

    BANG! BANG! BANG!

    "Your highness! Your highness, is everything alright?"

    Following the valet were both their mothers: Lady Barret Houghton and her royal majesty, the queen, who witnessed his pathetic act of capitulation.

    His vision doubled, blurred, and he bit on his tongue, embarrassed. Blood on Lilith''s cheeks smudged across his livid waistcoat, which was further wrinkled by her tenacious grip. Lilith''s lady''s maid, aided by 2 displaced maids, pried her away to a comfortable settee where they began making her presentable. Footmen did the exact thing for Deidrick.

    Still in shock, however, the queen forbade anyone to come near her, despite several deserved concerns about her bleeding out. She miraculously stood through the anguish in her nerves, the hurt in her soul, and the large gash on her wrist, ordering two footmen to shut the door¡ªwho bowed and did as so.

    "She''s..." a pause. "She''s possessed."

    "She has been compromised, is what!" The queen yelled¡ªunnaturally loud¡ªmaking everyone in the room flinch. "Nothing more was asked of you! Just that you attend the royal wedding!" Gooseflesh sprouted atop the depths of their skins. "Instead, you stink up wherever you traverse with muck, carrying only disgrace with you!"

    "Mother..."

    "You''re drunk. You''re drunk, aren''t you?"

    "I..."

    "You what?" She drew near, pulling her arm back to land a bitter slap on his perfectly dishevelled visage. "You''re what, Deidrick?"

    "I''m... I''m sorry."

    Her hands froze. The room stilled. Eyes morphed into saucers and gasps echoed sans restraint from every person¡ªclass, gender, and differences notwithstanding.

    "I''m sorry that I did absolutely nothing wrong." A smile spread across his lips, then laughter spilled over. "I''m sorry for dissolving this situation adroitly. I''m sorry she''s such a bitch! And¡ªoh! Oh, I whole-heartedly apologize that you believe the daughter of a witch in plain sight over your own flesh and blood!"

    "You dissolved nothing!" A hard slam accompanied her words, and another stampede of shock sped through the room. "I called upon Brother''s Counsel! That''s what happened, you ungrateful brat!"

    "You... hit me."

    "You hit him!" Lilith sprang from her seat and raced to his side. "How dare you harm him!"

    "Lilith, dear," Lady Barret Houghton coolly interceded, and the two words seemed to instantaneously quench her temperament¡ªlike refreshing cold baths taken on the hottest summer days, or the opposite during chilly winter nights. Then, turning to the hostile lioness in a stand-off with its juvenile cub, "Forgive her impertinence, your majesty," Lady Houghton (barely) curtsied, her hallow eyes speaking for themselves.

    "Your father will do worse than this," Eleanor continued, mentally reproving external trite interruptions. "But for my sanctity, more than yours, I''ll personally petition your hourglass closely touches his just verdict."

    Deidrick sneered in return, watching how she routinely graced her head into her left clavicle, placing a hand over its collapse where she fiddled with strung up diamonds, taking comfort in something... intangible, yet intimate.

    "I hoped only the best for you, child."

    "You hoped I''d die?"

    "Do not feign denying how you so relish making it difficult!" she commanded more than said.

 Chapter 9: A Kiss of Death

    Lucy was unsure what to do, taken aback by the sudden hungry, apple-tasting lips searching her mouth savagely. Her mobcap flew to the ground as he bit his fingers deep into her neck, dexterously and selfishly maneuvering to find pleasurable positions which would satiate himself, not caring if the feeling was reciprocated. Sensing her resistance, he doubled down by carving her frame into his laboured chest with his other hand, making sure she knew any effort would end futilely¡ªand that what was to come was inexorable because he was a hungry predator, starved of any type of appetizing meals he once kindled surfeit pleasures in.

    Delilah couldn''t turn him on, not even in the pretentious form of magic Lilith Houghton attempted the day before¡ªwhich, by definition, is a tainted illusion of authentic need.

    He needed something else¡ªsomeone else.

    Her... whoever this servant was.

    The brazen nature of which she embodied¡ªalong with plenty of impertinence¡ªbordered on exciting. Her purposeful careless words... and especially her pitch-black iridescent eyes, stunning him senseless¡ªjust like they had the day they first met.

    When she''d nudged him off herself some minutes ago, instead of leaving, she lingered for some time, only to regale him. A curt "You''re a onetime ticket; I couldn''t lose you" was her response when he asked why, before she left and returned with a tray of bland-tasting dishes and a huge jug of water. A very, very huge jug of water, he sweltered.

    "Here''s the deal."

    "A deal?" He asked, groggily lifting his weight up into an indented pillow, the unapt breakfast tray¡ªbaring six pieces of toast, lazily cut banana strips, and an overflowing ramekin topped with pulpy applesauce¡ªthreatening to plunge and spill its contents as he settled into a drooped position.

    "I''m Lucrecia, you hear me? Lucrecia Harthin!"

    He stared at her, as if demented, spooning a generous slush into his mouth while she rambled on incoherently.

    "I''m not nice, is what I''m trying to say. I''m cruel. A bitch, in simple terms. I intercepted a royal wedding by persuading the prince not to own responsibility. I stole a poor girl''s position. I''m a nasty leprechaun. I''m... I''m..."

    Now she simply looked flat-out confused.

    "A villainous bitch," he helped, playing along with whatever script she was getting at. "Check! Please, go on, Missus Harthin."

    "Do be serious! You sound like a perverted schoolboy."

    "For you," he smiled, "I''ll be more attentive than any valedictorian could possibly be."

    * * *

    "Auclair?"

    Sophie blanched, watching the notorious insubordinate parlour maid¡ªwho, three days ago, had been relegated to the kitchen''s dull scullery¡ªscuttle down the hallway, vigorously scrubbing her hand across her swollen lips. The head housemaid, struggling to balance some very expensive tea sets on very expensive china trays with two very occupied hands, grew unforgiving, internally enacting a subconscious game of which burdened emotion is splayed across my countenance at this moment.

    Shock?

    Frustration?

    Or had it been perplexity?

    Then, from behind her, exiting the green drawing-room, Theresa looked on, equally curious about the unlikely scene. Between her and another''s grasp were boxes that cradled cleaning apparatus: feather dusters, scuttles, scrubbing brushes, a water-soda concoction, even polishing mixtures that suddenly toppled over, snapping Sophia from her elongated trance. As the other maid eyed Theresa like she had just committed regicide, she started picking up each item, only slowing down when Sophia, fortunately, had the grace to disregard the scene and soldier on ahead¡ªfollowed by the docile tool of a maid.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Theresa turned, hunted for any traces of her friend in the empty hall before sweeping a gaze across the direction Lucy just emerged from, only to spot a tall personality fade in and out of focus. Its hair was a grimy red with faint grayish traces, sailing the floors like a stormy sea. Its terribly skeletal, jagged shoulders competed with gravity''s downward pull, as well. And its purple gleaming eyes mimicked searchlights in a stormy sea. Everything happening thus far should''ve sparked Theresa''s spineless fight-or-flight gear, yet watching it draw dangerously close... she just had to question how powerful this creature really was.

    She felt her skin sag, her limbs going limp when its purple-crested irises sucked any trace of colour from her chocolate-melting ones.

    ???¨¨???¨¥... ??????...

    Have you seen the girl?

    Sincere rebuttal seemed to come (too) easily. Then, just like that, it left¡ªdisappearing into the room''s warm ambiance after stalling for an unclear reason.

    Dazed and heavy-headed, she remained crouched, panicked in a scavenging position indefinitely with sweat trickling off her forehead, forming meandering depressions in her skin from the obscene weight of it. Slowly but surely, her hands regained motion, shuddering. Her eyes began shooting about, turning without head rotation, and her heart drummed through her chest when she finally collapsed into the arms of a robust but savvy male.

    She picked up his scent¡ªof clean, male skin with minimal traces of salt from hastened scamper. His voice was smooth and low... executive yet comforting. She softened.

    "Mr. D-David..."

    The first footman wasn''t alone, however, she noticed.

    "It couldn''t have gotten far," the brawny stranger beside them explained. His errant locks, compared to the suited footman''s, were a spiky dark-brown that revealed slight golden iridescence at certain viewing angles. And unlike David''s urgently pale dermis, his was unregally tanned, marred like an inconspicuous workman mingling amongst porcelain lackadaisical aristocrats.

    "W-what happened? What w-was that?"

    The stranger jogged away further down the hall, as her eyes thoroughly focused, taking in his proper attire¡ªjuxtaposed by his firm grip on two golden scabbards hanging off finely sculpted hips.

    "A northern assailant."

    "That''s no a-assailant!"

    David''s brows creased, helping her to her feet, as careless flutters struck his lashes at her casual curiosity. Beautiful batting sequences followed, unveiling his inner workings which sagely pondered if admitting the distasteful truth would harbour any significant consequence. "It''s a changeling," he said, finally. "And we have proof suggesting it''s neither demonic nor a slow duplicate."

    "What a-are the distinctions?" Theresa asked, still shivering as David led her back into the drawing-room and sat her on a lime-gold damask upholstered stool. Briefly closing the door behind them, he knelt before her, pressing an enchantment relic to her head¡ªcards used by those who couldn''t wield magic either internally or directly.

    Then, after murmuring (in ancient Merthinien) incantations, "There," he stood, allowing his hands to linger momentarily on her sleeved elbow. "Remain here until Valingo arrives, you trouble-seeking chit. Durrell or Nolan may show up, but do not leave unless Valingo parts with you, understood?"

    "David, what exactly did that do?"

    Registering his scowl, "Thank you... I meant to say thank you," she muttered gratitude instead, beaming as he exited the door with warmth suffusing a generous inch of his frigid person.

    Theresa lounged, unnaturally calm in the mute room, recalling when Lucy and she previously hid in it some days ago, trying to escape exactly this; or, as Durrell would put it¡ªruin. Its protective cloak should''ve felt suffocating, hinting at a terrible omen of unpleasant things to come.

    "How ridiculous," she grumbled, fingers tapping restlessly on the upholstery''s golden arm, before getting up to explore the enigmatic room devoid of windows, which only made it appear doubly unwelcoming. Framed impressions and some particular vase-accommodating niches dented into four floral-patterned walls attempted to compensate for its austere design, but Theresa refused to trust such a consequential place. Yet her senses betrayed set sentiments, remaining null and indifferent as she made a round around the room, perusing quickly and eventually returning to the more exciting sofa.

    "People do not go from being scared out of their skin to enjoying a relaxing promenade under perfectly temperate afternoon weather," she said, contemplating why only queer neutrality flushed her senses in such a predicament. "It simply must be that spell Mr. David cast."

    Eying the door which hadn''t budged since ten minutes ago, "Oh, how desperately Miss Lucy needs it..." Remaining friends through all this mayhem truly would be a remarkable feat, considering present calamities¡ªbeing victims of such unwelcome circumstances.

    But surely she will forgive, Theresa assumed, alighting again towards the door.

    Towering sculptured ceilings and their exceptionally shaped columns drew a parallel with Sir. David''s skillfully developed muscles from two days ago¡ªshe couldn''t help blushing¡ªwhich only deepened her uncertainties.

    "If he''s chasing whatever that creature is, skipping out on tonight''s imperative pronouncements..." a queazy thrill pulsed through her tract, ruining the cinch of Mr. David''s subduing spell. "On Merthingham''s grave, it just has to be serious."

 Chapter 9.1: Lucrecia Harthin

    <hr>

    No matter how discretely Lucy tried to exit Deidrick''s smothering chamber, the noise created by their heated tumble had definitely attracted curious observers in nearby rooms¡ªbe it from working servants or lords and ladies who''d excused themselves from tonight''s important processions in advance for dubious reasons like taking ill, for example. She couldn''t understand why he''d drawn her to his side, employing the most innocuous, casual discourse to arrest her within a long pair of virile, toned arms.

    "What might I ask are you doing?"

    She had denied his advances, using a hand to block the incoming pressure of his lips. But Deidrick remained unwilling to back down, releasing one arm to (sensually) entwine with hers through many, several¡ªwet¡ªcoercive endeavours. Lucy shivered shamefully, once the warmth of his tongue skillfully grazed a stiff, exposed knuckle. Then, just as swift as the feeling lasted, she pondered retracting her hand... but it would only appear as if she was bending to his deriding pressure despite expressing contrary sentiments¡ªlike the many submissive chits he''s bedded, no doubt.

    "Good God..." his voice cut off, discharging a devilish moan deep from the depths of his throat, meandering his tongue through yet another stark precipice hidden between her cold, stolid fingers. "You are my most favourite teacher. Do you know that, Miss Harthin?" he enunciated.

    It felt sinister¡ªcalling her by an adversary''s name, sea-green eyes suffusing carnal desire into the principled virginal territory of her habitually sagacious brain.

    "I implore you to let go of me now, your highness."

    His face darkened.

    "This isn''t right. You''re drunk."

    "Yet here you are."

    Panic perforated her skin when he started perusing the corners of her linen black dress, feeling for any sorts of rifts that his hasty, unoccupied hand could intrude on. "Your highness! Your highness, stop!"

    Unmoving and still grasping her tightly despite several heart-wrenching protests otherwise, she realized then that he was perfectly aware of everything he was doing¡ªthat she wasn''t allowed to scream because it was her life on the line; that there would be no one else to blame but herself for tempting him; that she was technically palace property, and therefore his, meaning submission was her one (and only) available option.

    Resignation nullified her senses, and sensing her hands awkwardly recede, revealing an unobstructed view of clenched coral-peach lips, Deidrick took them in his, making laboured, needy strokes whilst still searching for an opening that he could invade.

    A row of buttons hidden beneath her firmly-put white apron caused him to slacken the pace, believing she''d fully adjusted enough for docile subservience, but it only conveniently let Lucy shove against him with over-intemperate force, allowing a swift escape as both his hands sought to snatch the ribbon behind her compressed livery.

    "Strip!" he commanded, wobbling from his bed to the exit, which strayed miles from inside the generously capacious room. "Here and now, you will strip!" Deidrick too easily pinned her shaking form to a hard wall, little seconds from the door, quelling her a sudden sense of fight¡ªsweet escape blasted abruptly away.

    Shakiness doubled but refused to show in Lucy''s reasonable tone¡ª"You''re doing such a capital job at it already!"¡ªand she watched curiously, her words playing a nasty game with his muddled brain causing his grip to loosen on her midriff as he registered his semi-nakedness.

    She pushed hard again¡ªthis time moving to secure a (hopefully) sufficiently heavy statuette to strike across his head before he could enthusiastically topple her all over again.

    Its reverberations sounded even louder than when he''d forced her to the wall: several tiny shards of rhinestones bouncing off carpeted and uncarpeted flooring, echoing a catastrophic clinking melody. She froze, abiding silently in the shimmering chaos, waiting for his limp body to regain its strength. To make a comeback. To receive her insult negatively. But he kept still on the floor, exacerbating the heavy, mortal silence.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Sweet Merthingham... have I killed him?

    "I couldn''t have possibly killed him..."

    Suddenly, someone knocked at the door, barging in regardless of a response to find Lucy instinctively shooting a readily disposed shard that was lying by her feet right at their faces.

    The stranger, Elijah David, paused. A pair of chartreuse eyes discerning the commotion before shutting the room''s tall, white double doors, locking them to Lucy''s relief.

    "Genevieve claimed he was alone."

    "I''d found him alone," she responded, still frozen in a defensive stance¡ªnot thoroughly understanding who this Genevieve was, either. But, taking in his equally shocked yet puzzled expression, "Both of you..." she slightly softened. "You can''t truly be friends. H-he''s simply a-abhorable!"

    "Did he tell you that?" Elijah questioned, placatingly moving past her to examine Deidrick''s condition a little more closely. "Implications do not count."

    "I hadn''t meant to kill him."

    "Clearly," he stated dryly. "His royal highness'' still got a pulse."

    An extraordinary quirk promptly plastered across his defined features. And although Lucy wanted to follow in such honest, innocuous, and witty charms, she contemplated lying instead, understanding the many repercussions that would consequently follow which, from among an array of advisable ways to mitigate them, running off one''s mouth didn''t qualify for wise reasons.

    "How unfortunate," Lucy said.

    "''Unfortunate''?" Elijah repeated. "I expected something more than that if the happenings I''m assuming here really transpired."

    "''Really transpired''?" She caught his brows crease at her boorish and impudent honesty. "Your doubt is the only really insulting thing here, good sir."

    Elijah sagely swooped from a crouched position and strutted to her side, his tall, muscular frame shrouding her body''s pinched width, standing reverently before her. "Forgive me," he responded, hands cautiously finding her waist and only making contact after she''d provided permission with a convicting, simple stare.

    "Word travels fast around these parts," implied: "You best leave," in his own kind beseeching manner.

    "But he''ll come for me," Lucy worried.

    "No," his voice hardened. "He won''t."

    "I implored him to, so he will come."

    With umpteen more of Elijah David''s gentle coercion, she finally exited the second prince''s chamber, dejectedly tainted with emotions swelling and bursting out of control, manifesting as dewy bubbles of water inching off the rims of her puffy red eyelids. Unwittingly, she had begun rubbing her lips¡ªslowly at first, then with great passion¡ªfeeling deeply the sting of her perpetrator''s assault and still trying to comprehend how close she had come to being violated. Almost convicted of a heinous crime that wasn''t her fault.

    "Had Sir. David not timely come to rescue me yet again..." Being charged with the attempted murder of a nation''s prince would no doubt have her hanging from a 100 feet wall some miles away from civilization, at some privately operated, decency-absent prisoners camp.

    Lucy''s heart slowly began picking up a scary rhythm, a steady warning about something (or someone) dangerous. It wasn''t anything in particular she hated, but rather an image that just wouldn''t go away. A feeling that would end in despair: the picturesque apparition of an important figure. It always longed for him, in this life and many more yet to come.

    A slight smile, the first in a long while, lifted her cheeks, but couldn''t quell her pounding heart¡ªonly further exacerbating its hastened thumping when she thought of how easily he trusted her judgement, making him promise to refer to her as Lucrecia Harthin if ever she came up in conversation.

    Lucy wasn''t the type to envision romance in her future¡ªshe never saw anything promising in her future, actually. But this once, she allowed herself to relax into the fresh idea, taking deep breaths in and out to calm the rush and exhilaration building in her stomach.

    "You''d just been assaulted," she said to herself. "You''d just been ravaged, yet here you are! Having silly reveries about a chivalrous¡ª"

    "Auclair?" An echoic voice called out to her. "You''re Lucy Auclair, aren''t you?"