The buttons on her dress are mine to play with, to manipulate as I see fit.
Her every movement, her every expression, is under my meticulous scrutiny.
Oh, how I relish the authority that my position affords me.
The queen.
With her regal bearing and lofty status, is, in reality, at my mercy.
The rules of royalty, the protocols of the court—they are my arsenal, my weapons of choice in this battle for control. With every meticulously enforced regulation, every sternly delivered command, I tighten the invisible chains that bind her.
She may wear the crown, but it is I who hold the keys to her cage.
To see her tremble at the mere suggestion of disobedience, to witness the fear that flickers behind her carefully composed facade—it sends a thrill coursing through my veins. She may command the kingdom, but I command her.
I.
A mere maid in the grand palace.
Not just any, the lowest of the lowest.
The one even maids command.
To do the dirtiest works of the queen, fit her dress, choose her jewellery, move all around the palace and get to the queen, the orders of the queen dowager.
I tread softly, my steps cautious and my demeanor submissive.
Within the confines of my own mind, she is nothing more than my doll to manipulate, my puppet to pull the strings of. Her every movement, her every word, is carefully orchestrated by my hand. And while outwardly I remain the picture of obedience, inwardly I revel in the power I wield over her.
As I go about my daily tasks as a humble maid in the royal palace, I find perverse delight in the simple acts that afford me control over the queen's life. Every mundane chore, every seemingly innocuous action becomes a means of exerting my influence over her.
Preparing her bath, is not just a matter of fetching water and soap. It is an opportunity to dictate the temperature of the water, to determine how long she may linger in its comforting embrace, To restrict her comfortness but limiting her time, to test her patience by adding more perfume.
"Why so much?" she asks rudely. The arrogance of being the queen, spilling with each splash, as each droplet caresses her skin.
"B-But, m-my queen, t-the queen dowager ordered, f-for you to be a l-little more pretty than usual, a-as there will be s-some--",
I stutter.
"Alright, do it, but don't over do it." she spats.
But I, the most lowly maid in the whole of the royal palace, did not fail to notice the shiver that she tried to hold back, once she heard the orders of the queen dowager. Of course, living up to the expectations of in-laws is pressurable, but assume becoming the queen, after begging the queen dowager, to be allowed to marry the crown prince, extremely painful. That is, unless you live upto their expectations.
And, yet again,
I am reminded of my power over her.
Dressing her is another task that I approach with meticulous attention to detail. The choice of attire, the arrangement of her jewels—these are not merely matters of aesthetics, but strategic moves in my game of manipulation. I select garments that accentuate her beauty while subtly reinforcing her status as my puppet.
And then there are the royal rules, the codes of conduct that govern her every move. I enforce them with an iron will, using them as a means of cagingher autonomy and reminding her of her subservience. The mere mention of the king's mother's name sends shivers down her spine—a testament to the control I wield over her psyche.
Choosing her venues and scheduling her activities are tasks that I approach with relish. I select events that will showcase her in the best light while subtly undermining her confidence. Each engagement becomes a carefully orchestrated performance, with me pulling the strings from behind the scenes.
But it is not just in these overt displays of power that I find satisfaction. It is in the subtle nuances of our interactions—the way her eyes widen in fear when I enter the room, possibly because she thought I brought some information from the king's mother, the way her voice trembles when she asks me what it is, always thinking she was good at acting as if she didn't feel her stomach churn. It is in these moments that I am reminded of my dominance over her.
And so, as I go about my duties as a maid in the royal palace, I do so with a sense of sadistic pleasure, knowing that with each soap I prepare, each garment I select, I am further solidifying my hold over her.
The Queen.
