No Fury

Now: Twenty Six

The great hall has been decorated so lavishly, it seems the ceiling is lined with stars. Tables are set throughout, covered in velvet and towering golden candles.

We are meant to serve ale to the entire court, which has come to celebrate before the princess arrives in only a matter of days. This is our intimate celebration, the one between only the members of our kingdom itself, but with everyone stepping out of the woodwork of daily life, it feels like the entire world had arrived.

Hundreds of voices ring out, echoing off the thick stone walls, bouncing back from the wooden beams high above. Soft green velvet is everywhere; it is like having his eyes on me, every second.

If he sees me tonight, what will he think? He's never seen me in the role of servant, not to my knowledge. He has no reason to come to the ale house, or even chance past it. And here I am, only hours after I left him alone in his rooms, naked: dressed in my finest.

The servants have all been made to wear new clothes that we will wash and wear again for each celebration to come. For the men it is a pair of deep green pants and a black shirt made of the softest cotton. For the women, it is a dress that fits me like nothing I'd ever worn. The bust is pale green with shiny black buttons and a deep scooping neck. The skirts fall simply from hips to feet. At the waist is a tight belt made from deeper green velvet.

I've never felt so dressed up-or so exposed-and can barely stop pulling up the top where my breasts threaten to spill free, or tugging at the skirt which seems to cling to my hips and backside.

And in fact, I know what Harry will think if he sees me tonight. He will drag me into the shadows and order me to not show myself. A tiny bite mark is visible just below the top hem of the dress. The backs of my thighs are deliciously bruised from his lovemaking earlier.

Do you love me?
I must know.

The ale stand is in the back of the room. Mother and Da are stationed there, to refill any quaichs Mary and I are too slow to tend to on our constant circuits of the room. But I feel poorly; my stomach is sour, my heart brittle and delicate.

He said the words—I have always loved only you—but we both know it matters not at all. Royalty do not marry for love.

The court is already tipsy by the time Harry and the king appear to great fanfare: musicians burst into song, and a broad velvet flag is unfurled as they stride in with their attendants through the wide doors leading from the deeper, private parts of their home.

I have seen those parts.

Before the door closes, I catch a glimpse of the back staircase leading to Harry's rooms.

And then, from behind Harry, I catch Douglas' eye and he sees where I'd been looking.

He looks directly into my soul and before he can shutter them closed, his eyes expressed some acute devastation.

But then, he looks away, plastering on a grand smile for the assembled masses.

Harry is gorgeous in straight black pants and a crisp black shirt. Odd that the Sunshine Prince should favor such dark colors but in a way they always suited him. They let the eye focus on the beauty of him instead.

I circle the room, filling mug after mug. He hasn't seen me yet, at least I don't think he has. I wanted to believe I would feel the pressure of his gaze on my skin, but I can't help but feel like this afternoon he gave me the most desperate send off.

Do you trust my love for you?

The lords of the court are more shameless than the drunken bruisers in the ale house. Their hands constantly find their way to my backside. Their eyes fixate on the heavy swell of my breasts in the dress I am immediately coming to hate.