Yes, Master

Chapter One: A Proposition

   I scurry in, keeping my head bowed. His mother is shouting commands at me, her blue skirts swirling around her like sea spray. She twists this way and that, pointing and making demands. "Oh, do clean the windows. You've let them get awfully dirty," she says in an accusatory tone, as if to say I haven't been working hard enough. I peek out meekly from beneath my stringy hair. I've been staying late at work and haven't had the time to wash. 

  "Yes, I will get right to it," I squeak. 

"Don't say! Do!" she yells, her alabaster face turning red with rage.

   I hurry over to get the pail, soap, and washrag, and set to work. I'm sponging down the stained glass windows, my arms aching, when he comes in. He, being my mistress's son. He, being the boy who is the handsomest boy in the country, quite possibly the world. He, who all the girls titter about at the balls and parties. He, who I am hopelessly and utterly in love with, though I myself don't even get why. He paces around the room, his eyes lowered, muttering something to himself. I continue my work, pretending I don't notice him. Pretending I'm not listening to what ever he's saying. Pretending I'm not noticing the way the sun hits his hair, turning it an almost preternatural shade of gold.

  All of a sudden, he straightens and says my name. "Rosalie," he says, the name sounding so beautiful as it rolls off his tongue. 

    At the sound of my name, I immediately stop my work,  surprised. He rarely talks to me, except to tell me what's expected of him and me at parties and the occasional shallow chat when no one is around. 

  "Yes, Master Alexander?" I say obediently.

  He snorts. "Don't call me master, you silly girl. I'm the same age as you," he says with a chuckle.

  I hesitate, annoyed that he called me silly, then ask, "What do you need?" 

  "I need some help with my mother," he replies, looking left and right to make sure no one else is around. 

   I want to be "disrespectful", and ask what he thinks I could do about it. But instead I just ask, "What do you need help with, Alexander?"

   He smiles a smile that if I didn't know better, I might say was sinister.  He leans in close. At this point, I'm really hoping he doesn't realize how fast my heart is beating. "Nowadays, it is the fashion to get married early. Mother is already trying to set me up with someone high-class. There's just one problem: None of those girls, with their preening and vanities, interest me. But don't worry, I've got a plan. And it involves you," he says, lightly pressing a finger to my nose.

   I nod with a gulp. Right now, I have all sorts of questions in my head. What can I help a boy like him with? I'm nothing but a lowly maid! Is this plan sensible? Will it cause me to lose my job? I'm so nervous at the prospect of losing my job that I begin to tremble. What would happen if I can't support my mother and sister anymore? Would we starve? I don't even notice I'm trembling until Alexander grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "Get a grip on yourself, girly," he shouts. I'm tired of him treating me like an imbecile and calling me "girly", or maybe I just have a lot of bottled up anger. But before I can even realize it, I'm reaching out my fist and punching him in the arm.

  "Ouch!" he cries out. "What do you do?" he asks. "Lift things all day? Because I fool around a lot with my mates, but I've yet to see one of them pack such a punch." I smirk. I know I shouldn't be satisfied with myself, yet I am. I feel like I'm almost getting back at his mother for her cruelties.

   Then, I do something that I know is foolish, considering this is the boy who I always wanted to talk to me. I turn my back to him, and fold my arms. "I don't want to be involved in any plan. I don't live like you. I don't have an infinite amount of time, an infinite amount of resources, an infinite amount of wiggle room, an infinite amount of PRIVILEGE!" I say frostily, ending in a frustrated shout.  But I don't stop there. Once I let the floodgates open, there is no closing them.

  "I don't want to work. I don't want to slave away for a yearly salary less than the price of your shirt. I don't want to be subjected to your mother's cruelties, and have to admire all her fine clothes from afar. But you know what? I have to. Because some of us were not born with a silver spoon in our mouths, so to speak. Some of us have sick mothers who need medicine that's expensive and some of us have sisters who snuggle in their laps and cry every night about how she's hungry. Some of us can't risk our jobs. And some of us can't be bothered with foolish plans," I continue angrily, stamping my foot childishly for emphasis.

   I turn around. His molasses eyes are wide. I think I have fazed him. He opens his mouth to speak, but I storm out before I can hear what he has to say.

A/N: At the side is the original cover, made by @CarissaWhittemore.