Ai was awakened by the sound of glass breaking.
It was the head steward again, angered by the oversleeping lower servants' tardiness. He stormed into the serfs' quarters belting profanities; the sound was a plate he had thrown at the wall in irritation. It now lay in pieces on the floor.
Ai jumped up, hitting his head on the low bunk above him, and blinked heavy sleep out of his eyes. His joints ached from resting on his bed, which was really nothing more than a sitting mat placed in an unpadded grotto cut into the sandstone walls of the castle. Rubbing grit from his face and stretching his arms, Ai cautiously peered out of his accommodations and above him to ensure that the two men in bunks on top of his were already out and that he wouldn't receive the unpleasant wakeup call of a foot to the face.
"What're ya doin'!?" The call came again and Ai slid to the ground, landing unsteadily on his feet and quickly throwing a tunic over his shoulders. The head was at the other side of the dormitory, terrorizing some petty assistant that had taken an unexpected fall to the ground from his bunk and was currently rubbing his ankle in pain. "Everyone get'ta work! Ya'll late!" Servants quickly fled the room, not wanting to further incite the head's wrath, and scurrying off to their respective duties. Mutters flew around about the disagreeable alarm they had been given, but the voices were submissively quiet. The head steward was not a man one questioned. Not unless they wished to have spit flung in their face as he yelled, their face stinging from humiliation and the slap of his hand, rash and unpredictable from his near constant hangovers.
Ai slipped up the narrow curving stairs to the main floor of the castle. The stone, chilled by the underground air, felt unseasonably cool on his feet, but then again, anything remotely even cold was unusual around here. The only time the desert city-state shivered was at the dead of night when no one was around to feel it. The palace underground, home to its butlers and slaves, was an exception however. It was constantly frigid, like the air after a rare rain, and dark but for trembling candlelight that spread ash over the low ceilings.
A complete opposite from the upper floors, Ai mused as he reached the final step of the staircase and came into a sort of dim closet, narrow passageway branching off in a few different ways. These were the helps' hallways. The nobles and ambassadors did not often like to see servants scurrying about their feet as they drifted from one chamber to the next, so the second class citizens, the gears that kept the palace ticking and its inhabitant safe and fed, worked inside the walls, only coming out when specified for work. Even then they were quiet, inconspicuous, and didn't venture where they could be seen. Out of sight, out of mind, like urchin cats roaming alleyways, only tolerated because they kept the rats away.
Aiichirou Nitori had been born into this life of disregarded servitude, washing the feet of whoever had the money to pay for his dinner. It was by sheer luck that he had managed to secure a spot in the workforce of the Royal Palace of Samezuka – the most prosperous kingdom in the desert territories. If it wasn't for the indifferent protection of the castle walls, Ai was certain he'd been dead by now, crushed under the foot of hunger and street life. The castle was a blessing, a good life for a dog like him, and a beauty to peer at from the edge of a cupboard hatch.
Ai opened the only door in the claustrophobic space, an inch of light filtering in through the crack. It gave not a sound as he did so, designed to be as unnoticeable as possible, even going so far as to be disguised as a portion of the wall from the outside. Ai gently pried the door back, widening the opening, until he could fit his eye to the crack, blinking at the sudden change in light.
So bright, came to mind as he stared out again at the hallway, the floor of gleaming silver marble and sandy walls engraved with gold. Candles hung from the ceiling at long intervals, reflecting off the precious decorations with sudden bursts of brilliance. He could not see much from this spot, the same spot he had spied from every day since he came here, but it did not matter to him, because just the glossy stone floor and the veins of gold were beautiful enough to satisfy him, to bring his hopes up and reanimate his mind.
He didn't know the rest of the palace. He didn't wonder either. He didn't ask for more, never even thought of asking.
Really, Ai frowned as he shut the opening quietly and started down a dim passage, towards a duty he was already late for. It just hurts more otherwise.
He would never get more than this.
Ai's hands were red and swollen, overworked from pounding grain into flour. He wiped sweat from his forehead – the effect of the blazing kitchen chimineas he worked with and the sun, high in the sky, which now beat down on the city with a vengeance. Even the palace was ablaze, the air sticky and thick from panting breaths. The chef had not been happy with his unpunctuality; Ai had not been given a break since he arrived, smashing millet and removing the husks with a crude mortar and pestle. His stomach groaned, having missed breakfast, and his arms were shaking.
With a yelp as the pestle landed on his thumb, Ai slumped against a nearby wall, looking around for the cook before resting and nursing his injured appendage. He shut his eyes as he sucked on it, his mouth dry and throat scratchy. As much as he usually pitied the men sent to retrieve water from the city oasis, he wished for that job today. Although the journey through the streets was tedious, and the sun bore down on them all the way, once they got to their destination it must all be worth it, Ai thought. To have that much water before you, Ai barely remembered it, so long had it been since he'd left the palace. The most liquid he'd seen in one place since was the community tub he was allowed to use once a week, murky and filled only to his knees.
The slamming of a door and a calling voice pulled him out of his recollections. Ai stiffened and pressed himself against the gritty wall, straining his ears as the room fell silent. A pattering of feet signaled the chief chef approaching the main door and greeting someone, impatience hidden behind thin manners.
"It's the Prince," rang an unfamiliar voice, deep and energetic. "Someone pissed him off again."
A rumble ran through the kitchen workers at this, nervous whispers resounding off the hard surfaces. Ai's brow furrowed, as long as he had been here, he had never heard much about the Prince, or any of the royal family for that matter. Of course he knew of the King – one must know their own kingdom's ruler – but other than that the lives of the ones on the top floor seemed unimportant, mysterious, and the only thing he had ever gathered was that its two inhabitants, the Prince and the Princess, were a bit of a handful.
"He scared off another one, huh?" came the rough voice of the chef. "Can't say I'm surprised." A laugh sounded at this and Ai gathered the courage to peer around the corner and observe the exchange. By the entrance to the galley stood the chef and a tall muscular man, his auburn hair slicked back from his face. He was clothed in fabric rich for a commoner, with deep orange drapes and thick leather. A golden cord encircled his head, matching the sheath of the scimitar at his side. A palace guard.
"The kitchen boys tend to be nicer," the guard continued. "I figured you might have one to spare?" Ai blinked at this comment, still not quite sure what was being discussed. The chef sighed, scratching his balding head before glancing behind him to take in his crew. His eyes grazed over the crowd of workers, most still preparing the meal, unbothered, until they landed on a small kid anxiously clutching a corner. Ai stiffened as he caught the man's eye.
"That one," the chef declared, pointing in his direction. The guard followed his finger. "He barely does his work anyway. Hey, boy!" Ai hesitantly stepped away from his corner, feeling pairs of eyes burn into him in-between glances of work. An unfamiliar sensation. He was not used to being looked at. Scurrying over to where the two men waited, Ai's cheeks burned at the attention and his hands fluttered at his sides aimlessly, like they weren't sure where they belonged anymore.
"Go with this guard," the chef said, gesturing with his thumb towards the wildly grinning man. "You're being reassigned." Ai's heart thumped violently as he looked from person to person, finally settling on the strange soldiers' golden eyes.
"Where to?" he asked, finally finding his voice, however weak and pitched it may be. He could feel some kind of suspense in the room, some unspoken terms that he hadn't yet figured out. Princes, guards, anger, relocation, they were a strum of an instrument falling into a chord. An exciting stirring piece of music that Ai wasn't sure he was supposed to be hearing, but was witness to nonetheless.
The guard smiled wider, in a way that was almost disconcerting.
"To the top floor, of course."
AN: So somehow I managed to start writing again, of course not on anything I actually need to finish. Free! was introduced to me by a friend and now I can't get the need for a fic out of my system. My Vocaloid stories will have to wait a while. ^-^'
Aquam Regis is loosely based off the ending theme of the anime. I couldn't stop my mind from blowing the idea of Arabian style royalty and the longing for water into something huge and convoluted. Hopefully this will be my best writing yet!