Disclaimer: I ain't Gregory Maguire, and all that...
A/N: There'll be a name in this story that you possibly recognise, and I just want to state that said character is not based on her namesake; she has this name because a friend of mine requested it. So, my apologies :D
Summary: Every royal family has a castle, and every castle has its servants... The reflections of a servant girl on the young prince, Fiyero...
Chapter One
Restless
"Stand up straighter," Miss Eldra whispers furiously in my ear, "you're lucky to have been granted work here, don't you know?"
"Of course," I whisper back, nodding. Big mistake, it appears, since this only serves to deepen Miss Eldra's frown.
"Don't nod!" she snaps, "we aren't supposed to be conversing. Watch the doors, now, they'll be here any moment."
In silence, I oblige, turning to face the pair of magnificent double doors; dark, shining wood inlaid with the traditional Vinkun diamonds. I have never been in a place like this. Everything shines so! I keep wanting to blink, my eyes dazzled by the solemn, heavy grandeur of Kiamo Ko.
To my right, Miss Eldra stands with her mottled pink hands clasped in front of her and her face carefully impassive. Her curly red hair has been forced into a bun, and her brown dress strains over her ample bosom. Miss Eldra is my superior, an actual lady in waiting to the queen where I am only a common maid.
"Miss Fantine!" I hear her hiss in my ear, "your hair is all over the place! Make yourself presentable!"
Hurriedly, I force a few strands of straggling, wispy ashy-blonde hair behind my ears, resisting the urge to mutter Look at yourself, Miss Frizz, under my breath. Fortunately, I'm spared the torture of further sniping by the opening of the doors, which are attended by two young boys in sharp cobalt blue outfits (can't these people even open doors for themselves?)
Then, they enter.
All the breath rushes out of me in a soft, sighing gasp I cannot seem to keep inside myself. They are breathtaking. They are visions. Well, the queen and the prince, anyway. Not so much the king, who is rangy and balding and looks more like a disgruntled eagle than a royal.
The queen, though, is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her hair, which I had expected to be in some sort of elaborate up-do, is a soft, black raven-wing falling over one shoulder. Her eyes are large and luminous, the blue of an August midday sky, startling against the golden tan of her skin. But she looks tired, I can't help noticing, and ill at ease, shooting sidelong glances at her husband as she drags the heavy train of her gown across the floor.
My eyes pass over her and land on her son, the Crown Prince Fiyero. Decorum dictates that he must walk a few steps behind his parents, and he looks as though going this slowly is a great effort; as though he wants to rush off ahead and get this over and done with. His eyes are blue like his mother's, but they're not tired and wan, they're... restless. Alight with energy. Is he like me? Trapped – wanting adventure but unable to abandon his duties? He takes his place at High Table with his parents, slumping gracelessly into his seat so that his mother shoots him a death-glare to rival Miss Eldra's.
"Come along," Miss Eldra's voice slides sideways out of the corner of her mouth, inaudible to anyone but me, "it's time."
Quickly and quietly, accompanied by six other brown-clad servants, we ascend the steps to High Table and take our places behind each person seated there, ready to attend them.
I find myself standing behind the prince, feeling the jealous stares of the other lowly maids. Prince Fiyero does not turn around to look at me, but then, I suppose that is to be expected.
Dinner begins. The king attacks his food with vigour, barely restraining himself to eat at a respectable pace, while his wife picks daintily at her food, displaying the appetite of a flea. The prince hardly stops talking, pausing occasionally to eat the odd mouthful, but generally too caught up in what he's saying to bother with any of that. He talks of tournaments and parties and shows, trying to stir up some enthusiasm for these activities in his parents. Neither of them seem to be particularly dazzled; they spend the entire time exchanging dark looks and gazing gloomily ahead. Prince Fiyero is the only person at the entire table who is talking animatedly, even if his subject matter is shallow and frivolous. The king, I notice, empties glass after glass of rich red wine, motioning again and again for the serving maid behind him to refill his glass. So dinner at Kiamo Ko is rather a strained affair, I think to myself.
I expect the whole sorry thing to be over in an hour, but it seems that the royal family will take as long as they please at table, so we wait. The king becomes at first far more jocund, laughing along with his son and encouraging his wife to join them in their revelry. Then an argument breaks out between the two men, young and old, and the older, being rather drunk by this point, loses his temper perhaps more than a little, overturning his half-full goblet with a raucous cry of rage and stalking out of the grand hall.
"Oh, Fiyero," says the queen, "why do you always have to make him angry?"
"You make him angry," the prince mutters, his expression darkening for the first time. A rosy tint colours his mother's face, and I can't help wondering what it is that she has done to make her husband into such a knotted mess of fury. It is quite discomfiting, sitting in on this family spat, and I wish I could escape.
"Clear these things!" the queen instructs us briskly, without so much as a fleeting glance over her shoulder, "we have finished here!"
As quietly and unobtrusively as we can, we clear everything from the High Table. I keep my eyes down as Miss Eldra has instructed me, and by the time we have finished our work, the queen and her son have departed.
A/N: So... thoughts? Opinions? Should I continue? X's and O's to Lauryn; Fantine is for you!