"Careful!" Leith warned the young server. "That plate is for... her."
"You mean…Her?" the server asked in horror. He stared at the plate, and back at Leith again. The color drained from his face.
"You should have seen her last night, Michael," piped up a young redheaded kitchen girl, peeling potatoes in the far corner. "She was brutal."
"You'll be fine," Leith assured him, glaring at the servant girl. "Just, don't spill anything, please? Or drop those flasks. Or, speak."
The server swallowed hard. "Right."
"What is this?" Catherine sneered into the serving platter, "a god-awful jellied moose? Did you bring this as a joke?"
The Hall fell silent. This was, after all, a typical occurrence at dinner. Mary and Lola paused in their chatting, and watched in awkward silence as the Queen began her evening ritual of ripping another servant to shreds. Every night was a different waiter.
"It's just – just baked lamb, your- your Grace," the server squeaked.
Down the table, Bash looked on in amusement as the young man quivered near the Queen's plate. Drinking goblets rattled lightly against each other on a silver tray in his right hand. It was Bash's understanding that the kitchens were running low on hired help lately.
"Just baked lamb? It smells repulsive! Bring me something else."
The servant gulped and nodded. "Right away, your majesty."
Mary shared glances across the table with her other handmaiden. Kenna rolled her eyes, and turned back to her castle gossip with one of the English ladies. Greer looked past Mary at the kitchens longingly, her brown eyes widened in concern.
Mary reach out to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry," she whispered softly, "it's just one of Catherine's moods. She won't take it out on him."
"That was quite a scene," noted the King in a bored tone. The guests smiled at his cheek, and conversations resumed. Once again, the Hall was filled with the buzz of mindless chatter. Mary's eyes followed the server as he slumped back to the kitchens. Did every royal treat the servants this way?
"I think my Mother is right, this does smell off," Francis observed next to Mary. "Don't eat it, Mary."
She nodded respectfully at Francis, and watched him poke the food around his plate. "Your mother does have a keen sense of smell for anything toxic," she replied. Mary thought her sarcasm went unnoticed, but she caught Bash peeking at her boldly from down the table. In her surprise, she knocked a spoon out of her soup bowl, spilling some drops on her dress. She wrinkled her nose at Bash in annoyance but the bastard just winked at her, and turned his head back in Diane's direction.
Mary didn't know what to make of her friendship with Bash. He always let her take the lead in their interactions, but she always felt a flicker of something underneath the surface of his words.
The guests near his seat tittered. He must have made a joke. They were all female, Mary observed. One woman, Sebastian didn't seem to notice, had her eye on him and batted his shoulder playfully. Mary tasted the acid in her throat, and absently stabbed at her soup with a fork.
"Mary?"
"Yes?" She snapped her head back, and realized the girls were staring at her oddly. "What's wrong?"
"Greer asked you a question…" Lola said slowly from the seat next to her, gazing at Mary's bowl curiously. "Uh… Are you well?"
"I…Oh." She was mortified. There she went again, daydreaming about Bash and losing her grip on reality.
Get a hold of yourself! she thought desperately.
On her right, Francis was chatting amicably with his mother about dinner. The Queen was clearly still angry. "No one has cleared this rubbish from my plate. Where is that damn servant?"
"I can make that disappear," volunteered Bash. He sprang from his chair, and whisked away the plate from Catherine before she could even blink. Mary couldn't help but chuckle at the astonished look on the Queen's face. He was daring her to complain.
"Have you taught him any decency, Henry?" Catherine snapped at her husband. But the King just laughed and nodded appreciatively in Bash's direction. "My son has the element of surprise on his side; he is a jack of all trades. If we're ever under attack, he can convincingly play the role of servant, and they'd all be fooled. Too bad you don't have the audacity, Francis."
The prince bristled in his seat, but Henry paid no mind.
"They wouldn't be concerned with him," Catherine said icily. She speared an olive sharply with her fork.
"Neither should you," Henry replied smoothly. He gestured a server to fill his flask, and took a hearty swig.
"You almost lost your hand out there," Bash remarked to young Michael in the kitchens. "She frightens me, Sebastian," the server replied, still trembling. His voice was an octave above normal. "I don't know how I can go out there, and face her again."
"Buck up. You'll be fine," Bash said. He waited as Leith loaded a rather large tray very carefully with an array of dishes. "Can he carry that?" Bash inquired, an eyebrow raised. "I'm giving her options, so she doesn't send him back and forth another twelve times," the kitchen boy explained. But Michael wouldn't hear it. "Tomorrow, you'll go out there for once, Leith. And I'll help the cook."
"It's a rite of passage, to serve the Queen," Leith said solemnly, " He smirked at Bash, and Michael let out a whimper. "She'll roast me alive!" he moaned.
Bash slapped him lightly on the back. "Come, I'll walk you out. Try not to trip, or we'll have to serve you for dinner." He grinned impishly at Leith, who just laughed and shooed the two back into the dining Hall.
"Distract me, Bash. Talk to me about something, please. Anything other than my head sautéing in the kitchens."
"How about that fine young girl in the kitchens there? The one peeling potatoes. She's got her eye on you, I'd say."
"Were you just staring at Bash?" Lola asked discreetly, keeping her eyes on Francis. Kenna leaned her head in for the answer, an excited grin on her face. "Finally, something worthwhile to discuss!"
"I wasn't staring… I was just wondering who he was talking to, those ladies are new faces in court."
"And they have their eye on the King's son," remarked Kenna. She watched Mary, hoping to see a good reaction on her Queen's face. She was not disappointed.
"His bastard son," corrected Greer. "Why should it matter who he fancies?"
"He's still the son of a King," said Mary, her eye still on Bash's empty seat. The noble French guests were chatting amongst themselves, and making covert glances back toward the kitchens. Mary didn't like that at all.
"Who he associates with still has significance to his father," she continued. She wondered why Kenna was smiling.
"Well here he comes now," said Greer, as Lola and Mary turned their heads to see. "Don't everyone stare at once!"
But she couldn't help it. Sebastian walked a step behind the server, who balanced an enormous platter on his hand and shoulder. They were talking like old friends, and the server didn't look quite as panicked as before. Mary wondered why that was.
"Nothing wrong with red hair," Bash was saying. The server was shaking his head. "My mother says they have the devil in them."
"That could turn out well for you, in certain situations," Bash replied with a smile. They were just passing behind Lola and Mary, and Mary couldn't help but blush as Bash's eyes met hers in midst of his smile.
The server laughed, "don't start with.. – Oh!"
Michael lurched forward, having slipped on the floor, and the tray with its many plates went flying from his grasp. They landed with a sudden Crash! next to Lola and Mary's seats, and the girls burst from their chairs, as wine, vegetables, and chunks of salmon dripped from Mary's dress.
"Your Grace," Michael whispered in a choked terror. The room turned silent for the second time, the entire table staring at Mary in shock.
Her ladies rushed to her side, and Greer instantly began to wipe at her dress with a cloth. Kenna brushed off carrot slices wedged onto the spiked stones, while Lola helped to gather Michael's shattered plates.
Mary was livid. She loved this emerald dress, the fabric, the silk…it was imported from Italy, the beading took six ladies to sew… She wanted to yell and stomp her feet. She opened her mouth to do just so, when she caught the look on Michael's face.
He was horrified, his eyes were wide in absolute terror. It was the same look from when Catherine screeched at him earlier… Am I just like her? Mary glanced at Catherine, sitting haughtily on her throne, and who wasn't even paying attention to all the commotion, and then at Bash, who was watching her with gentle eyes.
Michael started to scrape at her dress with his hands. "I am so sorry," he choked out, his face white as a ghost. "She knows it was an accident," Bash told him, eyeing Mary, "people make mistakes."
"I'll fix your dress, Your Grace, have it taken out of my pay…" Her heart softened. He is a human being, same as me.
"No, no, please." She helped him stand up. "Michael, is it? Finish your duties here in the dining Hall. I'll see to it that your job and pay remain in tact."
"Th-thank you, Queen Mary," the lad replied, his voice returning to a normal pitch. Sebastian smiled at her widely in approval, and punched Michael lightly on the arm. "Well, that wasn't so bad!" The server limped back to the kitchens, the relief radiating from his face.
The guests had forgotten about her, and Mary pulled her chair to sit back down. But Bash stopped her, grabbing her hand lightly, and pulling her toward the exit. "What are you doing?" she asked him. "Dinner has barely started."
Bash picked a carrot out of her hair, and crunched it between his teeth. The French noblewoman were staring at them, and Mary felt her chest flutter somewhat. "Have your ladies help you change, Mary. You shouldn't have to sit in fish juices. Maybe take a bath as well. But do so quickly," he advised her. "I hear were having something spectacular for dessert."
Mary walked back to the Hall, freshened up, and looking divine in a blue lace, but most importantly, clean gown. Lola, Kenna, and Greer accompanied her. She made her way to her seat, but found it occupied.
"Sebastian," she said in surprise. "You're in my chair…"
He sprung from the seat, and quickly helped Mary into her chair, nodding at her other ladies as they sat. And then he pulled an empty chair to sit between Mary and Lola, smiling unabashedly at Greer and Kenna across from him. "I hope you don't mind, Mary?"
Kenna stifled a giggle, and Mary looked at Lola, who shrugged helplessly. "What about the French noblewomen, who you were entertaining?" she asked.
Bash sighed, leaning forward slightly to sniff at her hair. "You don't smell like fish anymore," he commented. "And my other seat…" He looked down the table, and frowned at the women in his prior spot. "I'd much rather sit here."
And then, as though he wasn't full of enough surprises tonight, Bash took out a plain square handkerchief from of his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it neatly over her lap. "There you are," he said. "No more spills out of you."