Part One
*
Prince Corren of Conte was vexed!
His servant—Brenum—had suddenly decided to go get married of all things, and now Corren (better known as Corr to his friends) was left without a manservant!
Corr decided he was going to complain. Well, after classes ended, at least…
*
"What do you mean, there are no servants?"
Salma looked at the annoyed youth and shrugged:
"I told you, Highness. We need new recruits, and there isn't anyone to be found. Suddenly a lot of people want live-in servants."
"Please, Salma, I'll do anything! Just please give me a servant!"
Salma was hesitant, but she replied, "There is one person that is free…"
With this Corr dropped to his knees and tugged on the hem of her black skirt, desperate. He was too used to having servants to take care of him to think about what it would be like without one, and he didn't think he would like the notion of not having one anyway.
"Please, Salma!" Corr repeated. "I'll take him! What's his name, anyhow?"
"Joey. Can you wait until tomorrow?"
"Yes… I think so." Corr wasn't sure he could last that long, but as the saying went, Better late than never. He stood.
"You know, Highness, there's something you should know about Joey…"
But Corr was already out the door. He needed to do his homework still!
*
"Corr, you know, servants aren't everything," said Thomas of Greenroot, Corr's best friend. Corr glared at him.
"I need a servant, okay? Need you harass me for it?"
"One word," Tom muttered. "One word, and he chews me out."
"Shut up, Tom."
"Look, fine, all right. You can moan about your new servant all you want, how he won't be fit, how he won't know what to do, all that stuff. But the fact remains that servants are humans, too!"
"I know!" snapped Corr. "What did you think they were, mules?"
"I knew they weren't, but that doesn't say the same for you! I saw the way you treated Brenum! You took him entirely for granted! 'Oh, Brenum, I need a towel,' or 'Oh, Brenum! My pillow needs to be fluffed!" Why do you think we're enduring Wyldon? Because we want to? Mithros guide me, no! Because we want to be knights, that's why! And what do knights do? They are tough! They don't ask for warmer water because they're cold!"
The lengthy comment earned Tom a piercing sapphire glare from Corr, who was not happy with being scorned.
Spoiled you,
has the king? thought Tom impetuously. I never thought Jonathan and
Thayet of all people would spoil their son. I suppose wonders never cease.
Tom was thoroughly tired of arguing, being a mild-tempered youth whose temper took great effort to raise. After just a few arguments, he was already exhausted of the process. Comebacks weren't difficult, just tiresome, and quarrels he felt were needless. Corr, on the other hand, had a hot temper and was easily angered. These facts made for a most interesting friendship…
"Look, Corr," Tom said wearily, rubbing his hazel eyes, "let's just call it quits. You know I don't like arguing."
"Too late, Tom," Corr replied icily. "You've made your statement." He spun and marched off to his room. Tom gathered that he wouldn't be seeing him at study group that night, from the looks of it.
What he needs
is someone who won't let him always get his way, Tom reflected, but that
doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon…
But Tom was wrong. The answer to his troubles was much closer than he thought.
Much closer.
*
Corr unlocked the door and let himself in, angered with Tom and still steaming. How could he say that to me? asked Corr. Deep down he knew he had said much worse to Tom at one point or another, but as we all know, to judge yourself is naught but the hardest task of all. So he blamed it on Tom. And when there was someone to blame, Corr got mad. (Though not quite as much as when there wasn't anyone to blame.) So, to summarize in three words, he was mad.
It didn't help matters when he saw there was a person standing in his room. A girl, to be precise. He couldn't see her face because she was standing with her back towards him, pouring something into a mug. He hadn't even known he had a mug in his room.
"Hello," he said rudely. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm your servant," the girl informed him, still not turning. "Would you like tea?"
"What?" Corr was startled.
"Would. You. Like. Tea?"
"I heard you the first time."
"Obviously not. You still haven't answered."
The girl turned and faced him, resting her back against the table.
"What are you talking about?" Corr asked.
"Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you?" the girl commented mildly. She stepped forward and held out her hand. "Joanna Lightsdale, at your—well, not really at your service, but since that's what we're supposed to say… anyhow. Joanna Lightsdale."
Corr stuttered out a reply: "I'm—I'm—"
"Prince Corren of Conte," finished Joanna. "I know."
"How do you—"
"You really are slow, aren't you?" She was almost admiring, amazed even, her voice laced with contempt, but at the same time, awe. It sounded as if she had never met someone with a slow wit… though Corr wasn't slow, just surprised and fooled into muteness.
Corr chose not to answer the question, and instead examined the girl.
She was pretty, quite so, even. Her light brown hair was streaked with blond, wound into a simple knot, and the curls that dangled around her heart-shaped face were decidedly golden. Blue-green eyes, the color of the sea with sun shining on it, contrasted with her lightly tanned skin and matched the turquoise gemstone hanging around her neck. Her slender figure was skinnier than was normal for a girl of her age, which was about sixteen—two years younger than he—but it was almost invisible under her long creamy shirt and long black skirt—the standard uniform of the servants.
"Hello? Prince?"
Corr looked up at her suddenly. "What?" His tone was as rude as it had been initially.
She squinted her eyes, as if in thought, before saying something: "I know! You're one of that kind of people, aren't you?" A flash of realization crossed her face.
Corr was about to ask what she meant when she swept a curtsy, wobbling slightly but not much.
"Your Royal Highness Prince," she said with a bow of her head.
"What?"
Corr was used to this treatment, but the spitfire he had met two moments ago hardly seemed the type to address him formally, much less curtsy.
Joanna stood.
"Look," she told him, exasperated. "I'm your servant. Here to serve. Hence the name, servant. My name is Joanna Lightsdale. Do you understand now?"
Corr was shocked. "They said—they said Joey was coming!"
Joanna rolled her eyes. "I am Joey. It's a nickname! I mean, Joanna isn't my favorite name, you know…"
"So you're a girl!"
"No, idiot, I'm a boy. I just look like a girl. Sure… oh! They didn't tell you?"
"Not really."
Joey burst out laughing, then quickly stifled her giggles with a hand. "Sorry, Highness," she said once she had composed herself. "But you have to admit… it is amusing."
"Why? All you have to do is walk out the door and neither of us will be troubled again." Corr was quickly regaining his senses, and the last thing he wanted was to have to deal with a pretty female servant.
Joey shook her head and perched herself on the table, a serious look replacing her earlier dry smile.
"It's not that easy," she told him. "I signed a contract, and besides, I'm on probation as a servant. They won't let me go for at least a month. You're kind of my… example, if you won't take that the wrong way. And besides, there aren't any more servants. From what Salma tells me, you want a servant very badly. Well, you won't get one if you get rid of me."
Corr furrowed his brow in thought. Joey made a good point…
"Fine," he said shortly. "You can stay."
"Thanks ever so, Highness." The bitter tone had returned. "I'm sure I'm flattered. Even though you'll toss me out as soon as I make the tiniest mistake."
"What?"
"I know your kind. I'm not blind. You think servants are mules." She spat out the word as if it was something vile.
"Have you been talking to Tom?"
"Who's Tom?"
"Never mind. Why do you think I think servants are mules?"
An eyebrow arched grandly. "I don't think, darling. I know."
"Then why do you think I know you think—I mean, why do you know I think you know—I mean—" Corr stumbled over the sentence.
Joey laughed and dismounted the table:
"Darling, don't argue with me. Even if you are royalty, your pureblooded behind couldn't make the better of me. I advise you to learn how to keep your tongue… and your wits… about you. That is, if you don't want to be sliced from head to toe."
"You don't know how to wield a sword! Do you?"
"I'm sure I could learn." Her smile held mischief. "And besides, daggers work just as well… and I'm an expert with those. So I would tread very carefully if I were you."
"I'm a knight in training!" Corr protested.
A devilish grin:
"And I'm ex-Rogue. We learn a lot of fighting, on the streets and all. So, like I said, tread carefully."
"But—but—I mean—"
"You certainly have a limited vocabulary."
Joey reached for the mug of steaming tea and dumped it into Corr's mouth, down his throat. He choked on it, and she gave him a few hefty lugs on his back.
"Thanks," he managed to say sourly, coughing. "Thanks so much."
Joey flashed him a smile. "Glad I could be of help. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take your laundry to the washers. Goodbye!"
She grabbed a burlap bag of dirty clothes and left, Corr staring after her.
"Oh, great," he muttered. "Just great."
*
Hm. That was okay. Do you like it? I promise I'll continue if you do. I worked hard on the plot (sort of), so I'll def continue. Erm… there will also be a sequel to the saga, if you want. And the things I have planned are very interesting…
Well! Review. Right down there in the box. Please? Thanks!!!!!!!
~FireLily the Not-So-Great, Completely Insane, and Incredibly Tired