Oh my gosh, where did I go? Well, not that it matters much, but I have to apologize on my absence with this chapter, I made the mistake of trying to write another story while in the process of this one! I think I'll let that one go for a moment and finish this, though I don't feel confident in this story…but to be brutally honest I am never confident in my writing! Also, sorry, Logan (oh hey, he enters the story in this chapter, ugh spoiler alert!) maybe a little OOC, he's actually a total pain in the rump to write! Honestly, I enjoy writing Reaver more than I do him, well he's hard to write too! Ugh, never mind, sorry for the OOC though!
That day passed, similar to the next one and soon it had become a month all ready since the arrival of the new servant.
Annaliese had passed the two weeks of preparing in the kitchen, but only merely. The pace had been too swift for her comprehension; there were constant demands that were called from every branch of the kitchen. And each thing served was first inspected by Patricia, whose guard was never once set down.
Although her items had been declined mutable times, Annaliese was the only trainee who endured her wrath and criticism. There were other girls who couldn't tolerate Patricia's personality that they quit, a few continued on, but fell like flies later. Their delicate personalities and fragile emotions were an advantage to Annaliese for the time being, most girls fled from the job weeping, but for her, a life of harassment had shaped and blessed her with thick skin.
Strolling down the cobblestone streets she could sense it in the eyes of her passerby, they glared at her with the words of rat, beggar, useless filth entering their mind, some were even audacious enough to say it. That was only when she was young.
"It seems as if you are the last women here," the aged maid told her, a unyielding expression across her face, "so the job is yours, odd, considering your work was at wretched terms."
"Then it seems that you and the royals are going to have to deal with my wretched work," beamed Annaliese with a conceited smile emerging.
There was a glimpse of anger upon Patricia's aging face, as if she was actually miffed. But she quickly wiped it away with another one of her lethal grins. "No, I'm sure you will improve within time," she enlightened. "And it is not me who judges your toil; any flaw in it will be dealt with by the family member you are serving."
The next two weeks were used to reveal her skills of being a maid, there was dusting the statues set in the entrance, washing the floor tiles, polishing the tables and staircase railing and fortune for Annaliese's sake, she never had to enter any other chambers. It was a relief to know her ability of making a bed wasn't valid, most of the time there was creases in the sheets and she never tucked them under the mattress well enough. Yet although she kept her confidence and heed upon being promoted to the maids position, she found herself laboring in the kitchen one again.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Hatch, but your effect into your work lacked many things," Patricia told her the night after two weeks were concluded. "I think these floors have enough attention to them by other servants, your place is permanently in the cooking hall."
Annaliese was in fumes that night.
Being a maid had more facile tasks and a comfortable pace, making her tensions ease, but toiling in the kitchen was hell! Orders were screeched at her and Annaliese was undutiful that the kitchen staff, save Mildred, found her a burden. Mildred was perhaps the only reason her rage descended, she was such a kindled spirit and up lifting, though it made Annaliese wonder how anyone in a job condition like hers would be.
Annaliese grabbed the wooden handle of the brush, observing it from her view and then dipped it's bristles into the water. "Damn this pan!" she cussed, causing unwanted attention by the other kitchen workers.
They all gazed at her with unpleasant expressions across their face for a moment, yet after they found nothing more amusing they returned to their duties.
"Do you want me to wash and you dry?" asked Mildred as she watched from the far side of the sink, taking pity on her friend.
They caught eyes as Annaliese's gleamed with glee. A smile emerged from her face as she grasped onto her friend's shoulder and hauled her closer to the sink. "Oh bless your heart!" she cried out.
Mildred released a muffled chortle and lifted an enlarged cooking pan out from the water, instantly noticing a red substance clinging to it's bottom. She couldn't contain a heavy sigh, while she took the brush and scrubbed it across the stains, taking some of her built up fury and aggression onto the pan.
"When did we use sauce?" asked Annaliese as she viewed from sitting upon the counter.
"Last night they were serving pasta," Mildred replied.
"Oh."
"And someone left the sauce unattended…on the burner."
"Oh."
"That was exactly what the person who left it unattended said."
Mildred returned her focus upon cleaning the pan, her hands becoming crinkled and chapped from the pressure. She hauled away a piece of fallen hair from her chaotic bun, even she was expressing some anger and begun to grumble under her breath.
Annaliese slid down from the counter and neared her while asking, "Do you want me to try it again?"
"No," she muttered.
Annaliese begun to cower back to the wall, she knew it was a wise choice just to let Mildred continue to work at it.
A shy minute went past and her hiding next to the wall lingered on until one of the servant from upstairs appeared from the doorway.
He was a male, youthful face that was held by a medium sized body. His uniform was comparable to the usual ones that were provided, but with a darker color to it that matched with his noir colored hair.
Nobody in the kitchen, save Annaliese, took notice of him underneath the door frame. He made no effort on getting their attention, his eyes just skimmed through and as they looked farther into the room he caught her stare. He glanced at her for a moment before he traveled across the room, closer to her. "Excuse me, miss," his voice sounding shaken, "it seems that a server has taken ill, she is now resting."
Annaliese's eyebrows roused up, while muttering, "Um…okay?"
"I heard that you practiced serving a couple days ago," he gabbled while scratching the back of his head. "If you don't mind, could you be her replacement for the time being? You just need to take the tea up to King Logan."
She paused for a second, her mind going numb as she heard the name.
She had been confident that it was to be the princess or someone of less power and honor, evening her imagining serving the king was petrifying. It wasn't in her strength to aid him for mutable reasons, one being she hated him, it undutiful that she despised each member, but he was the reason for the noticeable flaws of Albion.
He was self – absorbed, arrogant and processed so much wealth and authority that Annaliese could only imagine what it transformed him into.
"Uh, miss?" asked the servant, making Annaliese return from thought.
Her mouth was merely opened while she whispered, "I'll do it."
She felt Mildred glaring at her now, but she never looked back, she was too far in the depth of thought and regret that she didn't have time to think of anyone else. She couldn't understand what urged her to say yes, what part of her mind thought it was wise and above all else, she wondered why she revealed no physical emotion of fear.
On both handles of the gleaming tray, that had a pattern of wimbled branches and leaves, were Annaliese's hands, clutching onto it so strength fully her knuckles were turning into a white color. The steam from the tea kettle coiled up, rising onto her face, yet her expression never changed. As other servants darted past her, her head remained focused upon an enlarged door with golden hinges and handles.
She couldn't provide the slightest knowledge of what lured behind those doors. Annaliese was fond of the furniture lay out, the walls cover, the flooring tiles covered by carpet, the elegancy of the crystal chandelier that hung above and the table that stretched across the room, but it who sat at that table she didn't know about.
Sketches and painting that were nailed to street posts lacked details and were fading, yet he always had a grave expression. Even in drawings of Logan there was never empathy or compassionate, just fury and bitterness it seemed. He was known well around the land for cruelty and harsh punishment, with the dreadful thought racing through her mind Annaliese only could wonder what he would do to someone like her.
Yet it was too late for her to release the grasp that held the tray, letting it haul to the ground and escape, her hand was all ready transformed into a fist while she balanced with great thrive on holding the tray.
Her fist only pattered on the door, but the sound of it echoed through the hallow walls.
No time was spared and the door was immediately opened by a high – ranked solider, one of Logan's appointed considering he wore the specialized purple uniform. His silver hat he wore protected anyone from seeing his true identity. Those were the soldiers that lingered around the king, where ever he was to be found his men were near.
This solider never spoke; his eyes caught onto the tray and stepped to his far side, opening the entrance to the dinning hall.
"Thank you," whispered Annaliese and strolled in, a quicker pace than usual. She never glanced to the far end of the room; she kept all attention on a diminutive sized table that was placed against the closest wall. She pretended as if the only human to be found in the room was herself.
Annaliese gradually placed the tea cup in a decent position on the tray, handling it with delicately as she viewed the exquisite pattern imprinted on it.
Ever her stubborn attitude that showed little care for items like it slipped.
As she reached for the kettle, she froze as a loud tone voice filled the room.
"You are not the regular maid," was all it said.
Her body never made any motion, even her breath was becoming hard to detect, until Annaliese finally spun around to view a man, sitting at the foot of his table as he viewed her. "Uh…uh…she was ill…" she stuttered as she felt her breath collapsing with fright. "She was ill, your majesty."
"Do you fear me?" asked Logan, ignoring her stammering speech.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I can only assume you do from the moment I observed you, your lips quiver when you speak your fast words, your hand is trembling so madly I can see it from here, you refuse to view me and avoid eye contact."
Annaliese's cheeks were forming red from shame and humiliation and a flare of warmth rushed through her as she strived for to maintain more than her rugged breath. She stopped staring at the king from where she stood in hopes it would wipe away the anxiety that was overtaking her and moved closer to the diminutive table, where the tray and scorching tea was still resting. "I apologize, my majesty," she mumbled.
There was a silence that flooded into the room before Logan's deep voice broke it. "But you never answered my question," was all he said. "Do you fear me?"
Yes.
She couldn't find herself with the courage to say it; only in her mind could he find the answer.
"No, your majesty, I'm just afraid I won't do my job right," replied Annaliese, while peering over her shoulder to observe him once again. This time she kept more of her heed on him, noticing more than she had.
Logan had all ways appeared bold in the drawings of himself, though it could have been because of the armor he wore in them, tricking the mind into thinking he was full of vigor, but when truly seen he looked average built. Even sitting he seemed to be tall, but slender no less. And his hair, Annaliese caught the vivid beam of it's darkness.
Darkness that matched with his cold, crusted soul.
"Have you not served before?" he asked.
"Temporary, sir, I was a maid in training for two weeks," she said in a tone that could be barely heard. "But I was assigned to the kitchen; they thought I was a better fit." Annaliese grasped onto the handle of the kettle, curving it only slightly for the steaming tea to pour.
As the scorching liquid came to the rim of the cup, she replaced the kettle to it's spot and walked at a gradual pace to Logan with the cup close to her chest. While she came near she couldn't resist stealing a glance, only to see he was doing the same.
She quickly set the cup down in front of him and rebounded by a few steps.
"What is your name?" he asked after a moment.
Annaliese glanced down at him and his dark eyes caught hers.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Your name, what is it?"
"If you don't mind me asking, your majesty, but why is it important? This is the only time you'll see me."
Logan took a light sip as he curved his head away from her. "Perhaps that is only what you believe."
She heisted a moment before she answer in a quiet tone, "It's Annaliese, your majesty."
"A very admirable name."
"Thank you, sir."
"And what is your last?"
"Hatch."
He set his cup down as if the name had stole all his attention, although he never said anything and went back to sipping away at his tea.
And the silence returned to the room.
Minutes went by slowly for Annaliese as she cowered closer to the clock, waiting for Logan to finish and allow her to return to the kitchen. Nine or ten minutes was the exact time before he was done, though for her it felt like an hour was dragging by.
"Thank you, Annaliese," finally Logan said and set the cup to the edge of the table.
"Are you done, your majesty?" she questioned in a surprised tone, surprised mostly by that he cared to remember her name.
"Yes," he replied.
Her lengthy arm reached out for it and her fingers coiled around, reassuring that it was firmly in her grip.
That was all before Annaliese felt words of poisons crawling up her spine with chills. It was not Logan voice, yet this one was similar, it had cold death in it. "What are you doing here!" it bellowed.
She squirmed with fear, making the cup slip from the table and collided with firm tiles. It was too delicate of an object to withstand the fall, making it shatter into tons of glass pieces, cluttered across the floor.
Annaliese's hands hauled against her dropped mouth while her hazel eyes glared to the doorway of the way to the front entrance. Underneath stood Patricia, whose eyes were full of fumes while she looked at the fallen cup and back to Annaliese.
She marched over to Annaliese, grabbed on her collar and hauled her closer. "You are suppose to be in the kitchen!" she roared and her eyes flashed towards the glass. "And that will be coming out of your pay! I should have you clean it up with bare hands so they can get cut up!"
Patricia appeared to be on the verge of hauling that clenched fist straight into Annaliese that was all it felt like until a voice interrupted her anger. "Let her go," it demanded and then all eyes in the room glanced towards Logan, who had sprung from his grand chair.
His brow was furrowing, but not to Annaliese, to Patricia.
Spotting the enraged frown she released Annaliese. "I apologize, your majesty," she said in a soothing tone as the fury upon her face erased. "My temper has taken me, but," her eyes shot a glare towards the women, "this girl is not a maid, nor a servant. She was placed strictly in the kitchen, seeing her out of her place I could not help but think she was being a disturbance to you. Or a thief considering she was in foul state when she arrived, who knows what she did before this job, I'm sure she has had run – ins with the guards before."
"She was not either, my servant is ill and Anna has taken her place," explained Logan, his casual voice filled sternness. "She did a fair job, much better than my other servant."
Annaliese had a perplexed expression emerging, not only because he had praised her, but he had called her Anna. It was a slam in her heart, no one had called her Anna since her mother had passed and Emmeline had left, she hadn't even mention the nickname.
"As for you," he continued to speak, now luring closer to Patricia, "I will inform my head servant about your ruthless actions here and miffing behavior towards her, for your pay will be cut."
"Ye…yes…yes, your majesty." Patricia, for once, looked as if she was to break down in front of him.
"Now leave my sight," he hissed.
She trembled away never peering over her shoulder or glancing back, how it was such a relief for Annaliese.
She couldn't endure that stare of hatred that was now worse than it had started.
"I'm sorry that I dropped the glass, your majesty," she finally muttered.
Logan spun around and looked back at her, taking several steps forward. "There is no need, I will have another servant pick it up," he said.
Annaliese forced a grin and started towards the tray, before asking, "Why did you call me Anna?" She peered over her shoulder at him.
"A man I encountered several years ago had a daughter who shared the same name as you," replied Logan. "He called her Anna."
And I will leave you there, sorry, sort of a bland ending although it does work into the story later on! I hope you guys may review, because I love review, though everyone does, but still I would like one! Or two! Or three! Thanks for all my followers, favorites, readers and reviewers :)
