The Servant Queen Chapter 2, a nanny fanfic

Chapter 1

"And here is the kitchen," the Head Maid gestured around them. "When tea is prepared for Her Majesty, it shall be left on a tray on the table just to the right of..."

Lady Chastity-Claire tried hard to pay attention to what she was being told. But in her mind, she felt like she was drowning. And this might have been a rock upon which she might cling and rest, but it was a far cry from the place she had once called home. A home that had been snatched from her in less than a fortnight, along with everything else she'd had in her life. She had been completely and utterly beaten, with no warning and with no way of getting any of it back.

Her father had sent her away, near enough as soon as they'd returned from the ball. He'd insisted that she'd be safer staying at their country residence, away from her sister and potential infection. She'd argued the entire way through this explanation, but her parents had remained firm. She'd had to go, and she'd had to go alone. Her parents had stayed to care for D.D., as much as they had been able to when it had been clear to all that she was on her deathbed.

It had crushed C.C. not to be there for her sister's final moments, or to be there to say even so much as a word of goodbye at the funeral. Her parents had kept her away even then, and C.C. had only rushed back when she'd found out that they'd fallen sick as well, having clearly been infected by their youngest daughter.

Even then, it had been too late to see her mother. B.B. Babcock had succumbed to the plague four days after her daughter. C.C. had only made it in time to bid a tearful goodbye to her father, from the doorway of his room.

That had been six days after her death.

It had only taken her cousin, Chandler, an extra day after that to arrive.

In the dense fog of her grief, and as she'd painfully picked up the shards of her broken heart, C.C. had – at first – welcomed the kindness he'd shown. He'd seemed to be patient. Understanding. She'd thought to thank him right away, of course, but the answer she'd received in return would continue to make her skin crawl for weeks after it was uttered...

"I am only behaving how any man should towards his future wife, my darling."

Her mind had become a panicked blur, then. The panic had pushed aside her grief in its haste and desperation to not be ignored. And as her protests had fallen on deaf ears when he'd leaned in for a kiss, she distinctly remembered her hand reaching up and slapping Chandler across the face. She'd regretted it only because she'd immediately received a slap in return. It still stung if she thought about it too hard in the present day.

It was the first time she'd ever been struck, or called a "destitute whore", or told to get out of anyone's house. His house. And off his property.

That had sent her mind spinning as it had slowly come to terms with what her father's death truly meant. It meant that the house she'd been born in, and had lived in her whole life, was no longer hers. It belonged to Chandler, by law, as the next living male relative. She hadn't been able to plead with him – to appeal to whatever good was in him – to reconsider. To let her stay, at least long enough that she might see her father's funeral and bid him a proper goodbye. But Chandler declared that he had no intention of waiting for any funeral. If she wasn't going to settle down and agree to be his wife, then he wanted her out.

With some persuasion, and after convincing him that it would save him time and money, C.C. managed to get him to give up her parents' bodies, too. A cart and horse were prepared for their transport, and all Chandler had said on the matter was "Good riddance". He hadn't cared what she would do with the bodies, considering she had no money and nowhere to bury them. He had only wanted them and her off his land...

He'd only just given her enough time to go upstairs to change into a dress she could travel in. Weeping, C.C. hadn't been able to take everything she'd wanted and had known she would miss, but she had made sure to grab her embroidery box and her mother's most beloved bracelet. The last thought she'd been able to stand in the world had been one of Chandler selling either, or gifting them to some stranger, when they belonged in the family.

She had supposed that both the box and the bracelet belonged to her, from that moment on.

She hadn't even been able to look back at the house – her house – as she'd stirred the horse into action. She'd feared her heart would shatter even further, even without the accidental possibility of looking down and seeing the hastily-wrapped bodies of her parents. Their coffins had been carelessly thrown together, gaps in the wood showing straight through to them. Their winding sheets had left hauntingly little to the imagination, too, so she'd kept her eyes on the road ahead as she'd left practically everything she'd ever known behind.

She'd gone to the one place – the one person – she'd had left. Her half-brother, Noel. Born a bastard from one of her father's...indiscretions with a maid...before he'd married her mother, Noel had been there her whole life. They'd grown up almost as full siblings, living in the same house until her brother had gotten married. He'd been just as adored by Stewart as she and D.D. had, even if his status made inheriting impossible. And even if B.B. hadn't particularly enjoyed living under the same roof as the reminder that her husband hadn't loved her first. C.C. had only come to realise this as she'd gotten older, though. She'd always adored her big brother, no matter what. Just like he'd loved her in return.

When she'd arrived at his doorstep (the jeweller's he had made his home and his business), he'd been outraged to hear what had happened with their cousin. His first impulse had almost been to march right back to the house and challenge Chandler in some way. A duel seemed less likely than an outright fight, too. But C.C. had begged him not to, she hadn't wanted any more trouble. She had, however, accepted her brother's offer of trying to find her a lawyer to fight her case. After all, she had been robbed, hadn't she? Not every possession in the house had belonged to Stewart – legally, some of it had to be C.C.'s, and it was being kept from her! Her dresses, jewellery, books, the antiques in her room… those were hers, regardless of who owned the family estate or held the family title. The law was clear about that.

Noel had made it his goal since then to see that his little sister was cared for. He'd taken her in, despite the fact that his house was full with his wife and their five children. He'd bought her new clothes, shoes and undergarments, as she had had to leave all of hers behind. He'd even helped her to beg the priest of a local parish, so that they might see her parents buried with dignity, if not honour. The man had been extremely hesitant, given that the bodies were those of plague victims, but a generous "donation" from Noel's pocket to his parish had seen him willing to carry out a simple funeral for them both.

C.C. had felt too much of a burden on Noel to stay, after that. She'd cost him so much in burying their father and her mother, and then again in food and clothes, space and privacy in his home. She'd insisted on finding work, to repay him and to provide for herself while they fought their case. Noel had been hesitant, worried about his sister going off on her own, and had tried to reassure her that things were just fine as they were. That she could stay and that she was anything but a burden to anyone.

But C.C. had been just as insistent in return. She couldn't stand the idea of simply sitting there when she could be helping her brother to pay for something that was her problem, not his. And she needed to get out, before she became even more of a drain on his family.

So, very reluctantly, Noel had used his contacts (garnered over well over a decade of hard work as one of England's top jewellers) to find her a job in the safest place he could think of: Whitehall Palace. The post wasn't exactly good (she was to be a simple maid to the Queen) but C.C. had assured her brother that, as long as she was earning some money, any kind of honest work was good work. Still, Noel, in his never-ceasing worry, had insisted that she could always return – and be wholeheartedly welcome – in his family home, if she ever found the work too much, or the people too brash, or anything else like that. But C.C. wasn't planning on taking him up on that offer.

She was on her own now, and she needed to sustain herself however she could. That was what adults did. So, even if the pay was practically nothing, having a job was better than nothing. She had tried to be positive – she didn't need to pay rent or even buy her own food while in active service to the royal family, which would allow her to save up everything she owned and then use it to help her brother pay for a lawyer. It gave her a little hope she didn't want to crush, even if that would've been easily done. After all, what kind of lawyer would they need, and how long could they hope to hold out in any case they tried to fight against the richest man in England?

The thought was certainly daunting, but C.C. was determined not to let it weigh her down. She couldn't afford to, as it was. She had to make the best of this opportunity and pray to God and the High Heavens that she was, eventually, given reprieve of her rotten luck. But, if worst came to worst, she would at least be able to provide for herself until she could quietly retire after countless years of service. She'd rather it didn't come to that, but C.C. wasn't naïve – life wasn't fair and more often than not it kicked you in the teeth, so one might as well toughen up and stick it out from the start.

As it was, for now she had a roof over her head, money in her pocket and food in her stomach, and that was all that really mattered. She had no reason to complain. Not much, anyway. She'd mourn her parents in private when no one was listening, and during the day she would rise to the occasion; she would be stalwart and push down her feelings of heartbrokenness and loss. Maybe, with enough practice, it would get easier in the future.

She really hoped so…

"Am I making myself perfectly clear, girl?" asked the head maid with a snap.

A snap that made C.C. jolt, bright-eyed and straight-backed once more. She hoped she hadn't looked too dull or slouched, when she was occupied by her thoughts!

"Y-Yes, Madam...!" the young woman replied quickly. "When...when shall I start?"

The head maid – whose name C.C. would eventually learn was Prudence – gave a satisfied nod. She liked it when the new girls were eager to work and fast learners. It saved a lot of time in training.

"Right after you've put on something more… adequate," said Prudence, gesturing at her fine dress – one of the many her brother had gotten her. "You are a lady no longer, girl, no matter what your title says. You are but a simple maid now and your clothing should reflect your new station in life. The faster you accept that, the easier this transition will be."

A tight, churning feeling gripped at C.C.'s heart and stomach, and she tried hard not to lose her neutral expression. She already knew she couldn't act the lady she'd always been before, but being told that directly to her face by someone else came across as a deep insult.

It was, unfortunately, one of those statements that simply reflected back the sad truth she didn't want to hear. She was losing everything – even the right to wear the few things she still had from her old life. And there wasn't a single thing she could do about it, apart from agree.

"Yes, madam."

"You'll find seven new dresses in your room," explained Prudence. "You'll also be given a set of aprons, which you must keep clean and starched at all times. You've told me you know how to sew and mend your own clothes, so I trust you won't have any trouble keeping your uniform in perfect conditions at all times."

C.C. shook her head a little, "No, madam, it will not be any trouble."

"Good. Now, follow me, I'll show you to your room," Prudence said and, without checking if C.C. was following her or not, she took off, out of the kitchens and into the hallway that led to the servants' quarters.

The door designated as hers was down the far end of the servant's quarters, but the few possessions she'd brought in the knapsack she currently called her luggage – her embroidery box, her mother's bracelet and a few books she'd been gifted by Noel – were hardly enough to weigh her down, so the journey was not tiresome in terms of physical activity. Despite this, walking down the corridor itself and looking around at the bare, stone walls weighed C.C. down. It was only made worse when she caught maids and hall boys down side corridors staring at her as she passed. She hadn't ever felt quite so much like an exhibition; it was as though her humiliation and ruin was on display for all to see.

The feeling didn't stop, either, until they arrived at her new room and Prudence opened the door, gesturing inside with a flourish of her hand. Though what there was to wave at so extravagantly, C.C. didn't know. The room could hardly be called a "room", let alone warrant any kind of special attention. It was smaller than her dress closet had been at...at home...and it was colder than the ice house, where they'd stored all their food. There must've been a draught coming from somewhere – probably the room's one, small window.

Well, at least there was a window. That was better than being stuck in the gloom. And...well, from where the dirty streak of light came through, it would probably land just right to wake her up in her...her straw bed. Which was currently unmade, the sheets rumpled and creased like they had been waiting for her to do it herself.

The only other light she'd have would come from a candle in its holder and the matches which lay by it, both on a nightstand to one side of the bed. At the end of her bed was a large chest, which she assumed was to hold her clothes.

She thought she could fold up on the floor, just like her dresses, simply by looking at the place. But she knew if she did that she'd never get back up again.

"Here is your room," the head maid announced, much to C.C.'s continuing misery. Then a stony edge came to Prudence's voice. "However, there is a ground rule which must be kept; you must not get any ideas about bringing a man back to–"

Perhaps forgetting herself in the heat of the moment, C.C. laughed out loud, waving a hand dismissively.

" I can assure you, madam, that there is no chance whatsoever of that happening!"

She hadn't been able to help herself; the notion was just ridiculous! Lady or pauper, she wasn't just about to hand herself off to the first man who sent a flirtatious grin or a few empty words her way. She'd always known that she'd never...do that...until she was married. There didn't seem much point in thinking of that scenario, though, it was so far out of reach at this point. She had real, actual problems to face in the here and now.

One of whom was currently scowling at her, clearly hating the introduction of jesting and frivolity.

"Do not even think to interrupt like that again, girl."

The sharp blade of her tone cut C.C. down a size or two, making her feel smaller with every word.

She ducked her eyes away from the piercing gaze, "My apologies, madam."

Prudence didn't acknowledge the beg-pardon. She simply continued, as though she had a rule book full of regulations and orders that she had to get through before the day was over.

"Men are forbidden from entering girls' rooms. You may not eat in your own room, either," the maid said. "You must keep your space clean, and be present in the kitchen to attend all mealtimes. These are at six in the morning, eleven in the morning, and ten o'clock at night. If you are not punctual, or show disregard for these rules, then you will be let go. Do I make myself clear?"

C.C. nodded, lightly and quickly, "Yes, madam."

Prudence seemed to take this answer and consider it, before moving deeper into inspecting C.C. as thoroughly as she could – scrutinising her character as well as the clothes that she wore. And, eventually, she gave one stiff nod and straightened her back.

"Good. You shall begin your duties immediately, by bringing tea to Her Majesty and to His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales," she said, pointing an imperious finger at the chest where C.C.'s clothes were to be placed. "And you shall dress appropriately, in order to make a good and professional impression upon them both."

The order was clearly meant for following right away, so as Prudence left, closing the door behind her, C.C. got to it. She couldn't afford to waste even a moment of time – if she hoped to keep her position, she needed to be good at what she did.

And that meant impressing Her Majesty the Queen. In any other scenario, she might've felt nervous, but as though she'd get through it. This...this scenario, if it could still be termed that, didn't leave her much hope. She'd never served anybody anything before, let alone tea to the Queen, and every image that flashed through her head suggested that she wasn't going to be very good at it.

It would just be her luck if the prince decided to take a liking to her, instead.

A rough, heavily sardonic chuckle made its way up her throat. Just mere weeks before, she'd been at a royal ball and had stood a chance of being declared the prince's future bride. Now here she was, getting ready to serve him tea and hoping with everything in her that the prince wouldn't decide that she'd make the next perfect notch on his bedpost...!

It was all completely ridiculous. Utter nonsense. And a distraction she couldn't afford from everything she still had to do; she needed to get ready and thoughts like this would only slow her down!

Slipping the knapsack off her shoulder, she walked over and sat herself down on what already had to be the most uncomfortable bed in existence, before opening it up to "unpack". It almost didn't count as unpacking, there was so little to do, but she knew the task had to be completed anyway. The bracelet needed hiding, and considering she didn't have much choice in the way of small spaces for storing items, her own embroidery box would have to suffice. Buried underneath the half-finished designs and the reels of thread, it at least stood a chance of being kept safe. That then went in the drawer of her nightstand, until she decided that she'd like to use it. No one had seen it – not even Prudence – so that would surely help...

She wanted to believe that was true.

She stored the books in the cupboard beneath, neatly stacking them with their titles facing outwards. It wasn't at all her father's study at home, but it was hers. If it was all she had in the place, she wasn't going to complain about it.

Especially not when she had things to do – tasks that would keep her in her new position.

Hooking the knapsack over the end of her bed, she hurried back to the clothing chest and knelt on the floor in front of it. She opened it up and hastily pulled out the first dress she found in there, running her thumbs over the fabric.

She soon went back for the next, least itchiest one she could reach, before pulling at the clothes she was wearing and starting to undress.

Any man knew that Prince Niles didn't usually grow bored at council meetings. He found the business of running a kingdom too important to do anything else. But for that moment in time, he couldn't get any orders or businesses of the day into his head. That was all filled with ideas of what he'd rather be doing.

Going hunting with his father, taking down a magnificent stag or a prized wild boar. Reading in his chambers, surrounded by good food brought freshly to him. At the nearest brothel, forgetting that a world outside even existed under some young lady's expert hands...

He was particularly fond of a young lass named Sarah – she worked at a relatively high end brothel about a mile or two from the palace (which was, naturally, convenient) and she certainly knew how to please both with her hands and mouth! He'd given her a hefty tip last time around, and since his father had recently given him his monthly allowance, he reckoned that a visit to Sarah was due. He also considered visiting one of his other regulars, a maid named Ruth. Her working at the palace and being the best fuck he'd ever had often drew him to her. Besides, he never had to pay her more than a few coins and she was always happy to go to him, rather than him going to her (again, incredibly convenient).

But that would come later, when the meeting was over and after he'd had tea with his mother. He'd promised her he would visit her after the meeting with the Council (without his father, obviously. After years of constant infidelity, his mother avoided being anywhere near Joseph unless she absolutely had to). Thankfully for him (and probably because his father had seen the boredom on his face), he lifted the session, and the Prince of Wales was allowed to go. But not before exchanging a few words with his father, of course.

"Are you going to see your mother for tea this afternoon?" asked the King, getting to his feet and stretching a little after being sat for well over two hours.

"Yes, Father, I should be heading up soon," replied the prince with a nod.

"Ah, that's wonderful! It will be better if she hears it from you," said the King, grinning. "Do tell her that I'll be visiting her tonight, so she should expect me in a few hours. Give her this, too – it'll probably help lift her mood when you break it to her…"

With a gesture of his hand, a box full of brand new jewels was brought forward by a servant and handed over to Niles; his mother's coat of arms had been carved on the centre of the box's lid. The prince had to fight an urge to shake his head – he knew his parents barely tolerated one another, and that them spending the night together was often a one-sided decision. His mother was never in a good mood after one of Joseph's nightly visits, and her mood certainly soured whenever she was told the King wanted to spend the night in her chambers. As such, it wasn't rare for Joseph to use Niles as a sort of homing pigeon for bad news. The King seemed to have the impression it softened the blow if it came from their son, which wasn't the case at all. Niles had told his father so plenty of times, but it was a fool's errand – Joseph refused to understand and Niles couldn't do anything else but obey…

Still, he never refrained from voicing his opinion.

"Father, gifts and me being the bearer of this news won't help her bad mood," cautioned the prince. "I've told you this before."

"Oh, I know – but it's better for her to hear it from you than from me when I go to her chambers, don't you think?" said the King.

A part of Niles wanted to disagree, but he said nothing. He knew nothing of marriage, and his inexperienced word would only lead to discourse. And once that happened, his father's anger always became unparalleled. Besides, meddling in his parents' marriage was something he'd always promised himself he wouldn't do. He had taken it upon himself to remain mostly neutral; a conduit for both sides. In return, he had a harmonious relationship with both his parents, neither side bothered him about his prowess with women (his father was actually rather proud of him for it) and he could do whatever he wanted during his free time.

He nodded at his father, sighing only minutely, "Fair enough. I'll let her know."

Joseph smiled and slapped him heartily on the upper arm. "That's a good boy! Now, off you go. I've still got to go over some legal documents Parliament sent me and you've got an afternoon tea to get to."

He certainly did, even if he knew the gift he'd have to present wouldn't go down quite as smoothly as tea would with his mother.

He let his father turn away first, watching as Joseph retreated from the cabinet into a private study area he kept purely for reading and signing the most important documents. It wasn't an area for his councilmen or ministers to go. It signified that any conversation taking place was over.

Niles took advantage of the signal to turn and head out, following the passages, hallways and corridors around until he came upon his mother's favourite salon for taking tea.

He knocked before a soft "Enter!" bid him entry.

"Good day, Mother," he greeted without looking up from the doorway he'd just walked through.

He was pleased that he looked up when he did – he might not have come face-to-face with his mother, but he did catch the eye of and share a smirk with the very Ruth he'd been thinking about earlier. She was busy helping to prepare their tea on a table on the other side of the room.

That was certainly his good luck! They did say "speak of the Devil and he shall appear"; it obviously worked for good shags, too. This was much easier for him than having to go all the way down to the brothel. If he was quick, he'd be able to catch up with Ruth after the tea, before she disappeared off doing other duties. She'd be able to serve him in some much nicer ways than this. Better ways than tea and conversation ever could – she knew what she was doing, and every man liked that in a woman.

But that was a thought for after; he had a tea to sit through with his mother first.

"Father sends his warmest regards," he continued. "He bid me to see to it that you received..."

His words came to an intrigued halt when, upon hearing a noise he assumed had come from his mother, he turned and found an utterly bewitching maid there instead, preparing the table itself for the tea service. If her hands weren't so busy with laying out plates, and had Ruth and his mother not been nearby, he might've considered starting his work already by asking her to consider handling other parts, in the not-too-distant future.

But alas, the timing was off.

He'd thought Sarah from the brothel a comely girl. This – new? – maid made her and every other slut and trollop in the place look plainer than bowls of flour! Even Ruth herself didn't have some of the obvious charms this girl possessed! Even though they weren't stood side by side, or in the same light, he could still tell that this one was...younger. Fresher. More beautiful, in every way that he could see (and, he suspected, in a few that he couldn't).

She was gorgeously statuesque, with a head full of golden blonde hair that ached to be caressed (perhaps tugged on, too, if she agreed), and lips that even just from looking at he could tell would perform miracles. Her hands were slender but strong, and her legs just the same. And her body curved in a way which made him want to reach out and touch––

"Ah, Niles, my boy!" his mother snapped him out of it by coming from a room off to one side. "Eet'z good to 'ave you 'ere!"

Niles merely hummed his reply as Queen Marie crossed the room to take him into a brief hug. His eyes were glued to the young maid as she shuffled back to the ornate coffee table upon which plates awaited, along with trays full of scones and pastries. The plates were clearly meant to be filled – his mother had a bit of a sweet tooth.

"Tea, Your Royal Highness?" came a sudden voice, a few feet away.

Ruth. Niles hadn't noticed her coming any closer – not that that was of any concern. She was only offering tea, after all.

He waved one free hand towards the table.

"Set it down. I'll get to it in a minute."

He moved aside to let Ruth set the tea down, still unable to take his eyes off the captivating stranger.

She had to have been new. He would've remembered seeing this one before. Judging by the freshness of her features and her lean body, she had to be between sixteen and seventeen years old – a definite new acquisition. She, unlike her more experienced counterpart, worked in silence, bright blue eyes and nimble hands focused only on her task. She was extremely pleasing to the eye, and Niles couldn't help but wonder just what it would feel like to stroke her soft skin with his fingertips…

"And what eez zhis?" said his mother, smiling down at her gift and unintentionally snapping Niles out of his thoughts.

"Oh… this…it's a gift from His Majesty," he informed her. "He will be visiting your chambers tonight."

Marie's expression immediately soured, and she didn't care to hide it. Why should she hide it, when it perfectly reflected her sudden mood? How typical of her utter bastard of a husband to think that he could precede any vile act of his with a petty novelty, and that she'd then welcome him with warm, welcome arms?

If she had been asked, Marie would have been happy to throw in a few more choice words alongside "pathetic". He had been nothing but cruel to her throughout their marriage, taking mistresses whenever he felt like it and hurting and humiliating her on a constant basis.

It hadn't been like that during the first few years of their marriage, back when they'd had their first daughter. Little Princess Josephine had brought a light to their life that had seemed to bring out the best in her husband. He'd been kind in ways Marie had never been expecting – especially considering he'd been so vocal about wanting a male heir. Naturally, he had been disappointed when their girl had first been born, but that had quickly vanished like morning fog on the river. Josephine had shared his name and his birthday, which hadn't exactly done any harm in the matter, but as the days had passed and she'd grown, her hair had revealed a bright shade of red as well; the same colour as Joseph's. He'd been delighted to have a child that was so like him from the very beginning, even if she hadn't been the boy he'd been hoping for. And he might have still wanted and had been making plans for an heir, but he had taken every other opportunity around that to spoil and dote on their princess. She'd wanted for nothing in all that time, and Joseph had spent a great deal of his waking moments with her. He'd already made plans with the finest tutors in the country to give her the most wonderful education, and the master of the stables had already had orders to breed a foal from the proudest and prettiest sire and dam in his keeping, so that Josephine might learn to ride and have her own horse by which to do it.

Marie had been so surprised that he'd been so taken. But Joseph had been there, in every way and every sense of the word, and for a while they'd seemed to be happy. They had been happy. The notion of it was strange now, considering everything that had come after.

It had all changed again in the blink of an eye when their second daughter, Elizabeth (born a little over a year after her older sister), died of the pox when she'd been but a few months old. He hadn't been the same towards Marie since. Elizabeth hadn't been his golden child – not like Josephine – but the loss had still hurt deeply. Like a grave wound left to fester, and not heal over. That was when he'd started to ignore Marie – it was like he'd needed permission, and the death of their daughter was as good as. It was there one minute and gone the next; he'd simply lost all interest in her after that. In making her happy, or in...anything to do with her that didn't involve him getting what he wanted. That was, if he wasn't getting it from other women in the first place, and that usually meant getting it whenever and wherever he could, including just after Josephine's third birthday, a few months after Elizabeth had left them. Marie had still been grieving…

The two things combined had broken the Queen's heart, but the worst had come a few years later, when Josephine had been taken ill and then had slowly, painfully, and right before her parents' eyes, been claimed by the ravages of consumption. They'd seen the disease coming, and coming on stronger by the day – Joseph had ordered doctors from across the country to attend their girl's bedside. When that hadn't worked he'd ordered them to hurry from mainland Europe as well, promising them riches, titles, anything they wanted or desired, they would have it, as long as they saved her, he'd said. He himself never left his little princess, holding her hand as she lay in her bed and waiting and praying and demanding every treatment and every cure available from every medical man who came through the door. In his mind back then, one of them had to have the answer. One of them had to be able to save her, didn't they?

That question and more had floated about and had only gotten louder until it had all simply turned into Joseph screaming – rage and sorrowful screaming, that had echoed down the halls of the palace – right in the faces of the terrified men whose only crimes were that they couldn't do anything. They'd said so, with their apologies and condolences. There was nothing more to be done but to let her go.

Their girl had been taken from them at the tender age of three.

Marie hadn't been alone in her grief this time, of course. The loss of his favourite child had affected the King more than he would ever dare to admit, even after the outbursts he'd had in the days leading up to Josephine's passing. He had withdrawn from everybody at that time, not just Marie.

Not even the fact of her being pregnant again had brought them closer, or had kept her in his affections – he'd wanted nothing to do with her in the months between Josephine leaving them and Niles' arrival.

She thought that perhaps the only time she'd seen him in all of that time had been during the grand state funeral he'd ordered be prepared for Josephine – a sombre affair, in every sense of the word. Black flags and drapes and tapestries had hung from every wall and window in London, the streets had been lined with mourners, and the procession to the cathedral, where their daughter would be buried, had been completely silent but for Marie's own weeping. Joseph, cold and clad in the same mourning clothes that he'd apparently worn for days before the funeral (and that he would continue to wear for nearly a year), had done nothing for her even then. Immediately after, he'd shut himself away in his office and no one had had word of his coming out again for a long time.

He had only come to see Marie – had only purposefully sought her out – after learning that she'd given birth to Niles, their precious boy, whom the King had taken a single glance at and then walked away from, with a mutter on his lips about "the size of the thing". It had shattered Marie all over again that she'd finally given him what he'd asked for from the start, and even that hadn't happened as he'd wanted. She'd provided a boy, who had been so small his own father had imagined he'd die soon after his birth, so there was no point in becoming attached. But Niles had lived, and had grown into being Joseph's treasured boy (one of many, but the only he acknowledged), and the heir to the throne.

Naturally, he'd wanted more sons after that, too – he'd had his heir and he'd wanted more. So, he'd come to her chambers almost daily, trying to secure another child from her. They didn't stop until it seemed as though she'd succeeded, either. Those next ten years had been little more than a living nightmare; she'd been pregnant almost constantly in Joseph's attempts but nearly every single one had ended in complete and utter failure. She could still hear the words of the doctors in her head, sharing condolences for yet another stillbirth, and feel the sharp, terrifyingly familiar pains that told her her body was losing yet another life after she'd tried everything to make it different this time. Just like she would've done the time before, and the time before that.

It had exhausted her. Dragged at her body and her mind. Held her down in heavy chains she still knew she was wearing, even if she'd learned to carry some of them over the years. Marie remembered the nights she'd spent weeping, wishing, praying, hoping to God that she just wouldn't wake up in the morning. Anything, other than facing the prospect of yet another heartbreak. Yet another child that she'd have to bury before she could even name them.

Joseph had been unmoved by it all, of course. He'd refused to give her a chance to rest, or to grieve – he'd told her time and again that there was no point in that. Crying over dead babies didn't make living heirs, and living heirs were what mattered. He'd often proclaimed aloud how unfortunate he'd found it that he had to be stuck with her while she had this "difficulty", considering he could've made half the court pregnant in the same time without any fuss whatsoever.

His poisonous words had meant that she hadn't even been able to fully enjoy the few sparks of hope that had come from that hard, hellish decade of her life; the two children she'd managed to carry and give birth to in that time. The first – James, their second prince (born on January 1st 1647, only a few short months after Niles' second birthday) – had been strong from the start, and even if her nerves had been frayed with worry by the deaths of so many of his siblings, she'd made the mistake of allowing herself to feel happy that he'd made it there, to her. Joseph, meanwhile, had been overjoyed by the boy's arrival. Not because it had seemed an end to his wife's fears and sorrow, but because he'd finally had another heir. He'd called for a public holiday in celebration, and had thrown parties and banquets for lords and ladies and nobles of all ranks for many days after the prince had arrived. He'd relished in the idea of having "another man to make in the image of himself", as hideous as that notion was.

It was almost as hideous as the way he'd looked at the second child Marie had given birth to in that time – a daughter, by the name of Marie Josephine. She might've been named for the sibling they'd so tragically lost, but Joseph had barely regarded their second princess at all. Unlike her brother, Marie Josephine had been born sickly, and had been unwell and watched over with fret and worry her entire life. Not by her own father, though. If he'd had to acknowledge her at all, it was with disgust – the way someone might talk about a stain that just couldn't be cleaned out of a rug or some otherwise fine upholstery. When the inevitable had come and Marie Josephine had left them after having spent only eight short months upon this earth, he hadn't grieved. He hadn't even tried to ask the doctors if she could've been saved. Instead, he'd treated her passing with the cold nonchalance of one who'd just watched a baby rabbit be taken by a fox in the wild – with a shrug, and a mutter of the words "it happens".

The next year couldn't have been more different. Or difficult. James had been taken by the pox, and the doctors had been just as helpless to stop it from happening as they had been with every other child they'd lost. And Joseph had been completely destroyed by it – losing the second heir he'd felt he'd at last secured. After his grieving period (which he had allowed himself to have, granting himself privilege over every loss she'd suffered) he'd returned to visiting her chambers, to repeat the cycle of making her pregnant and seeing how many babies she could bear from their attempts.

A few pregnancies had occurred, but there had been no more children. Not even six years ago, which had been the last attempt they'd made. Or Joseph had made, at any rate, and she had been forced to bear. The wound was still fresh to this day, open and bleeding and sore, and she couldn't imagine it healing. It wouldn't even close over for a long time to come.

None of the wounds ever healed properly, which was something Marie had long since learned that she would simply live with. For some reason, she simply wasn't able to give Joseph living sons – or even daughters, which she herself would've once cried out to have, but had since lost hope of a child of any sex being brought into her life and the world. The king refused to entertain so much as a single thought that suggested he might have anything to do with it, and soon enough he'd lost interest. Or perhaps hope, as well, though he would never have admitted to having that in the first place.

In either case, he'd returned to his street whores and brothels with growing frequency, visiting her far less. They spent no time together otherwise, and when they had to appear together in public, they didn't speak. They barely even looked at each other. It burned in her blood that she wasn't allowed to refuse him, whenever he did this – whenever he deigned her worthy of a visit. He came to her most often when he didn't feel like going out of his way to look for women, and all she could do was let him get on with it.

He'd truly brought her nothing but pain and embarrassment over their lengthy marriage. He hadn't once cared about how she'd felt when she'd been made to carry and bear child after child, living and dead, and more often dead than not, and yet he still expected her to cater to his whims without so much as a complaint? To let him take his pleasures with a smile and a welcome set of open legs?

Even when it was simply the two of them, he'd insulted and humiliated her, but after all that he'd put her through, the thought of the answer being yes just made it worse. And what did he think would soften the blow? A flimsy piece of jewellery that they both knew was really just a higher end form of payment? Practically the same as what he used to crawl into endless sluts' beds, before slithering back out again when he was done?

How stupidly shallow did he think she was? He could gift her a thousand new pieces of jewellery, and have all the odd fancies about her that he wanted, but nothing he could ever give (because she knew he'd never say) would ever make letting him have his way with her any easier or more pleasant.

But she did have her pride.

"Oh," very close to scowling, she used the fingers of one hand to push the chest back towards Niles, touching it like handling it any more than that would stain. "Tell your fazher zhat I do not want 'is gifts. I do not want anyzhing from 'im."

She couldn't refuse her husband what he wanted, but she could make it known that it wasn't what she wanted.

Niles raised an eyebrow, but turned to one side and gave the box to Ruth.

"Put this on the side. I'll pick it up on my way out."

He made sure the maid took the box, then addressed his mother again.

"As you wish, Mother. I am but a messenger. But maybe we should get started on our tea?" replied the prince, offering his arm to Marie and gesturing at their waiting refreshments.

Marie had to make an effort not to roll her eyes at her son. She knew he wanted to move on from the thorny topic of the state of hers and Joseph's marriage, and to an extent she couldn't blame him. Still, it would be nice if from time to time he showed her some empathy – sided with her, if she was being honest.

Small chance of that ever happening, though. The boy might've been her own, but he was also – regrettably – his father's. And she knew which of the two sides would win out in the end, whether or not she pressed for fair treatment. Whatever kind of fairness or justice her son actually believed in (Lord only knew that she didn't know), it didn't involve her getting an equal say in her own marriage.

She tried not to sigh out loud and probably failed, taking his proffered arm as they started to walk the few steps it took to get to the table.

"Per'aps. At least I can be cheered by a nice cup of tea wizh you, my boy…"

Niles' smile stretched from ear to ear, but it wasn't aimed at her. He was looking ahead – towards the table, in theory, but the poise and self-assurance of it also made him look like he was addressing some sort of invisible assembly.

"I make every occasion a delight, don't I?" he remarked aloud. "There would never be any fun around here if not for my quick intervention…"

Marie didn't know what he could mean by that and, quite frankly, she was wary of the answer she might receive if she asked. So, she decided to change the subject as he led her to her seat and their tea truly began. Normally she would've waited until he'd seated himself before she started working her way through the list of topics she'd compiled for them to talk about, but she'd wanted to move on as soon as possible. So, she'd gotten started on the subject of that day's Council meeting before Niles had even helped her to her seat.

That had taken the prince's mind at least some of the way back to where it was supposed to be, rather than leaving it wherever he'd let it wander to only moments before. The subject of the Council and all its dealings were of great interest to Marie, even if they weren't so much of an interest to her son (at least, that was the impression she got from the way he spoke about it). He didn't seem enthused by the talk until they got onto recreation and leisure activities – the hunts that were to take place soon, where they would go, and what they would be catching (or attempting to catch). Even the weather seemed a better topic than the Council, if only because of its ties to any hunt that might happen within the next week or two.

But as much as Niles kept a hand in the conversation (especially the hunts), he couldn't say he was paying full attention to his mother's thoughts on their discussions. He was slightly busy, boasting as loudly as he could to catch the new maid's attention. By now, she'd know he was interested – they always did. They'd be shy at first, and play at being coy to make sure he wanted it badly enough. But then he'd show them, and he'd leave more than satisfied. All he needed to do was prove to her how strong and virile he was. It had maids falling at his feet in no time.

"The kingdom will need a ruler with a firm hand, and I certainly know how to work mine."

"I am thinking now that the fair weather has returned, I might pursue archery again. My arrows are long, straight, and well suited for a quiver."

But, despite his boasting, the maid never looked his way. Ruth came over several times, asking if he needed anything, or if there was something she could do, but there wasn't. There wasn't anything anyone could do, unless they could somehow make this new maid react to what he was saying!

She remained stood at a respectful distance, eyes firmly cast to the floor and hands neatly folded in front of her, unless she was needed. She was surely keeping up the pretence that she didn't care to make him more interested. Typical of women! Why would she ignore him otherwise?

There was nothing else to it. He was going to have to address her directly – sidestepping Ruth entirely, lest the other maid tried to jump in and perform the service for him. Now, there were a lot of things she could do for him, but this wasn't a task he wanted them to share. This was all on the new filly in the stable.

"Young miss. New, fair maid," he called out until she looked up. He gestured towards her with his cup. "My cup appears to be empty. Kindly bring me more tea at once."

He couldn't help being a little bit pleased that his direct address had caught her off-guard. He liked seeing their faces flush when he gave them any kind of attention at all.

She shuffled a little bit on the spot as she answered, "The pot is empty, Your Royal Highness. I'll go fetch some more."

With that and a curtsy to her employers, she turned, grabbed the pot, and quickly left the room. But the dulcet tones that she'd spoken lingered in Niles' mind. He didn't think he'd get them out – her voice was too sultry and pleasant for that, and he could only imagine how it would sound when she called his name in the throes of passion. He wanted her to scream and beg for more, and he was certain it would become a reality sooner rather than later.

He had the charm, and the looks. He just needed the opportunity to make it happen, and he watched the new maid go with interest and a thought in his head about how lovely her behind looked from that angle, not caring to hide just how taken he was with her.

The grin was suddenly wiped off his face when something fast and firm hit the back of his head with what others might've deemed a satisfying thud.

"Ow!" he cried out, only just staying in his seat as he spun to see what had collided with him.

He found his mother, withdrawing her hand and folding her arms.

"Zhis eez 'er first day," she chastised with a hiss. "Could you show so much as an ounce of decorum?! Could you try to at least act een a dignified manner?!"

"What did I do?!" he demanded to know, nursing the sore spot that was left behind from his mother hitting him.

"You know exactly what you did, you stupid boy," replied Marie angrily. "Zhe girl eez a noblewoman, not some common maiden – she'z Lady Chastity-Claire Babcock, daughter of zhe late Duke of Bedford. She was left destitute after 'er fazher's deazh! She was forced from 'er own 'ouse and left penniless after 'aving lost 'er entire family! Zhe last thing she needs eez you ogling 'er when she 'as already been zhrough so much!"

Niles raised an eyebrow. So, she wasn't just some ordinary serving girl –she'd been born into a noble family! The family of a duke, which made her a lady.

A lady who'd lost everyone, and everything...

Thinking of that did make the prince feel...somewhat smaller. Uncomfortable, perhaps? Not deserving of a smack upside the head, but definitely less pleased with himself than he had been. He'd imagined her some common cut that just so happened to look like prime venison. Now that he knew she was a lady, and had had suffered quite some hurt in her time, he didn't think he'd had the right approach. The girl needed time. Time to mourn, and to adjust. She was probably not yet comfortable in her new position, or her new surroundings. Her heart had to be hurting immensely, too.

He'd soon take her mind off that, of course, but he had to take it more slowly than he ordinarily would. An act of sympathy would most likely go a long way – women liked soft and caring. It drew them right in, like flies to honey. And then, much like the unfortunate insects in their delicious trap, they were stuck until he was done with them.

That was the way it always went. And would go again, once she was ready. He'd provide her with the space and sympathetic shoulder she needed, then he would get the chance to have the moment (or several) that he wanted. He was the Prince of Wales, he was rugged in his looks, and he was charming when he spoke (who cared if the words were empty?). Those three things had practically made him an expert.

But, to currently stay his mother's hand, he leaned back in his seat and grabbed the last sandwich from the plate. Not wanting it to remain there and empty, he waved his hand towards Ruth so she'd take the hint to pick it up. She did, quickly and with an air of someone who'd just insulted personally and had then been told to muck out pigs, not calmly told to refill sandwiches on a tray.

He didn't watch her stomp off. He had more important things to talk about with his mother.

"Alright. Fine! You could've just said that – I understand now," he grumbled, looking away as he prepared to take a bite. "Not that it should really matter that much to you…"

Those words were like taking a tinderbox to the woodpile of Marie's patience.

"I beg your pardon?"

Quickly realising his (admittedly, poorly thought-out) misstep, Niles swallowed a bite and turned his attention fully back to his mother. He could've put it better, but he knew exactly what to do to fix the problem when his mother sounded like that.

He was very close to making this all an ordinary visit again.

"I just meant that what I said…it wasn't that bad, really. You've heard me say far worse, so it shouldn't matter so much to you," he explained, waving the sandwich around as he gestured. "And anyway, she's…well, a title may be involved, but…"

He'd wanted to say there wasn't exactly a family left to offend, but reconsidered it at the last moment. If he'd added that in, he might've just found that the woodpile had been smeared with oil the whole time.

"She is not here in her capacity as a lady, and never will be," he finished instead.

Marie's head cocked a little to one side, her eyebrow raising in the traditional expression of one whose self-restraint was wearing dangerously thin. In her mind, she knew she was holding back – she could've smacked him out of the room by now!

"What does zhat matter?" she asked sharply, her anger like a whetstone for the words. "Whezher you wish to acknowledge eet or not, she eez a 'ighborn lady. And she eez going zhrough a very difficult time, losing 'er family and 'er 'ome all at once! You should not talk to 'er as…as zhough she were made of dirt! For God's sake, she might've been your wife before now!"

Coughing out the next bite that he'd nearly inhaled from the sandwich while listening, Niles sat bolt upright again. What?! Married?! To that lovely, fresh creature that had left the room just now? When was that supposed to have happened? Why hadn't it, for that matter?! If he'd had that waiting for him every night in his chambers, he might've not needed the brothels quite so often!

Swallowing what he could and wiping the rest off his chin with a napkin before he looked like a complete imbecile, he leaned forward in eager anticipation.

"Wife? Real-really?" he asked, now more intrigued than he'd been about a woman in a long time but still trying to swallow one last bit of errant bread. "When was that a subject for conversation…?!"

He was sure he would've remembered a seductress such as that being put on the metaphorical table! He especially would've remembered it later, when he'd had her on an actual table…

Marie looked disgusted.

"Do not look quite so excited. I 'ave seen 'unting dogs with the smell of blood about zhem zhat 'ave 'ad more self-control!"

Whatever expression Niles had been wearing, he let it drop with an apology. It was easier to do that than argue about whatever she'd clearly thought of his eagerness.

"Eet was quite a few years ago now, back when she was first born," said his mother. "Your fazher zhought eet wise for us to pay zhe Babcocks a visit een honour of zhe couple welcoming zheir first child togezher. 'is Grace was zhe richest man een England at zhe time, you see. More money, per'aps, even zhan zhe Crown! Zhe idea of you two marrying and uniting zhe families…eet would 'ave been a beneficial arrangement."

That made her sigh to herself – remembering a lot of that particular day did. She could still see Niles' bright little face as he declared how much he liked the new addition and wanted to be her friend, her showing him how to hold a baby properly, all while Lord and Lady Babcock watched with proud smiles on their faces, already head over heels for their five-day-old daughter...

It was nearly all too much, thinking about what had happened and what she had gotten – what they had all gotten – instead.

"Zhe talks went on for some time. Until Lady Babcock was…about four or so years old," she continued. "But zhey were left on hold, after a time. She was so much younger zhan you, you see, and you would eventually go to military training. It got left and your fazher never returned to zhem."

Niles considered this quietly over the last bite of his sandwich, "I see…"

He couldn't help feeling a bit like he'd been cheated out of a prize he'd get to make use of every night. And England had been deprived of legitimate heirs that would've otherwise been bound to turn heads all over Europe. It would've been a very pleasing future, in his mind.

But no matter. He'd find some other beauty who could still make use of her title to take on that role. And this golden specimen he currently had on his hands (or near enough to them that he wished they were on her) would make a fine plaything to have some fun with during the day. He doubted he'd get bored of this one any time soon.

Indeed, he'd be breaking her in with the rest of them before too long. But "before too long" still meant several weeks, at least. He would give her a bit more time to mourn – that ought to placate his mother, and it would only aid in gaining the maid's trust. The rest would be easy. After all, he was the Prince of Wales, was he not?

It was just fortunate that, for now, he had other options. The first among them having smirked at him when he came in. After all, if he couldn't have the most beautiful woman in the room (which would usually seem an impossibility), then the second most beautiful would do just nicely. And Ruth knew how to "do" more than nicely.

Lady Babcock might've been off the table for the time being, but there couldn't be any qualms about him catching up to Ruth. His mother wouldn't be able to stop him doing that. She never could, even if she did protest when she found out. Not that he ever paid attention to what she thought, in that regard. All he had to do was get through the tea and then he'd be free to do as he pleased.

"Well, that will never happen; she is a maid now, after all," he said, quickly moving the conversation on. "How is your tea?"

It wasn't what he really wanted to be thinking about, but he couldn't very well sit there and imagine what he could be doing right then, could he? It would only make him...agitated. And if he didn't want to listen to his mother waxing poetic on "treating women with respect" and "showing decorum", he couldn't give any indication that his mind was somewhere else.

All he needed was for something to happen which called his mother away. Or for their tea to end as soon as possible, so that he could pursue his own interests without interference. And then he could head over and it would be a simple matter of telling Ruth what he wanted.

She was very open to ideas. That's what made her a better fuck than the others, time and time again.

She had to return from the kitchens eventually, too.

It was like waiting for a meal to serve itself up on his plate.

There was something soothing about the faint bubbling noise made by the water as she heated it up on the stove. It reminded her of quiet afternoons spent at home, cooped up in her father's study with a good book and a nice cup of tea. She remembered that her mother would sometimes drop by, mostly to complain about one thing or the other. C.C. had eventually realised her complaints were but an excuse to visit them in the study. She remembered her dearest father would take her mother in his arms and…

God, thinking about it hurt her so…!

She missed them. She missed her old life. She missed her home, even if she knew missing something that couldn't be recovered was futile and probably a little childish…

Sighing, C.C. moved to fetch the kettle from the stove and put it back on the silver tray, ready to be taken back to Her Majesty and her son. She'd heard plenty of stories about Prince Niles' good looks, and although they certainly were as true as they could be – he was rugged in his looks and had the most wonderful set of bright-blue eyes she'd ever seen – none had mentioned his irritating penchant for boasting about his feats and achievements!

She'd spent the better part of an hour just hearing his adorned soliloquy, trying not to laugh or scoff out loud at certain comments he'd made, and hoping they'd dismiss her as soon as possible. Was he always that annoying and self-important? If so, she couldn't help but wonder how the Queen (or any woman, for that matter) tolerated him!

Just as C.C. was preparing the tray to make her way back to the Queen, the door to the kitchen was opened to let another maid in – it was Ruth. She carried an empty tray with her, clearly meant to be refilled with food and the most delicious pastries. The look she gave C.C., even from the doorway, seemed to have daggers in it.

"You'll never be important, you know."

C.C. blinked back at the other maid, both confused and annoyed by her hostile tone. "I beg your pardon?"

"The prince," Ruth snapped, shoving C.C.'s shoulders as she marched by to her own place at the counter. "You'll never be important to the prince."

Reaching the tabletop, she set her tray down with the kind of force one might use when choking a man to death. The crockery rattled, setting off a chime like warning bells. It made C.C. flinch, eyeing her fellow maid with concern and confusion. What on Earth was Ruth talking about? The prince? Why would she be important to the prince?

"I...I don't understand what you mean..."

With a knowing – accusing? – glare on her face, Ruth grabbed for the nearest plate of pastries that the cooks had prepared. They were ready to be taken up, so she started to pile them onto the plates on the tray, arranging them prettily. And yet, somehow, aggressively.

"Don't be stupid. You know exactly what I mean!" she snapped, pausing in her task to glower at C.C.. "It is quite obvious that the prince finds you...desirable. He was preening around you like a charmed bird of paradise!"

C.C. had been in the middle of lifting the boiling kettle to fill the teapot at that point, but ended up nearly dropping it on her own foot. Fortunately she didn't, and also managed to keep herself from looking as ungraceful as a blind bear being made to dance on hot coals.

Dropping the kettle as carefully as she could on the counter, looking quickly between Ruth and the near-accident she'd just managed to avoid.

"What? Preening?" she asked. "No...! No, he was just...boasting. Like all men do."

Ruth's snarl slowly morphed into a sneer, a look of bright understanding passing through her gaze in the middle.

"Well, look at you, the little Puritan...!" she jeered. "Ain't you never heard a man talking about his own prowess when he wants a girl to have it?"

C.C. felt an insulting stab at her insides, followed by the horrible realisation that Ruth was teaching her something. She'd known all about the prince's...appetites. She'd heard some of the other maids giggling about them. Swapping stories. Even thinking about that made her stomach twist up into knots that only time and thinking about a lot of other things could undo. Every word, when she ran them through her head again but with the stories of the maids in mind, suddenly seemed a lot more awful.

She...she hadn't been aware that...that was what the prince had been getting at, back in the other room. Not in that moment, anyway. And the look on Ruth's face made her think that that was a thing to be ashamed of. It seemed just typical that Prince Niles might have his eye on her next...! Every word she'd heard on the matter said that he looked for the...the freshest meat...

But did it have to be her? The last interest she held in the world was being the latest of the prince's conquests! It was...frustrating, knowing she'd know have to avoid him at every possible turn. That wouldn't be easy at all, considering he had free reign to go where he chose and do what pleased him...

That last part troubled her more. But she'd tread with care. She wasn't going to end up in his bed, or having him in her bed, or...or anything else that he no doubt had in mind!

"Well, so what? Who cares if he was preening a bit?" she managed to breathe out, trying her best to not look upset or disconcerted by Ruth's comment. "It couldn't all be for my benefit...!"

Ruth scoffed, "Of course it wasn't for your benefit, you nitwit! It's never about the girl. It's always about him."

She leaned in, as though she was going to say something in confidence. It looked more like a threat than friendly advice, even without talking.

"His Royal Highness has a real fondness for beauties and maidens, you see. You'll be next, no matter what you think. And once he's done fucking every part of you that takes his fancy, he'll find someone new, who isn't so boring. That's all you are to him. Quick fun. That's all any of them are."

A strange, smug smirk came over her face right at that moment, before she continued.

"Most of the time, anyway," she said, eyes flashing at C.C. as she straightened up and let her bosom protrude. "I'm his one exception, see. I have too much to give for him to ever get bored of me. And I'm the only one to reap the benefits from him getting his."

C.C. frowned, thoroughly uncomfortable and more than a little offended. So, Ruth was talking from experience and...and enjoying every moment of that experience...

But C.C. wouldn't share that experience with her. Or with anyone the prince had "had", for that matter! No sir, she might've been a maid now instead of a lady, but she still had her pride. She had the education that her parents had given her. She had her dignity.

And if she ever found herself a husband (as unlikely as that felt, given her current circumstances), then she wanted to save herself for him. No charming smile that the prince ever wore would be able to convince her otherwise. If he asked for more than he was ever owed or due, then she would politely turn him down. He could go off to find some new conquest, without ever thinking about her again. She knew she would never stoop so low as to sell herself to a man, even if that man was the future king of England.

"Well, he won't get any kind of...benefit... from me," she said, taking her finished tray and lifting it up, making sure she balanced the teapot so it didn't spill. "I am not going to be a notch on his bedpost."

Ruth immediately laughed, shaking her head like she'd just been told the funniest joke in the world.

"You think that now, you sweet, little moralist! But the prince will have his fun with you. He'll get you into it – he always does, in the end. And then you'll end up back down here, with...well…" Ruth gave a mocking frown around at the maids working in the back of the kitchen. "the rest of them."

Not wanting to hear any more, C.C. turned to go. Ruth didn't stop her. She just called out to her retreating form.

"I'll probably get a good laugh out of it when I'm called up after you're kicked out for being no fun...!"

Even as she walked away, C.C. felt an irritated, churning sensation in her stomach. She didn't like the implication that she couldn't keep her head when confronted with a man who offered her attention. She didn't care what Ruth chose to...do with her time, either. But she wasn't interested in the empty attentions of a man who only wanted one thing and was not interested in her as a person. She was not going to be with a man who didn't love her, and who'd drop her just like he'd dropped nearly every other woman around the palace, apparently. She wasn't going to try and explain this to Ruth, however. She'd more than likely just keep on insisting that they all ended up the same way, in the end, apart from her.

C.C. wouldn't allow it. She'd be the exception if she had to be, but she would not give that smug prince what he wanted.