A/N: I think I have officially broken my own record for submissions! So many good ideas and so many wonderful characters have been submitted that I literally cannot say no to a lot of them, but now it is time for me to CLOSE SUBMISSIONS. If you haven't already talked to me about making a character and/or are not currently in the process of filling out a form, unfortunately I will not be able to take your character.

In this chapter (which used to be chapter 3) we get to see the quarantine through a servant's eyes...and get to meet a couple characters! Also in this chapter, we get to tackle the quarantine's first obstacle: the housing crisis. Where is everyone gonna sleep? Did someone say roommates?

Thank you all so much for the outpouring of support and enthusiasm for this crack-inspired fever-dream! Seeing so many faces, both old and new, showing up in the comments made my heart skip a little beat :) I hope you all enjoy the new content!

Quarantine Day 1

Dawn was just beginning to peek over the horizon, lightening the room's pitch-black darkness. Rhaena Salisbury's eyes were already adjusted to the dark, and had been for many hours. She couldn't sleep. Not when news of a bomb and subsequent quarantine had spread chaos through the palace.

This room was her shelter from the chaos. It wasn't much - a single bunk bed in the far corner, a wardrobe, a mirror, a trunk of toys, and a single window - but it was enough. She had made the room as warm as she could by stringing fairy lights across the ceiling, adding a few potted plants, and sticking those glowing neon stars underneath her bunk for the twins to enjoy. But even in the best of times, the room felt like a borrowed space, and she, herself, felt like and intruder.

Then again, Rhaena hadn't had a proper home in a very long time.

She pulled a standard black uniform from her closet, picking a few noticeable pieces of lint from the shoulders of the dress, and got changed with a practiced efficiency. She swept her blonde hair back into a neat bun, pinning it in place. Normally she didn't bother with makeup past the swipe of mascara, but this morning she didn't even bother with that. What was the point when the dark circles under her eyes would ruin the attempt at beauty anyway? There were more important things to prioritize, like her children.

Cain and Cecily were asleep, curled up beside one another on the bottom bunk. To them, the world was exactly as safe and carefree as they had left it. She had taken them to the gardens yesterday, let them run circles in the grass until they had worn themselves out and she had to carry them back inside. When was the next time they would be allowed to run around in that grass? To feel sunshine on their faces? It seemed rather cruel to have to coop her children up indoors, but it was necessary. She would sit them down tell them later, and they would understand. They were remarkably mature for their age. Well, Cecily was. Cain...he was another story. Another handful...

The clock on the bedside table blinked red. 0600. Time for work.

Rhaena bent down and placed a kiss to both her children's heads. Then, she got up, took one last look at herself in the mirror, and locked the door behind her.

First stop was the kitchens.

Located on the first floor, the kitchens were a far descent from Rhaena's fourth floor lodgings. The servant's stairwells were dark and narrow, but blessedly unoccupied for the moment. That was bound to change in an hour when the majority of the palace began to wake. For now, she was able to get to her destination without having to dodge hampers full of laundry or armfuls of trash.

While the rest of the palace slept on, the kitchens were already bustling in full force. It always smelled like heaven in the kitchens. Sometimes Rhaena wished she had a talent for cooking so that she could work there. She would have to settle for befriending a cook instead.

"Good morning!" Rhaena's voice cut through the noise of cutting knives and sizzling pans. A chorus of good mornings echoed back to Rhaena's ears, no one looking up to see who the greeting had come from, save for one girl who recognized the voice. Her dark hair was covered with flour despite being pulled back, her hands hard at work kneading bread. She gestured to the table beside her where one, freshly-baked roll lied.

"For you," Saori said, passing the roll to Rhaena when no one was looking.

"I couldn't - "

"You need to eat," Saori insisted, worry lining her brow. She was such a sweet girl, so caring. "You're practically skin and bones already."

Rhaena nodded and smiled, grateful for the gesture. She took the roll and stuffed it into her apron pocket, but not before she tore off a piece and shoved it into her mouth. The hot, flaky crust melted in her mouth. She almost felt bad for enjoying it, knowing that this was not a time to be indulgent. Food would be scarce soon enough, and she had other people besides herself to worry about.

Then, Seth Moore, Prince Avery's personal butler, came waltzing into the kitchen. His suit was neatly pressed, his hair neatly combed, and his appearance immaculate - the epitome of professionalism. It was well known that Seth took his job seriously...very seriously. Rhaena figured he had to be in order to deal with someone like the prince on a daily basis.

Seth walked beside where Rhaena was filling her cart. He lifted up the lid to the dish tagged for the prince and hummed approvingly. How lucky he was to only have to dote on one royal, Rhaena thought. The polished wing-tipped shoes he loved so much would hardly stand up to a hard day's work running around the palace like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Have you seen the schedule?" he asked, and it took Rhaena a second to realize he was talking to her. They weren't close. Outside these brief work-related interactions, they were hardly acquainted. This was the first time he'd gone out of his way to speak to her since...well...the funeral.

"No," Rhaena replied, concerned. "What have I missed?"

"There's been a redistribution of tasks due to the quarantine, filling in holes and the like," Seth explained, pulling a list out from his breast pocket, unfolding the crisp square to read from the lines of precise handwriting. "Jonathan and I created a schedule that best suited everyone's needs."

Why was Rhaena not surprised that Seth had ingratiated himself into Jonathan, the Head of Household's, business? He was always trying so hard to prove himself, to work his way up the ladder. It was no secret that Jonathan was aiming to retire in a couple of years. Seth was gunning for his job, and at this rate, he would have it.

Rhaena skimmed the list to find her name. Nothing much had changed; her duties remained delivery and cleaning in nature, though now expanded to pick up more floors. Her feet could already feel the ache of unwalked steps. Logistically, she understood the need to pick up the slack for those who were left outside of quarantine. Selfishly, she wished to be exempt from additional chores, if only for the sake of her children. How was she going to look after them if she was working herself to the bone for twelve, thirteen, fourteen hours a day?

A problem for later. Rhaena brushed her worried aside, smoothing her palms down her apron. She would handle things one task at a time, and she surely wouldn't raise a complaint with Seth breathing down her neck.

She passed the paper back to him, folding it just as neatly as he had presented it to her. That didn't stop him from refolding it to his liking.

"Well, I must be off," Seth announced, straightening his tie and grabbing the prince's tray. "The prince needs me."

"Of course he does," Rhaena agreed.

With that, Seth took off at his usual hurried pace. That was Seth: always in a hurry to be somewhere, always having something to do. She had something to do, too. Many somethings. A long day laid ahead of her if the new list of tasks meant anything. She'd better get going.

First stop on the long list of deliveries was the king's office.

Rhaena knocked politely on the door, not wanting to intrude. A stern-faced guard no older than herself opened it up, and upon intense scrutiny, let Rhaena in the room. His name badge read "Sosa". They had never crossed paths before, but it was a big palace. There was no way Rhaena could know everyone who worked here.

The King of Illéa sat at the chair behind his desk, his brow furrowed as he convened with two other men in sharp suits. Rhaena brought the tray to the coffee table behind them, keeping her head down as she busied herself arranging the plates of food. Everything was fresh and piping hot, though less bountiful than a king was used to. The cooks had made the decision to start rationing food, the breakfast spread lacking its usual abundance of fresh fruits, yogurts, and scones. What remained were the staple eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. That was all the king usually ate for breakfast anyway; he shouldn't complain.

Coffee was something Rhaena always poured at the king's side so he could decide when enough cream was enough and how much sugar to add. King Henry looked like the type of man who enjoyed black coffee, but Rhaena knew his secret love of sugary sweet drinks that tasted like caramel and vanilla.

She pulled three mugs out from the cabinet of her cart and sidled over to the edge of the king's desk as to be the most unobtrusive. She really didn't want to get in their way. Thankfully, none of the three men paid her much attention. A cursory glance in her direction, mostly to acknowledge the coffee, was all she got, blending back into the background as all servants did.

Conversation carried on as Rhaena poured and distributed the coffee. Only when she raised her head to ask for the king's desired amount of sugar did she catch on to what he was saying.

"Royalty shall continue to be housed in the guest bedrooms, whole countries to a suite. They won't like it, but it must be done," King Henry sighed, scribbling down the arrangements. "There are the parlors and sitting areas with sofas that can be transformed into temporary living spaces. The servants will be moved from their quarters to house more esteemed members of society and placed - "

Panic seized Rhaena.

"No!" she gasped, the sugar spoon clattering across the desk, spilling white powder everywhere. All three men were looking at her now as if she had grown a second head. Rhaena felt a flush spread across her cheeks. She was mortified. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. Forgive me."

Her hands trembled as she went to grab the spoon, hastily sweeping the spilled sugar off the desk and into the nearby trash bin.

"You have something to say? Speak freely."

Surprisingly, King Henry did not seem angry with her. In fact, he was genuinely curious, much to the disdain of his companions.

"It's just…I was wondering if I would be allowed to keep my quarters, Your Majesty. I have twins, four year old twins. That room is our home."

King Henry's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Your children live with you here, in the palace?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Her Majesty the Queen was kind enough to offer us housing," Rhaena explained, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. She did not dare look up at the king, not when she knew all he would see in her eyes was fear - not of him, but for her children. "We have nowhere else to go."

Rheana could have sworn she heard something like 'bleeding heart' muttered under the king's breath.

"Very well. You may keep your housing."

Rhaena felt a relief so strong she could have cried, but she kept herself composed this time. "Thank you, Your Majesty. You are too gracious."

King Henry merely nodded and waved her away, a clear dismissal. Rhaena had pushed her luck. She knew better than to stick around and risk losing everything. She hastily gathered up her things, loaded them back on the cart, and wheeled into the hall.

There were still more stops on her list of breakfast deliveries before she could return to the twins (they would stay asleep for a little while longer...she hoped). All her stops were on the guest wing where all the royals and special guests were being held. Their trays were much like the one Rhaena gave to the king; she hoped that these royals would be just as gracious with limited portions.

Most of her stops were uneventful. Disgruntled royals opened their doors and took their trays without so much as a thank you. The fact that they didn't bother to look under the silver domed lids meant that Rhaena got no complaints either, so she figured it was a breakeven.

She knocked on the last door - the door to the Prince of Italy's room, the tag on the tray read - hoping that whoever resided behind it would be like all the rest.

What she got was something else entirely.

The man who opened the door looked as though he were sculpted of marble: pale skin smooth and unblemished with a bone structure full of unforgiving edges. His eyes were the color of ice and equally as cold, framed by dark, angry brows. He towered above her, his long limbs casually taking up all the space in the doorway. His robe was left open, revealing a bare, muscular chest, his pajama pants slung low on narrow hips.

Rhaena felt her heart skip a beat and catch in her throat. She had no idea if this man was going to yell at her for waking him up, or push her against the wall and ravage her. From the way his frozen eyes bored into hers, it could go either way.

Then, he smiled and all the ice melted.

"Whatever did I do to deserve such beauty greeting me this morning?" he asked, his accent thick and flirtatious. He pushed one hand through his dark, tousled hair, his arm muscle flexing with the movement. If Rhaena was being honest, it was a little ridiculous, but she couldn't help but become flustered at the attention. No one ever paid the staff any attention, especially not royalty.

"You ordered breakfast, Your Highness."

Rhaena raised the tray up to eye-level, a small, polite smile on her lips.

"Yes, I can see." The prince turned his head and hollered into the room. "Bas, come and take that!"

The man behind the prince rolled his eyes but did as he was told, taking the tray from Rhaena's hand. The man - Bas - gave Rhaena a pitying look, his gaze shifting between she and the prince as if he had seen scenarios like this one too many times.

While Rhaena was distracted with the tray, the prince had taken her newly-empty hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss to her knuckles. Rhaena felt her cheeks flush anew, mostly with embarrassment. Her hands had to have been chapped and dry from how often she had to wash them between chores. Definitely not the soft, undamaged hands of the princesses he was used to kissing.

"Duca Marcello Giovanni Achille Savoy di Venice, at your service, my lady," he said, bending low at the waist.

Rhaena had half a mind to run. Was he messing with her? She had heard rumors about the nobility playing tricks on the lower classes - especially servants. Rich and powerful boys stringing unassuming young serving girls along, using them for their own means (or pleasure) and discarding them afterwards just because they could. It made Rhaena sick to think about. She refused to be one of those girls.

"You are mistaken. I am not a lady. I am a maid," she corrected gently, remembering herself. Not only was she a maid, she was a mother, not some school girl with a crush. And she was late to check on her children. "Now, if you will excuse me, Your Highness, I have work to do."

"Will you at least do the honor of giving me a name?" he shouted after her, one hand outstretched as if to call her back to him. Now he really must have been messing with her. That, or he was the most foolish prince in the world.

Rhaena should have given him a fake name and moved on. She should have immediately gone to the Head of Household and asked for her tasks to be switched so she would never again have to endure his flirtations. Instead, she was struck with the urge to tell the truth. Whatever Duca Marcello Giovanni Achille Savoy di Venice was doing, whatever was compelling him to talk to her as if she were his equal, wasn't malicious.

"Rhaena," she said over her shoulder.

Had she stuck around, she would have heard Marc's long, drawn-out sigh. She would have seen him lean against the door frame, looking longingly at her retreating figure.

She would have heard Bas ask, "What was that all about?"

She would have heard Marc reply, "I don't know, but she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."