Harmony was sweeping the kitchen, humming quietly to herself. She was alone in the dimly lit room, illuminated by a faint lamp. After finishing sweeping, she sighed and said to herself, "On to scrubbing the floors." She grabbed a wooden bucket and took it outside to fill it with water and soap. Then she hauled the soapy water back into the kitchen, grabbed a brush, and started scrubbing while singing faintly, "Moon so bright and true, stars that softly glow on you..."
This was a lullaby her mother, Serenity, used to sing to her when she lived as a princess. Harmony sighed, thinking about her life. 18 years. 18 years of backbreaking work and living among servants. She continued singing, "Whispers in the night, carrying dreams in soft light..."
Suddenly, the sound of the door opening interrupted her singing. She stood up, hopeful to see Sherman or Laura at the doorway, but to her surprise, it was Bridget. A ball of disappointment lodged in her throat, and she struggled to maintain her composure as she looked at Bridget. Her eyes downcast, she returned to scrubbing, the rhythmic motion helping to calm her racing thoughts. Bridget glanced at her once before proceeding out of the room, a silent tension hanging in the air. Wiping her forehead, she felt the beads of sweat mixing with the unspoken frustrations and longings that lingered beneath the surface.
Shortly after, Sherman arrived. This time, instead of disappointment in her eyes, her amber eyes sparkled with a hint of joy. However, the joy faltered when she noticed the worried glint in his eyes, and the room seemed to grow heavy with unspoken tension.
"Sherman, what is it?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern as she reached out to touch his trembling hand, her own heart quickening with apprehension.
"Chef's returned, and..." Before he could finish, Chef, the cruel Bergen who had tormented her for a year, came in. Nervously dropping her gaze, Harmony returned to scrubbing. Ignoring her for the time being, Chef turned to Bridget and snarled with disdain, "You, scullery maid, what's your name?"
"Um, Bridget," Bridget responded apprehensively.
"Congratulations, Bridget. You work for me now." She turned, her cold gaze settling upon Harmony.
"Roxanne! Get up!" She said. Harmony stood up, casting a pleading look at Sherman.
The chef gestured to two separate stacks of dirty dishes, greasy and covered with bits of food Harmony and Bridget could only dream of. "Take those dishes downstairs and start scrubbing!" Chef shouted the last two words, her ugly face contorted into a scowl.
Placidly, showing no hint of anger, Bridget picked up one stack and replied "Yes, Chef, Thank you, Chef,"
Harmony swallowed her vexation down her throat and picked up the other stack. As she did so, Chef stuck her foot out, causing Harmony to trip and drop the heavy stack. Harmony bit her lip, stifling a cry. Why was Chef so cruel?
The delicate dishes shattered as soon as they hit the floor. "You clumsy wench!" Chef screamed.
"Those dishes were supposed to be for Trollstice!" Harmony looked up, unable to hide the fear shining in her eyes.
"Troll-trollstice?" She stammered, not believing what she was hearing. Her vision swam before her eyes. What was happening?
Her heartbeat was racing and she felt sick to her stomach. She stood up way too fast, her brain trying to comprehend what was happening. "Roxanne?" Sherman probed worriedly.
Harmony collapsed onto the cold, stone floor.
Roxanne seemed to fall in slow motion. Sherman raced over and gingerly set her head in his lap. "Bridget, bring me some water," he commanded. Bridget scurried away at once to follow his order.
She was sweating rapidly, and her heartbeat was at a fast, irregular pace. He stroked her fuchsia pigtails, wondering what had caused her to faint. Was it emotional distress or exhaustion?
He concluded it must be exhaustion. He knew the life of a scullery maid was full of backbreaking work and little relief. Besides, if something had been bothering her, she would have told him. They were best friends, after all. But a nagging feeling whispered into his mind that she kept secrets from him, too.
Bridget came back with the water. But instead of giving it to Sherman, as she should have, Bridget deliberately dumped the ice-cold water onto her face, soaking his lap. He glared at her, promising himself he would avenge Roxanne.
This, however, proved to be effective, as Roxanne woke up seconds later, gasping. "What happened?" She choked out.
Sherman used his sleeve to wipe off some of the water. "You fainted. Bridget here," He paused to glower at the younger Bergen, "Splashed water on you to wake you up."
"Where's Chef?" Roxanne whimpered. Sherman closed his eyes, remembering the helpless little girl she had once been, unable to stop Chef's abuse because of her low social status.
Instead of answering her question, he scooped her up, cradling her like a child. "We need to get you to the infirmary," He said. Sherman tried not to pay attention to how her head lay on his shoulder, or how her beautiful amber eyes shone with trust up at him. He refused to acknoledge that, after 18 years, he was still as in love with her as much as when he first laid eyes on her.
It was hard going up the stairs holding her, but what did it matter? When he got to the infirmary, he handed her off to the nurses, who, upon his request of going with them, told him to stay in the waiting room.
He plopped on a chair, fidgeting. "Hey! Aren't you the king's chamberlain?" Whirling around, Sherman nearly fell out of his chair as he spotted the owner of the voice.
It was an adult male Bergen. "Yes," He replied, wondering why the Bergen asked him that.
"Then you should know the latest gossip," The Bergen said. He leaned in conspiratorially.
"Is it true that Chef, the Bergen who was banished twenty years ago, returned with the Princess of the Trolls?" Gulping, Sherman nodded.
"She has no other Trolls. I doubt that there will be Trollstice," He added, gleaning satisfaction from the keen disappointment in the gray-skinned Bergen's eyes. His friend Poppy, he had no doubt, wouldn't be eaten. She would find a way out with his help.
"Sherman," A bored voice called out. The Bergen nurse holding a clipboard was the owner of the voice. "Roxanne wants to see you." Sherman nodded and without another word, followed the nurse into the room where Roxanne was being held.