X—Emily Desdemona of Lucia

When the noble houses of Lucia were not in attendance, the House of Gates was a relatively peaceful place, other than the fact that there were always soldiers and mages stationed in and around the structure.

But when the Lucian nobility was here—especially so many, the House of Gates was… well—a mad house.

Emily stalked to the laundry rooms where fresh towels and bed linens were washed and dried. The tile floors here were interlocked in black and white and her polished black shoes clacked loudly as she walked.

As of right now, she thought there must have been at least a dozen different parties within the Lucian side of the House of Gates.

A dozen!

Of course, there were hundreds of servants and maids in attendance to serve them all, but that didn’t change the fact that Emily was hopping like a rabbit jacked on magic at every moment of the day.

She sighed heavily.

I should not complain, she thought.

As a member of the High House Maid Society, it was her duty to attend to the Lucian nobles. In fact, she was a Lucian noble, though of lesser degree.

There was never any true rest for the maids of the High House Maid Society, because it’s members were not only servants, but warriors. Despite her short skirt, bare thighs and knee-high stockings, she wore a curved sword on her back.

Should the Florencian’s ever attack, she would be expected to fight for the chambers of the House of Gates controlled by Lucia.

She passed some steaming vats where other maids were working hard to wash towels and linens. She went to the stack of dry towers and loaded two score of them onto a trolley.

She then wheeled the trolley to a lift and rung the bell, indicating level three. She then left the lift and went to the stairs and nearly bumped into a nobleman who was swaying and unsteadily.

“Forgive me, my lord.”

Unexpectedly he grabbed her by the arm, his grip tight and painful. “Whurr doyew think you’re-sh hngh-going?” he slurred.

“I have duties to attend to in another area of the House, my lord.”

She waited for him to let go of her arm, but Emily’s spirits died when his smile deepened and he leaned in close to her. His breath stank of liquor.

“You’re a pretty little thing. Why not come up to my rooms and service me?”

“I… what floor are you on, my lord?”

“Why—I’m on this one!”

“Then you should request one of the other maids,” Emily said. “Now please, I have others to attend to and I’m late.”

He moved it to plant a kiss on her, but she tilted her head back.

“What, are you scared? I bet you maids in this place are always twirling about on the laps of the guests. Am I not—“

“Please,” Emily insisted and pulled away. “If you do not release me, I will be forced to defend myself.”

The drunk lordling—he was about thirty years old—laughed. “You would—wouldn’t dare hit me. I’m your better.”

His grip tightened hard enough to make her wince.

“Now come along and—“

She grabbed his wrist and twisted his hand off of her arm. He cried out and she kicked his leg out from under him.

“How dare you!” he howled. “I swear I’ll have you—“

Emily punched him in the face hard enough that her knuckles slapped him, making a sound similar to smacking a wet towel across the back of a chair.

Now unconscious, she lifted the fool and leaned him against the wall. When he woke up, he probably wouldn’t even remember what had happened.

If he finds his face bruised, he’ll think it was from his fall.