"Please, you have to help me! He refuses to let me go and I cannot stand being here for one more instant!"

A voluptuous bitch indeed, Lucy agreed with the inappropriate description given earlier, surprised she had even heard it at all, as she was too enraptured with the prince's physic than his words at the time. The woman sprawled in front of the servants' quarters was majestic—short of royalty even. She was blessed with a dainty, sexy stature compared to Lucy's lanky frame, had curly and red fiery hair similar to the people of the north, the fullest lips, and purple gemstones in lieu of eyes.

Truly, this world didn't hold back in depreciating its supposed heroine.

Lucy pushed past the lady, trying to overcome the fact she wasn't a heroine on days when she was confronted with its harsh reality, decidedly set on admiring beauty instead of craving its perks; a goal she pledged to solemnly abide by because, with so many hurtful memories from her past life and her not-so-lucky one now, avoiding links to such emotion was for the best.

"I'm sorry, but I can not be of help right now."

Yet, it was one thing to admire a man, and another entirely to envy a fellow woman who possessed every aesthetic feature that you lacked. A harsh defeat to most people, yes. But to Lucy, it seemed frank and honest, and she liked her that way: frank and honest.

Although...

"Move it, you debauched whore! Your job is servicing customers, meaning that 'he' couldn't have forced you to come here—the goddamn royal palace—against your will! So politely take your second-rate problems with your second-rate assets somewhere else because I am actively trying to save my ass right now—I have no time for this!"

Ambivalently, it could be argued that the trait shone either foolishly or sagaciously in everyday speech—the latter option occurring much often than she would have liked it to.

The woman's eyes widened in astonishment at whom she thought was a proper-trained palace maid, spouting words only heard within the dirtiest slums of Merthingham's disparaged towns and villages. Eerily, the read head dropped her distressful act. "I am also trying to save my ass here. So if you don't want help in losing your job faster, you'd best do as I say."

"If it's a fight your itching for, I will happily mess up your pretty, little face—Later." Lucy then tried to push past the woman again, instead, tripping on a purposefully placed foot and slamming her face into the hard pavement stairs. Her vision blurred for a brief moment, and sharp pains shot through her skull in agonizing jolts.

"I could make a huge scene out of this. No! A scene couldn't do it justice—a scandal would. I'll tell him you're a perverted slut who assaulted me when I was trying so desperately to find him in this maze of a palace"—"him," referring to the second prince. "Deidrick may not be a king or highly esteemed, but a title is a title, and he will use it to do anything for me. Anything."

Getting up despite her wounded parts, Lucy considered her choices with a stupored brain.

"What do you want?" Resigned to the cunning woman before her, Lucy brought herself to do what was expected of her in the first place. Considering her current condition, fighting would not be in her favor because it would only spiral gossip across the palace and end her faster than she would like—a maid fighting a guest, be it a mistress, could not be overlooked.

"I want you to discretely prepare a royal-crested coach for me. They've all been told not to service me on Deidrick's orders so I can't approach them myself. Lie—bribe them if you must! Just do anything to get me out of here! Also, remember to gather my things from my room in time for my departure. And as much as it saddens me to say, I will be needing to stake out here... with you people. My pet mustn't know my location."

Oh, the irony, Lucy thought. Whoever this person was genuinely thought that aristocrats didn't esteem her any better than a servant when in reality, she was denigrated especially for practicing harlotry.

"Why me?"

"Why you?" The woman couldn't hold back her perplexity. "Because you are a servant! Should I dirty my hands in your stead?"

"I meant there are other available servants, so why me—"

"Madam! It is madam!"

…that was the third time today.

"I am a guest of his royal highness so you shall address as so—properly! We are not on par, you brazen wench!"

"Madam... I shall get started on it."

* * *

"Lucy! You're head, it's bleeding!" The young still room maid nearly detached her jaw from her skull from shock. "Are you alright?" She flung herself up.

"Yes, I am fine."

Ignoring her friend's protest, she instead suggested easing the self-reliant, headstrong injured person before her who was limping across the room, pretending the picture of health.

"Theresa, really, I am fine!"

"Matilda's still upstairs; she won't feel bothered. I shall quickly just—"

"Theresa, stop it! I said I was fine!"

There was a knife-cutting effect from both the words and expressions used, rendering both girls mute. But neither intentions were intended to inch into an overbearing territory; Lucy simply wanted to draw less attention to herself considering the past few slip-ups she made in less than twenty-four hours, while Theresa earnestly wanted to make amends for her "rude behavior" earlier that morning. They could now barely manage to go about the outwardly grand space with all the thick fog of tension that clouded it over-indulgently—Lucy, seating at her bedside whilst tending to her injuries, and Theresa spending her expiring break writing letters in her own corner.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it is my fault. I should've listened and not pushed you to the brink of exasperation."

"Of course..." what more was needed to be said, Lucy wondered, finishing up her treatment then changing her dress. "Wanna go on an adventure with me?"

Theresa shot her a skeptical glance from across the room.

"It's harmless. I promise."

"Pardon my asking, but did that adventure give you that scar?"

"The scar will clear with time."

"And if it doesn't? You'll be demoted to a lower charge Lucy; scars are unfit for a proper parlor maid... I'm a living testament to that, being a 5-year still room maid with a gazillion of them."

"Then what more do you stand to lose? It'll only last a day! C'mon!"

"Your duplicity is frightening, miss Lucy."

"Fully dressed!" She exclaimed. "Let's go now, shall we?"

_ _ _

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