A very familiar voice startled Rosemund out of her ponderings. [i]Oh no, not him,[/i] she inwardly groaned once she found the source of that unmistakably arrogant voice. She was not in the mood for this right now. It had been too much of a night, and it was too early right now, to have to deal with the Heir––she'd often considered moving and finding some other job in a different city once he took the throne. But of course, as entitled and downright bratty as the kid was, he [i]was[/i] the heir.

Not showing her irritation, she tucked in her shirt with slow calmness and then knelt and bowed to Aire, though she held his gaze all the while. In some parts of the castle, she'd learned, it was contested whether Rosemund was "mentally slow" or just liked to mess with her higher-ups. It was of course the latter, although she, a lowly servant, didn't claim to be the sharpest mind in the kingdom. If she happened to get in hot water for taking a tone with someone, she usually escaped punishment by acting confused and scared, and insisting that it was how she always spoke.  

"Ah, forgive me, your [i]Highness.[/i] Woe is unto the one who works slowly, even if she be plagued by gout or leprosy or consumption. My Lord, I invite you to [i]watch[/i] me, thy [i]loyal servant,[/i] clean these windows which soon will be yours––so that you may see the newfound swiftness of my work!" 

It was almost hard not to laugh at the idea of Aire watching her clean the windows. Rosemund didn't expect him to agree to waste his time like that, but she'd at least wasted his time with that little speech.